Zasen just leaned over his knees and looked at Rymar seriously. "And you can handle him, or so you keep saying. She needs to talk, Rymar. They need to hear her speak Vestrian. They need to see she's no longer orin."
"She's just gold," Kanik agreed. "A very common shade of gold, too."
"Like Lessa," Zasen said. "Like Saveah. Like all the blondes in Lorsa. She's not a Mole, and you need to give her the chance to prove it to all of them, because what Ayla has to say?"
"Which is?" Rymar asked.
"They lied," I told him. "Over and over, they lied, and we have to do something about it."
Zasen just lifted a hand. "Drink your tea, because we need to be on our way, and I think there's no harm in all of us getting this information at the same time, Ayla. Kanik and I may know part, but I have a feeling that's not even the half of it."
"No," I admitted. "It's not." I licked at my lips. "Because I've figured out how to defeat them. How to truly defeat them."
"Then say it loudly," Kanik told me. "Say it like a Dragon, Ayla, and make sure none of us can ignore it."
Seventy-SevenAyla
When we left the house, the bodies of the dead Moles were gone. The streets were clear, but I could still see the dark patches where blood had been spilled on the ground. This time, however, there weren't people joining us. It felt like we'd left earlier than most.
So when we got to the stage, Rymar pressed his hand against my back and guided me up. There was a bench built along the back where we both sat to wait while the sun rose slowly over the forest. In small groups and large, clusters of people began to arrive. Some looked tired. Others seemed rested. They all packed in close to the stage.
Then the Mayor arrived. I'd only seen this man from a distance, but when he saw me sitting beside Rymar, he stormed forward. The man's skin was black with an irregular red pattern. It made him look just like a demon. His feet were easily twice the size of mine, and the rest of him was even bigger. I couldn't help myself. I pulled back, intimidated by his size, but Rymar stood and put himself between us.
"Don't be a dick," he warned.
"Why is she up here?" Jerlis asked.
Rymar smiled. "What are the numbers?"
"Seven and twenty," Jerlis grumbled.
"And that's why," Rymar said. "She was right, Jerlis, so we're going to let her tell us everything else we need to know. We're going to make everyone listen to her, because this woman? She's the key to stopping them."
Rymar's head barely reached the Mayor's shoulder, but watching them, it was clear which was one stronger - and it wasn't Jerlis. Maybe Rymar had to look up to see the Mayor's face. Maybe the color of his skin looked happier and more inviting. And yet somehow, Rymar also managed to make it clear he was the one who was really calling the shots.
Jerlis finally nodded and moved to the side, giving me space. Like that, we waited a little longer, until the stream of bodies arriving had slowed to a mere trickle. Then Jerlis stepped forward, toward the edge of the stage. Raising his arms, the man let out a piercing whistle.
The crowd began to still. The voices fell silent. All eyes turned to the Mayor, who looked back at Rymar one last time, and then began speaking.
"Last night, the Moles attacked," he said.
"Like Ayla predicted!" someone called out. My eyes jumped that way to see Drozel with his hand up to his mouth. "She can tell us when they're coming now!"
Jerlis just sighed heavily. "Yes. Because of her information, the leaders of our defense - Drozel and Zasen - were able to get the militia in place before they arrived."
"Because of Zasen!" Drozel yelled. "I didn't want to believe her. She saved my life anyway!"
And that made a swell of voices flow across the crowd. People began turning to see who'd called that out. Others leaned closer to their friends or companions to trade their own opinions. It kept getting louder and louder, as if the talking wasn't about to stop, so Jerlis whistled again.
"Do you want the numbers or not?!" he snapped.
That made everyone go silent again.
Nodding once, like he was proud of himself, Jerlis kept going. "Seven Dragons were killed last night. One body is missing." He lifted his hands, holding off the crowd's response. "Twenty Moles were killed. Many of them had gunshot wounds."
"From Ayla!" This voice was different, and it came from Omden, the green Dragon who had his arm around Drozel.
"She saved Pem's life!" another man yelled, but I didn't recognize him.
"She had us collect their guns!" another yelled.
"Yes, yes," Jerlis said, glancing back as if he had no clue what they were talking about.
Which was when Rymar moved to the Mayor's side. "She did, and she has a reason," he called out.
I was surprised, because while the Mayor's voice was deeper, Rymar's carried better. He pushed it out, forcing people to hear him. It was as if he'd been made for this. As if he was doing something so natural, and the crowd listened.
"Ayla was never a Mole," he told the people of Lorsa. "Yes, she came from the Mole compound, but we've learned so much about them thanks to her. The first and most important thing? Moles are men! The men are the ones who hunt us. The men are the ones who terrorize us. They also do the same to their women."
"No..." someone said just loud enough for it to carry.
"Their women are locked down there. Trapped!" Rymar went on. "They are not free. They do not know what they are being fed. They're abused, raped, and bred over and over until they die! The women are not our enemies! They're just as much victims as we are. They also don't realize they can fight back, because they're told the surface of the world is burning. There's nowhere for them to go, so they have to take it!"
"What the - " a woman barked out, her words cut off mid-sentence as her friend grabbed her arm.
So Rymar turned to me. "That's why Ayla is helping. She's our ally. She was never a Mole, and now she's a Dragon, registered officially." He gestured for me to come to his side. "And she's not even orin anymore."
I pushed to my feet and made my way over, but my insides were twisted. I was supposed to be seen and not heard. I'd been taught to never draw attention to myself. Decades of punishment for being too loud still rang in my brain, but so did something else.
