Raizel frowned for a moment, her brows knitting as she tried to reason through the English vocabulary.  Yes, they could leave the Aurors for later discussion.  She still did not entirely trust the Near East Ministry not to forget who they were supposed to be arresting, but she trusted Adon and Dreogan.  If involving Aurors made it more likely that her old school friend would stay alive, even without the Eleors mediating, she was willing to take the risk.

The real question was who they could ask in the meanwhile.  Anyone too connected to Eszter was out, which unfortunately meant that Josiane Ruteneshwa was not an option.  Most of the people she knew who could make it in and out of the Topuluk lion's den alive were not anyone that she'd trust to negotiate for Adon's life.  Trustworthiness...ability...in the shadowy underworld, there were limited options.

"Yeh, you can meet them first.  The best might be a Persian mage that I know," she said slowly, frowning in thought.  "His family are part of the magical Majlis in Iran, and he's dealt with Topuluk before for them.  But he does not like the Group at all -- he helped me when I left, and he is the one who found them for me last winter."  She shrugged; it was an afterthought.  "I think Gözde is afraid to try too hard to kill him, even if he crosses them.  But he teaches at a school now, and I do not know how willing he would be to get involved.  I could try to ask."

"Hendurabi," he said at the mention of the family. "You're referring to Atash Hendurabi."

His voice was level and quiet.  But it was not warm.  It was cool, nearly callous.

"Yes," he acknowledged, frowning as he exhaled and re-crossed his legs.  "He is good at finding members of the Group. And it doesn't surprise me that he is no friend of theirs."  His eyes locked on to Raizel's with focused intensity.  "I don't think he would inconvenience himself to do a service for my brother or myself."

The thought that any of this could come down to that man--that Adon's chances were ruined years ago, in a canopied room in Egypt, or a classroom in California--felt chilling.  "You and he may be on good terms.  But he and I are not."

Raizel blinked in surprise, and then frowned at the other mage, her brows knitting. In moments like these, with his hard, callous expression and the unmerciless look in his eyes, Dreogan resembled nothing so much as his younger brother. 

That particular complication, she had not been expecting. The Eleors did not make enemies. That was her realm. But it was quickly becoming clear that despite appearances or expectations, the two brothers had far fewer friends in the world then they should.

"Oh." She regarded Dreogan silently for a moment, trying to read his expression. "So you do not want me to try?" she asked with a wary frown.

"I very much doubt he would acquiesce, but you may try," he said dubiously.  "There was a time, when we were both much younger, that he tracked me down. He wanted something. At the time, I refused--and we have only interacted once, since.  We have had very little interest in each other, from all I can tell.  I think the time when I had anything of interest to him has long since passed."


He exhaled.  They had few enough options as it was to go about nit-picking. Still, in as precarious a situation as this was, it was only with the utmost caution that they should proceed along an uncertain path, potentially triggering a chain of events.  "It could still be worth a try--if what you say is true, that he does dislike the Group so very much--then I doubt he would go play the informant even if it did not work out."  He considered very carefully.   "I would like to think about it.  And if you do make contact, I would like to be directly involved, whether it be in a visit or a letter. It would not be sufficient for him to do this as a favor for you.  He would need to know very much what this was about and who it involved."


"I can also let Rima--my former assistant... now the head of Near East Relations--of it.  I doubt she'd make a personal call to the Group, but she would, potentially, know of something."  Dreogan had kept his information--like so many cards--close to his chest.  While he had been making great progress since his relationship with Akiva, his prophetic visions, by habit, remained a very private matter to only be discussed with those it concerned.  Call it professionalism or pedantry, Dreogan was not inclined to be forthcoming.


Even discussing the matter with the woman before him felt odd.  It was apparent that Adon had told Raizel of the Dream--as was his right and his choice--but Dreogan had not. Never openly. 


"Your friend Atash," he said in a thin voice, "what would you tell him? Surely not about the Dream itself."  Dreogan and Atash had never seen eye to eye, particularly on prophecy.  The thought of Atash knowing this about his fate, and his brother's, he could imagine the ironic, self-satisfied glint in the Persian mage's eyes.

Raizel regarded him silently, her jaw set.  Nothing at all felt soft about this moment -- hard lines, hard edges, the hard look on Dreogan's face that was likely mirrored on her own.  But still her breath caught at this sensation of exposure.  What would she tell him?  Not about the dream, not without Adon's permission.  But there was still plenty else that she could convey.

"I would tell him that a very old friend, whom I care about very much, is in danger," she began in a low voice.  "Maybe that he is your brother or that he is an Auror, but also that he is a good man and a brave one, and that he doesn't deserve to die all alone because no one would help."  She lifted her chin, meeting Dreogan's gaze squarely.  "I'd tell him that maybe Topuluk or maybe just Katsaros might be after him, and that we don't know how to find out more.  And," she finished tightly, "I would ask him to listen to whatever you decided to ask.  That is all."

Her heart was beating quickly, but her throat felt too rough to try and swallow.  Raizel shrugged, looking away, suddenly feeling tired as she rubbed at the stinging in her eyes.  She did not want to look at Dreogan, would have rather looked anywhere in the entire world but at him, but this felt too important to try and avoid.

"In all the years that I've known him," she said quietly, ignoring the tremor that crept into her voice as she raised her eyes to meet his,  "I have never seen Adon so scared.  Not when your father got kidnapped, not when you and your ima left." 

That had been years ago.  Nothing from that time had been easy.  But somehow all of this felt more real, more raw, then that awful betrayal had ever seemed at thirteen years of age, or fifteen or seventeen.  She had been furious on Adon's behalf when his family had left him, but the threat today was far more sinister.  And maybe some of that was because of Adon himself -- how he overreacted, how he treated this like it was the only possible end of every world, and acted like he was being left to face his fate all alone in the middle of a sea of people who could never understand -- but she knew that that was because he was terrified.  Dreogan was terrified too.  Scared that he might lose his brother, or maybe scared that he might die too at his side -- but neither Eleor was going to be allowed to let his fear paralyze him.  Not if she had anything to say about it.

She set her chin, and then gave the other mage a hard, stubborn look.

"He doesn't deserve this," she said fiercely.  "If I thought the Aurors could help, I would go to the Aurors.  I would do anything that would help. And I know that you care too," she added with determination, stopping to swallow hard again to cover how her voice broke.  "And that you are trying very hard to figure out what's best, Dreogan, and that you're just as scared as Adon is, and maybe as I am, too.  So why would we not try to ask just because someone might say no?"

The Cursebreaker stared at him, looking as if she'd just been struck.  Instantly, her expression shut down.  She let out a frustrated, furious growl, swiping angrily at her eyes and rubbing any betraying tears from her cheeks.

"This is stupid!" she snarled, rising up out of her chair.  "You've known about this stupid dream for two years!  What have you ever done that has helped?!"

He had abandoned Adon, and then he had terrified him.  He hadn't made Akiva learn how to protect herself.  And now here he was, months later, talking to Raizel and putting her on the spot like he had never known Topuluk so well as she.  She had gone out on a limb, she had said everything, and then she had even tried, tried to acknowledge that Dreogan had just as much of a right to care and want to help and be scared as she did.  That was more than Adon would ever do without shouting.  But to Dreogan, apparently there was no need to anticipate or even acknowledge anyone else's feelings.

She didn't care if he wanted to be rational.  Nothing about this situation was rational -- the prophetic dream, the death of their father, the grudge that had been carried for so long, how terrified and alone Adon felt.  Dreogan was only resorting to logic now because he was scared, because things had gotten so bad that he couldn't hide from them or ignore them anymore.  If he could go back to pretending that he had never had the stupid dream, she was certain that he would.

But Raizel wouldn't.  And the only reason she wasn't storming out on Dreogan now was because she would still do anything to help.

"I will get him to come listen.  You can figure out how to appeal to him," she told Dreogan tauntingly, angrily.  "If I had only met you twice, Dreogan Eleor, I would think you were a self-serving, stupid man who cares more about hiding things that scare him than helping his little brother!"  Her eyes were stinging, and she was shouting now, furious and angry -- at Dreogan, at herself, at Adon and Atash and anyone who might be even peripherally related to this ridiculous conversation and how awful and exposed she felt.  "So maybe you shouldn't be so quick to judge everyone else!"

Dreogan had suppressed tears once this conversation; he was not so fortunate the second time around.  His eyes stung, his nose stung.  His lip quivered.  It didn't matter if she saw the tears.  It was what she wanted, anyhow.

What had he done... Dreogan slumped in his chair, crumbling in on himself as he buried his face in his hands to cover the sobs that shook his body.  After a time, he looked back up.  Clearing his throat emitted a pained, chocked gasp.  "Not enough."

Exhausted, he looked away, his trembling hands moving slowly to curl around the arms of his chair.

Dreogan had kept the knowledge of what he had then preceived to be a fixed fate, but he had done what he could to prevent, to soften, to prepare.  He saw what it had done, first-hand, several times over, to hear of an impending death.  The moment you knew, you died--stopped living.  You started anticipating your death. Looking for auguries where none lay.  Passing up opportunities you would yet have time to take, and loathing your lack of a chance in life.  You gave up what life you had, and lived for your death.

Dreogan had done what he could for Adon to live his life. He'd taken every opportunity with his job to travel, to keep an eye on Adon--and to keep ties strong.  Then, he'd managed to get Adon permanently repositioned out of Israel and close to his family.  He'd even written to the IDF personally, attempting what was in truth a futile effort to get his annual duties removed.  And when he'd had to--when he needed to offer an explanation to Adon about why he could not venture back to Jerusalem, he'd told Adon. And he'd waited patiently through the accusations and hatred directed at him for things he had never asked for or done.  He'd confronted it directly, searching for Katsaros for several months, and fighting the man twice: once in the midst of a winter festival, and again in the confines of his own body. And most painful of all, Dreogan had risked it all to hope, and had met with the curator of the Hall of Prophecies to see if these immutable dreams were perhaps more malleable than he'd anticipated. He had decided that far from resigning and preparing for Adon's death, he'd fight it.

But Raizel was right: it hadn't helped.  It was very likely, in fact, that all these efforts had been detrimental. On some level, Adon would have been better off if Dreogan had wholly and completely severed relations 15 years ago.  Adon would not have come to his aid that April; the Group would have little interest in him. And Adon would likely have never appeared in the Dream at all.  But Dreogan had refused to give up his brother.  He'd come back, and they'd mended their ways upon his graduation, and now it seemed the one force more resilient than Fate was Adon's devotion to him, which Dreogan strove to someday deserve.  As long as that devotion was there, so, too, was the Dream.

And in that way--in reciprocal, misguided actions of protecting and brotherly love, this was entirely their own fault. He nodded silently at each of the accusations, flung with blind anger and, regardless, hitting with painful accuracy. She was right--but not perhaps in the ways she had intended.

The blow caused him to shiver.  Slowly, gradually, he rose to his full height to look Raizel in the eye.  When he spoke, his voice was ragged and raw.  "I apologize for speaking out of turn about your friend. You are a good woman and a true friend. Any help you can provide is appreciated."  He glanced wistfully at the door, her apparent destination.  "And I know it may not help," he said thinly, "but should it come to it, I am fully prepared to protect my brother with my life." He attempted a wry smile, but his lips trembled. "After all... it's my turn."  He shook his head. "I am just trying to prepare other roads first."

Raizel glared back at him, the line of her jaw set.  She didn't care what he said or care how he reacted -- she was angry, furious at Dreogan for making this so unequivocal, and then furious with him for obscuring the meaning again. But as he hunched over, the hard lines of her expression wavered, and then she looked away.  She wouldn't, couldn't watch as he cried.

If it it had been Adon, they would have kept shouting at each other until one of them had gotten angry or hurt enough to storm away.  This -- Dreogan apologizing, shrinking, retreating, revealing far too much of himself in defeat -- made something inside her ache far more than it should have in victory. Raizel scowled, and then reached for his arm, swiping at her eyes again as she took firm hold of his elbow and gripped it so tightly that it was as if she were afraid to let go.

"You are being stupid," she informed him forcefully, her voice hitching.  "Why would we let you die instead of Adon?  He isn't --"  Her voice broke again, and she cut herself off angrily, shaking her head with frustration as she pressed her mouth shut, forced off whatever emotions were threatening to shake her. 

"He isn't the only one anyone cares about not dying."  The words caught in her throat as she said them, but she didn't care; nor did she care if Dreogan noticed any tears as her eyes met his. She held his gaze, firm and unyielding, and set her jaw stubbornly, so that there would be no mistaking what she meant.  "So stop it.  It is not your turn," she said angrily.  "That isn't what I meant.  Just listen the next time when I try to tell you something, instead of always assuming that you know."

She gave him a hard, angry look, and then released her hold on his arm, huffing as she turned back towards her chair.  She seized the moment to rub at her eyes again, swallowing hard as she resumed her seat, and then finally looked back to Dreogan.

"For the record, I do not think that," she informed him stiffly.  "But if I had only met you when you were acting stupid, then maybe I would." She tossed her hair back over her shoulder, giving a loud sniff, and then finally settled and gave a small, uncomfortable shrug. "I think he will agree to come listen.  I don't know more than that.  I'm not sure if he would be willing to help, or how much he could do, or what price he'd set.  I don't think we'll know until you ask."

Well, apparently stupid was the word of the day.  Dreogan heaved a sigh in order to lift the oppressive weight on his chest, giving a slow, sad shake of his head.

It was touching--that Raizel had reigned in her anger for his benefit--but that didn't make him any more pleased with himself for the past.  He would acknowledge that there was too much at stake to die.  His family--his new wife, and soon-to-be son, his mother, who still relied on him so heavily for emotional companionship. And his brother--who clung to him like a mooring point, however ill-founded that reasoning had been (Dreogan was far from immutable), it was still there.

All these would be thrown into jeopardy.  Despite communal resolve and, in some cases, sheer bullheadedness, the gravity of the fate they were up against made it very unlikely that any future would involve each individual escaping unscathed. 

But Raizel would have her way--at least in this conversation. He held his hands up in a slight signal of surrender as he was commanded to obey and listen. 

"I," he conceeded in a soft voice, "also care very much about not dying." But he would--if it came to it.  Adon had done as much for him, had risked everything once before.  He gave a slight smirk, looking up to Raizel, who was settling back in her seat.  "So we can all agree on those things."  No one wanted to die. He wished it was that easy.

"I will take my chances with Atash Hendurabi," he acknowledged, feeling shaken and sore and tired out.  He ran a hand over his face.  "There may be one or two things that may help. We've sought each other out in the past for one thing or another." They had a way of intruding into each others' lives with an abrupt suddenness.  It may as well be expected.   Dreogan pressed on in a final tone, "This time may be no different." Though he hoped, at the very least, that it was more productive. "We will see when we talk."

Dreogan relented but he hadn't relaxed.  He still looked and sounded just as exhausted and defeated as he had a moment before.  Raizel did not like the way that she felt distinctly uncomfortable, as if she had thought or said or done something that was horribly wrong.  She set her jaw.  Dreogan was obviously inclined to be a realist, a pragmatist, a pessimist.  That made her more determined than ever to find a way to forcibly look on the bright side.

"Yes, we will see," she agreed forcefully.  She gave him a fiercely reassuring look.  "You will see too.  It is not just you and Adon this time."

The sounds of a busy kitchen were beginning to come again from downstairs, and the Cursebreaker was suddenly aware of the warm, wafting aroma of mingling spices that had been steadily getting stronger as they spoke.  She wrinkled her nose.  Akiva had certainly made it clear that there was a standing invitation  to dinner after any of their lessons, but Raizel very rarely took her up on it.  The idea of being stuck sitting awkwardly at a table with the librarian and her husband filled her with more dread than she wanted to admit.  Adon might be possibly a friend -- she might even be willing to admit that within the younger mage's hearing -- but she had never been friendly with Dreogan, and her interactions with Akiva had only come out of necessity.  She had never felt comfortable pretending otherwise, not even in the guise of joining them for a home-cooked meal.

But now, it suddenly felt more important to reaffirm that it was otherwise.  That this mattered beyond mildly being involved or simply lending a convenient hand to a former friend.  This wasn't just about Adon, or about her either -- it was about good people, and maybe pretending that she could feel a part of something bigger.  Raizel took a deep breath, and then visibly steeled herself.

"You know," she began determinedly, "maybe I don't have to leave so quickly after all.  If you have more questions, then we can talk over dinner.  Or we can talk about something else."  She flashed him a tight, forceful smile.  Knowing that your friends weren't going to go anywhere mattered to more than just Adon.  "Yiyeh beseder.  This will all be all right."