A lot was going on, and Syrina knew just enough to know she didn’t know anything. She wrote Ormo a note in tiny shorthand and attached it to Triglav’s leg before sending him out the window and closing it behind him. She stared at the rivulets of rain dribbling down the pane, wondering how she knew that he knew to fly all the way back to Eheene. She missed him already and wondered once more what Ormo had done to her. To them. On a whim, she opened the window again, even though it would be at least a month or two before he’d be back.
In the meantime, Syrina hung around Fom, watching the summer evolve into a wet autumn that was like summer, only a little cooler, and took in the sights while she waited for Triglav, though she avoided the public executions and the Pit. Famous as it was, she fo
