“The Goddess rarely grants dreams to wolves,” Aertis said when Lyria told her later of everything that had happened. “You should know.”
“Well,” Lyria said evenly. “He’s five. We can’t really be sure that he was interpreting the dream correctly,” she was laying across the bed in Aertis’s room, surrounded by books she had not yet even cracked open. They were all botany books, or books on the Kingdom wildlife. She had left the library hands piled high with tomes she knew she needed, but also knew she couldn’t possibly absorb properly at the moment.
“You said they’re taking him to a mystic, right?”
“Well, they’re going to ask the King to take him to a mystic. I’ve asked them not to mention to him that it is about me, if they can avoid it. Of course, if the King asks directly they must tell
