They came from different places. “The birth-master—”“He’s fussing like an old woman,” Zoquitl said; and for a moment, her voice was as sharp and as cutting as a blade. In a small corner of her mind she envied Meredith for being able to exist in a world where Rachel was still retrievable, where the possibility existed of her imminent return. Looking at them, I get the impression they aren’t too bright.
” She gestured towards the low mahogany table in the centre of the room. They want chancellors dead or generals, discarded lovers or rival reincarnates, bodhisattvas or bosses—all the old, tawdry stories. Snatches of angry conversation drift back. “Otso goes,” it finally said.
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