2. 13. 12:00 Ema sprints across the grounds toward the teahouse, where Ghannouj is sitting on a bench in the sunshine. Dark hair whipping behind her, anklets and bracelets ringing, she bounds over the bridge, then skids to a halt in front of the abbot. After a quick bow, she says, “Master! A Hellbender has landed in the exercise yard. Soldiers are coming!” “Thank you, Ema.” Ghannouj looks into the bottom of his teacup. He swirls the dregs while watching intently, as if he had thrown a pair of dice and was waiting for the numbers to show. “You may return to the hives.” “But Master,” she says, “the bad men have come.” He stands and draws his glimmering robes against a sudden breeze, his split-toed slippers scuffing the ground. “Go quickly, please.” She bows, hands clasped together. “Yes, Master.” Ema runs from the teahouse. Her bare feet tap-tap-tap on the wooden deck. She kicks a pebble into the pond. The pebble plunks and sinks. Ripples spread across the surface until they reach the far shore, where they almost touch the polished boots of Riacin and the Sturmnacht escorting him.
