“And Dixon. Did he know you kept in contact with Rowena, or if so, how you did?” Mara reached into her pocket and grasped the compact she kept there.
“I don’t know.”
“And how did you all communicate with her?” The Oathtaker’s fingers traced the engraved filigree design on the compact. The cool of the silver warmed to her touch.
“I can’t really say.” Therese fidgeted.
“Can you tell me who is in charge of your group of friends?”
“Ahhh . . . I can’t really say.” She looked carefully at Mara. She cocked her head. “Why do you ask?”
Everything Therese had told her so far fit with the facts as Mara believed them to be—based on her dream. Some small gamble might pay off big rewards.
“Tell you what, Therese, you tell me the name of the person in charge of your group, and I’ll tell you how you all kept in contact with Rowena.”
She sat up straighter. “I don’t know.” She started to her feet, then sank back down in response to Mara’s hand held out in an unspoken demand that she remain seated.
“It’s simple really. If you can answer my question, I’ll know if I can trust the rest of your story. If you can be trusted, then I agree to tell you my story.”
Therese looked deeply into the Oathtaker’s eyes as though trying to assess her character. “I guess it’s only right then that I should turn your own question back on you: Who are you?”
“Answer my question correctly and you’ll find out.” Mara grinned. “And Therese—you won’t be disappointed.”
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