Magister Orion and his Fae friends are settled into the Grand Sage's cabin, though there isn't much room. Elverly, shockingly, takes it all in stride, without a single complaint. She treats the Fae with respect; it's so strange, coming out of that cranky old gnome woman. Is she ill?
Magister Orion settles into his vigil over the dream-eater, and the weight of responsibility lifts from my shoulders, if only for a moment. He's the only other person who can help me in this situation.
It's nice to have backup.
I am here, Grimoire points out.
It's not the same.
The question burns in my throat, but I need to know. Everyone else has left the room—once Elverly's room, but we've moved her bed into the Grand Sage's in order to use it as a temporary holding cell—except for Magister Orion, who studies the dream-eater's unconscious form with intense focus.
"Magister." My voice is soft; it's hard to let the words come out. "I need to ask you something."
His eyes meet mine. "Yes, child?"
