Thalindra Moonwhisper found him at dawn.
Jason was sitting on the stone floor of the sanctum with his back against the wall and Rok asleep on his chest, rising and falling with every breath he took. He hadn't moved in two hours. He wasn't going to. As far as he was concerned, the kid had claimed the territory and that was that.
The council head stopped in the doorway and looked at him. Then she looked past him, at the werewolves snoring in a pile of blankets, at the cow-woman curled around a pillow, at the red-haired elf asleep sitting upright with a toddler in her lap.
"Walk with me," she said quietly.
"Can't," Jason whispered. "I've been taken hostage."
Thalindra's still-water eyes moved to the baby on his chest. Something that might have been amusement flickered across her ancient face. Then she simply sat down on the bench opposite him, folded her hands in her lap, and waited.
"Your daughter," she said. "The elf child."
"Lirael."
