someone who knew you were coming. Or someone who might lay on a blade to avoid capture, as the elder oracle had in the same invasion that had brought the Kereseths here. But finally, it seemed Ryzek had found a solution: he had gone after two oracles at once. One had avoided being taken by dying. And the other—this Eijeh Kereseth—didn’t know what he was. He was still soft and pliable enough to be shaped by Noavek cruelty. I sat forward again to hear Eijeh speak, his curly head tipped forward. “Akos, what is he saying?” Eijeh asked in slippery Thuvhesit, wiping his nose with the back of his
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