Fifty Three
Zaria’s contact with the Western Dragon Kingdom was limited, but she still managed to send a letter to Zakai. It wasn’t explicit; it couldn’t be. River’s new guard was polite in the way a blade could be polite, and the staff had begun to move through the estate with that careful attentiveness that meant orders had been given. Still, Zaria wrote the way she always had when danger was close: plain sentences on the surface, barbs and bells hidden underneath. A mention of the weather. A comment about the tides. A line about Cillian’s growth, and another about how she missed the smell of pine on the mainland. She sealed it with wax, pressed her thumb into it, and stared at the mark a moment too long before handing it off. Understand me, she begged silently. Please. She had expected Zakai t
- Writer
