The Boon of Alon

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

I stop by Chama's table at lunch, on my way to join my friends. She's sitting with Tack and a couple other riders that I don't know well, and don't know if I can trust.

"About what we just discussed in the archive..." I start.

Chama, thankfully, catches my drift—she glances down the table at the other riders and nods to me. "They're good. What's up?"

"Iamon told me we have a month at most," I say. "I didn't think it'd help the conversation, because we already knew we had to hurry, but..."

"A month is nothing." Chama sighs. "At most? What do we have at least?"

"A week, but that's unlikely," I say, and one of the other riders whistles.

"Good thing, because a week's really nothing," he says. "Zide, by the way, if you've forgotten."

I nod—I had, but I'm pretty sure the other rider is named Nall.

"You might as well join us," Chama says, gesturing to the open seat next to Tack. "Did he tell you anything else we should know?"

"Uh." I sink awkwardly into the chair. Eating with my mentor is one thing—eating at a table full of riders feels unearned. But it's not far off, either. "He said he'd bond me?"

Chama drops her fork. "Dear gods. Really?"

I almost dropped my fork, too, startled by the clattering. "Is it that surprising? I'm the only one he'll let near him right now."

"We were expecting him to take another year," says Nall.

"He still snapped at me the other day when he'd just started talking to her," says Tack. "I think she's made herself an exception."

"Um," I say, "yeah. 'Cause of the...rebel stuff, mostly." I gesture vaguely in the direction of the road down from the monastery. "Or, that's why he's in a hurry, anyway." He's pretty explicitly told me that he's choosing me because I understand his ability, but I think he'd wait a while longer if there weren't consequences looming over our heads.

"Forget all that for a second." Chama leans over her plate and fixes all her attention on me. "Della. Do you want him to bond you?"

"I...yes." I don't know if talking to him is enjoyable, exactly, but it is satisfying. He has what I want. And frankly, he accused Yrite of flattering me, but every time Iamon purrs at me for following his twisting thoughts, isn't that what he's doing, too?

"Even though you're going to be the conduit for a whole lot of prophecies from now on?" she prods.

"Yeah. I get it now." It doesn't bother me nearly as much now that I can peek behind the curtain and see how the show is put on.

"Alright then." Chama grins at me and leans back in her chair. "Congrats, kiddo."

"...Thanks." At least someone's happy. I'm still mostly just terrified.

"You were saying that the recruits came up with something," Zide prompts.

"Oh, yeah." Chama launches into a rehash of today's discussion while I scarf down my lunch. The other riders don't have much to add in the way of ideas—just context, and nothing I hadn't really known already, or at least guessed. They agree that Suthi pretending I've died might be our only way forward.

It doesn't sit right with me, though. It feels so passive on my part, so needlessly dangerous and complex on hers. But I don't have any better ideas.

Between lunch, training, and Tack pulling Suthi away to talk during both afternoon breaks—presumably about faking my death—I don't get the chance to say anything about it to her until dinner. It is, maybe fortunately, a banquet night, which at least means I don't have to do it in front of our friends, as I lurk at the edge of the crowd.