The tension—which had crept in again during Fletcher’s inquisition—thawed. So it was that the rulers of the dwarves, the elves, the Galantasa, and the Fironem began to make plans.
And somehow, Fletcher was the one leading them in discourse.
That night, after what Fletcher considered a productive day, he lay on his mattress and stared at the smooth rock ceiling of his room. He was exhausted, yet his body thrummed with nerves. He’d never get to sleep in a state like this.
Kicking the quilted blankets off, Fletcher rose and padded barefoot to the door. None of the dwarves had forbidden him from wandering—and he was an honored guest of the kzar, anyway—so he slid open the stone door and tiptoed into the tunnel.
The hanging colored lanterns that lit the dwarves’ passageways had faded from t
