Serralyn’s eyes rounded, which was fine; they reddened instantly, as if all of the small blood vessels had burst at once, which was way more disturbing. But of course they did. She was the student at the Academia, and she was the one who had discussed Azoria’s phantom home with the Wevaran. He had come because of her. And she was part of the cohort; what Terrano knew, they all knew; what he could do, they could—with greater or lesser difficulty—learn.

As if she could hear the thought, Serralyn said, “Don’t worry; my eyes are fine. This is easy. Some of the other stuff Terrano does is...not. He’s always been the most flexible of us—but he can often overfocus. There’s a saying about trees mortals have?”

“He can’t see the forest for the trees?” It was Mrs. Erickson who answered.

“Very much like that, yes. What he sees, he does see—he has a pretty garbage imagination.”

“Hey!”

“But sometimes he doesn’t pick up the nuances of what he sees; he can’t build a bigger picture. Don’t look at me like that, I wasn’t the one who said it first. So I’ve been asked to observe as well. I’m not certain about sending Bakkon home, though.”

“He might be in danger there?”

“It depends. Webs aren’t meant to be spit out and retracted—if they were, we’d call them tongues. But the way a Wevaran moves, the comfort a Wevaran takes in geography, is rooted in the webbing. If he spit something into this space and he can’t immediately sever it, something might be able to crawl along the webbing he’s built, and if they can, they’re going to find both Bakkon and anyone else in his immediate vicinity.”

“You’re worried that Azoria somehow took those long-ago discussions with Starrante and Androsse to heart.”

“Yes.”

Bakkon had been quite upset with Starrante when he heard what Starrante had discussed; Kaylin remembered that much.

“Which means you’re worried that she’s here, somehow.”

“You’re not?”

“I’ve passed beyond worried to terrified.”

Serralyn nodded. “Mrs. Erickson doesn’t seem to be affected by Azoria.”

Mrs. Erickson was listening to the conversation, although she did pay attention to Mandoran’s chipped plate, filling it almost as if gentle hospitality was a habit. “I’m fine,” she said. “I’ve lived here all my life.”

“So have the children,” Kaylin replied. “Where are they?”

“Jamal is probably in the back room. He wasn’t best pleased that I had guests.”

No, of course not.

“He wasn’t terrified of Serralyn, though—not the way he was of the corporal.”

“And Terrano?”

“I don’t think male Barrani invoke the same fear. And Serralyn seems almost human in comportment. Why are you asking about the children?”