“I don’t want your help.” “Even if it means getting your friend back?” Behind her pillar, Ilapara holds her breath. A quiet, dangerous edge enters Tuk’s voice. “Why would you care about him?” “You must know by now what he was,” the woman says. “Truth be told, his death was . . . a waste. Tragic, really. If I’d known what the high mystic was planning, I wouldn’t have worked with him so closely.” She laughs, a short, ironic burst. “I thought I was using him, but in the end, I was just a tool in his scheme for power.”
