The triumvirate of John, Val, and Scriabin, sitting atop a scrollcase like the three monkeys. Hear no truth, see no truth, speak no truth. The unlikely pairing of Niall and Lucien, precipitated by Niall’s need to stay informed and Lucien’s desperate bid to breach the inner circle. And then there’s Meva. Jani watched the female ride herd on the other side of the barrier, the gist of her words obvious from the unhappy postures of the group of Haárin comtechs who were the focus of her displeasure. Beside her stood Dathim, as silent and watchful as he had been with Feyó. I’m not used to quiet Dathim. Jani watched the male stare stolidly into space. Like a lion watching flowers grow. At last Meva finished with the beleaguered technicians and passed through the barrier. “All is as prepared as it may be.” She dragged her chair next to a display case that contained some of Tsecha’s writings, then motioned to Dathim to set his seat next to hers. Niall waited until the pair had settled in before speaking.
