“You mean to keep the words of the girl between us?” said Ju as he shifted his bow without conscious thought.
Zya looked down at her own dagger, knowing it to have an addictive magical quality. Were the weapons connected? Was there a link? She had been made aware that her dagger had some dangerous quality; perhaps the same was for the bow. Her father had never given her anything other than stories about where he got them from, and she had yet to hear a plausible explanation. “The words of the girl, yes. If what is happening here is as I think, they will listen to every word we say, and make a lot out of it.” Zya realised that the words she spoke were overlaid with what could only be termed the conscious thoughts of the woman whose tent she had entered what seemed like an age ago. It was a
