The tunnels were more crowded than ever, and there was a constant hustle and bustle—so much so that he and Wesrai had to shoulder their way through the tight confines. Davril labored for breath by the time he reached the main warren. “I think we need to petition the Aves for more space,” Davril said, sinking down on a couch and catching his breath. Wesrai nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. “I think you may be right, my lord. But we have already asked them several times.” “And they’ve granted us the space we need every time.” “With less enthusiasm each time.” Davril sighed. “We don’t want to antagonize them, do we?” Wesrai collapsed into the couch beside him. “We have enough antagonists already, my lord.” “A lack of air is a foe too great even for me.” To that, Wesrai had no answer. And it was a problem, Davril had to admit. His rebellion had grown too successful. After the siege had ended, Davril had sent out the word through his contacts in the aristocracy that anyone disenchanted with the new regime could come to him.
