For many long, agonizing seconds, Pymous said nothing to Oliver, busying himself with leafing through the parchment strewn across his desk. Oliver squirmed in his seat. Out of the corner of one eye, he could see the Adjudicator, with Golmul perched upon his back, both watching him unblinkingly.
Oliver knew he should be using the reprieve to organize his thoughts, to think of a convincing story that was not exactly a lie. But he could not think clearly. His mind was a tangled maelstrom of panic.
How had it come down to him to stop the Crownseekers from attacking the Eight Trees? 'I can't do this!' he thought.
Across the room, Golmul c****d his head at him.
“Oliver," Zarine breathed in his ear, still perched on his shoulder, her claws digging into his shirt, though he could not feel
