14. Rodan

14

Rodan

N ath sent word they had located the sorceress the next morning. A runner, a girl of perhaps thirteen or fourteen, jogged in place to help keep her body temperature up in the courtyard. They had already offered to let her inside, get her a cup of tea or cocoa, but she had refused. "He's eagerly awaiting a response," she said, her grey eyes shining like coins.

Rodan glanced again at the short message, scrawled on a torn sheet of paper.

We found her, but she will not come to you.

That Nath was not here to deliver it himself spoke volumes. As did the jumpy anticipation in the runners mannerisms. "It does not tell me where to go," he said, drawing more of his captain's attention. The man insisted on following Rodan almost everywhere, as though he were personally responsible for Icarus getting to him.

He knew if Victor had stood between him and his father, the High Fae would have showed no mercy, and would have cut the man down with magic or blade. It would have been an easy thing. He was glad his old friend had not been there that night.

"Sire—" Victor started.

The girl cut in, "I can take you there. I'm supposed to." She peered around Rodan. "But isn't there another one? A lady?"

Another one. "She is on her way." He had already sent a message toward Maeve. Now he pushed another through their link. I do not like this.

She replied swiftly, and he could sense she was nearly there. We don't have much of a choice. Especially if they're holding Pike and Nath.

"I can't take more than you and her," the runner said now, drawing a growl of protest from Victor. "I was told that if you tried, I was to give you the slip." Her words were matter-of-fact.

Rodan tilted his head, studying the girl. She was examining her nails, looking unconcerned to be so scrutinized by one of the most powerful creatures on the planet. She had a mop of curly blonde hair with dark roots, gathered in a messy pile atop her head. Freckles scattered across her upturned nose, which sniffed constantly from the cold, red at the tip.

"Is it Josalyn you owe your allegiance to?" he asked, his voice without much inflection, trying to keep the question non-threatening.

The girl stopped what she was doing and stared at him with wide, too-innocent eyes. She was definitely hiding something. "Who's Josalyn?"

He sensed Maeve before he saw her, and the tendrils of magic she brushed toward the runner, who backed up a step when his bondmate came into view. "You know very well who Josalyn is," Maeve said, flanked by Troy and Lizette. "You're one of her vassals. I know enough to know that."

The runner looked as though she wanted to do just that, take off out of the courtyard.

"Your name is Neva," Maeve continued, and her voice brooked no argument. "And you will take my bondmate and I to your mistress. We will come alone."

"My lady—" Victor started.

"My Queen," Lizette interjected. "Is that wise?"

Maeve turned and looked at the guardswoman. "Nothing which has happened to me could have been prevented by either of you," she said quiet enough that only those closest could hear. "And you have not rested since my return. Do so now."

Lizette opened her mouth as though to argue, and Maeve narrowed her eyes. She may as well have said it. Am I Queen, or aren't I?

"Victor, I have a task for you," she continued, softening her voice. "Will you step aside with me for a moment?"

Rodan had no idea what she was going to do, but he trusted her, and there was something between those two which had yet to be resolved. He could sense the tension in the air and in his captain as he walked stiffly over to where Maeve motioned him near the stables. The noise of the horses and their low voices made it impossible for even Rodan to overhear what they said to one another, but Victor's expression went from stony to smiling. Before they parted Maeve touched his arm.

"What was that?" Rodan asked when she was back at his side.

"I'll tell you later," she said. "But you'll like it."

He liked that his captain seemed pleased, and he said so. She smiled at him, and his heart swelled. How could it be, that she was here? With him? That she had said yes not just once but hundreds of times to his touch?

"Neva," Maeve said, turning to the young runner. "Take us to your mistress." She cast a quelling look at Lizette when it seemed the guardswoman would object.

Instead of doing so, she stood stiff and straight, putting a fist across her chest in salute. "Please be safe, my Queen."

Rodan made weapons for himself and for Maeve, arming her with a thought. She was just so suddenly bristling with a half-dozen blades. She patted her hips where the daggers hit and shot him a grateful look. They hid well under her long winter coat, but she could easily access them with a quick move.

And they had their magic.

Yet, Rodan knew, they were going up against an unknown quantity. Sorcerers and their kin had strange relationships with the Realms. Some seemed to steep themselves in it and revel in the powers he himself had helped seed the planet with. But others? They twisted it. Warped and circumvented the order he found most natural. Sebastian had been one such sorcerer, using the power of pain and death to create curses and traps.

Troy spoke in a whisper between them as the girl Neva turned to lead the way out of the castle courtyard. "I could follow at a discreet distance."

"Don't," Rodan said at once, and Maeve also shook her head. "They have Pike, and Nath. We do not know if we would see them alive again if we did not listen to her in this."

"Don't worry, my friend," Maeve whispered back. "We have to meet this head-on."

They had spoken to the core group about her promised boon, and what it might mean. The guards suggested a similar approach to what they had convinced Pike out of: to kill Josalyn and be rid of her. But Maeve insisted, she would prefer to work with someone they knew something of, at least. She had said, "Killing her won't stop that I have to provide a boon."

Rodan's gut twisted to think what might be asked of her. She could be forced to give over the crown they had fought the trials for. She could be told to kill, indiscriminately, and Rodan knew she would not survive that. Not and remain mentally intact.

And what a sorcerer could want with a Fae was near-limitless. Rodan could eliminate her, her heirs, but a boon found a way to be spoken, once claimed. Maeve was right, Josalyn was known. They would have to attempt working with her.

Snow crunched beneath their boots as they trailed Neva. The girl kept about fifteen feet in front of them, occasionally having to slow her quick steps to ensure they still followed.

The castle at Realmsgate was situated at the base of the great Mount Draguvian, which soared to a peek of over thirty thousand feet. Rodan had been up there a few times, and felt as though he were able to scrape the very dome of the sky from so high. His retainers had not made the full ascent, their ability to breathe cut down significantly well before reaching the top. Even he had to stay for only a short time until he climbed back down, his lungs burning.

The whole of Realmsgate was hilly and mountainous, with crystal clear lakes and what used to be vast forests stretching in all directions beyond the main city. Sebastian had not gotten to the trees that coated the steeper slopes of the mountains, but everywhere else he had slashed and burned the land. The full reason for which Rodan had yet to understand, but it hurt his heart to see his home so destroyed.

It will grow again, he thought. Maeve will make sure of it, as will I.

Homes and business were crowded close to the castle walls, some structures even built up against it. The moment their little trio passed through the gates, their feet hit cobbled streets that had been swept free of the snow.

It was the first that Rodan had been out since his return from Tartarus, and he could not help but look around with blatant curiosity and a sinking stomach.

The elemental had caused an intense amount of damage. But beyond the new wreckage and sign of a violent storm, there was the rot of a city long in decline. Things he had not noticed in the dark of night after the duel, when he had been injured and sick with worry over Maeve.

Broken windows, shingles coated with more moss than wood, sagging under the weight of the snow, and derelict gardens greeted his view.

Maeve had spoken true, and he had heard in reports, that the most pressing issues of the city and its citizens had been attended to. Because she could create goods now just as he did, she had been able to gift them with stores of food and medicine, to heal those with the gravest injuries and illnesses, and to start the process of rebuilding.

For all Sebastian had taken down the forests of the island, he had burned the vast majority of what he had cut, leaving the people with little material with which to shore up their homes and businesses. No one understood the meaning, and how he would burn the timber from Attica as well, but Rodan knew. Sekou had said the words himself. To cause as much pain as possible.

Rodan and Maeve were led through narrow alleyways, one after the next, with roofs sloping to let in slanted bands of light above them, laundry hanging between windows, even in these frigid temperatures. Some of the clothes looked solid.

They turned many times, and the ways they walked were more the side streets of the city instead of the main throughways. They saw few people, and those they did stared back at them. If Rodan met their eyes, they would duck their heads, but he could detect no fear. No. There was more an open question.

It was almost as though they were asking, what are we to bear next?

It was midway through one of these narrow passages that the waif stopped and knocked on a plain wooden door.

The rooms they were ushered into were surprisingly light and airy. The furnishings were tasteful and elegant, and everyone they encountered as Neva led them deeper into the house was unfailingly polite. Not a one of them looked long at Maeve or Rodan, and a shiver of unease went down his spine. He looked for sign of Nath or Pike and found none.

Maeve laced her fingers through his, and he squeezed her hand, speaking through the bond. Do you feel her yet?

His love tilted her head and he saw her eyes widen a fraction. Yes.

Rodan kept his gaze ahead, but his nostrils flared as he scented the air. Old blood and death.

That, and powerful magic.

The sensation increased like a pressure on his chest the further on they went, and when the girl Neva moved to a guarded set of double doors, he stopped in his tracks, as did Maeve.

The girls eyes seemed even more like cold metal as she looked them over. "You two don't seem like much of a threat."

Maeve smiled, and Rodan would have hated to be on the receiving end of it. It made him think of her father. "Perhaps you're right. Perhaps not."

Neva stepped back, then glanced at the guards, who both looked at her. "Is she ready?"

One of them nodded, and the other pushed the door open, swinging it inward.

Maeve saw what was inside first, and began to rush forward, but Rodan reacted on instinct, pulling her back. "With me, love," he murmured. "Together."

She swallowed hard, gaze intent on what was within, but when he walked so did she, and she did not fight his pace.

Nath was against the inner right wall, two armed grunts flanking him with their hands on their weapons. His head had a bleeding wound, and he looked furious, his face red.

And Pike was strapped to a chair, one that had him prone like those seen in surgeons offices, straps of leather holding him down from forehead to ankle. He was unconscious, Rodan noted after scanning for the telltale rise and fall of his chest.

The sorceress stood above his head, a thin blade in her grip as she watched Maeve and Rodan approach. Once they were well within the massive room she held up her free hand. "That's far enough."

They were a good ten feet from the sorceresses staging area, the room long and wide. The doors shut behind them, a lock sliding into place with a solid click.

Maeve pulled out of his grip, and he knew she would no longer be restrained. "Are you Josalyn?" she asked, her tone cold and demanding.

"I am," the woman said, lifting her chin defiantly. "I had wondered when you would track me down. Have you gotten your memory back yet, of when we met?"

Maeve shook her head. "No."

"Ah. Let me correct that." The sorceress was fast, tossing the slender knife casually to one side before reaching into her pocket and withdrawing a small blue stone. "Here." She threw it underhanded to Maeve, who caught it on instinct.

The bond was open, and Rodan could sense the moment the memory was returned and could feel Maeve's immediate sorrow and fury. "Release Pike," she snarled. "He has nothing?—"

"He has everything to do with this," Josalyn interrupted. "He brought you to me to begin with, and he insists—" she cut herself off then snarled at Maeve. "He was mine. Mine!"

She recoiled. "He's a person, not a possession."

Josalyn laughed, throaty and sharp. "I forget how young you are. How foolish."

Maeve bristled, and Rodan could sense her control beginning to slip.

He had the feeling that was exactly what the sorceress wanted, and warned Maeve of such through the bond. She's baiting you.

Maeve visibly relaxed, and the energy she had been spindling started to dissipate. Folding her arms across her chest, she stared down Josalyn. "I'm here to settle the debt between us."

"And what made you think you could dictate the terms of when I extract the boon?" she asked, her voice a purr so low and soft it was hard to imagine a moment ago she was nearly yelling. She clicked her tongue. "I think you need to learn a lesson."

Maeve spoke as the woman plucked the slender knife back from the table of instruments. "What exactly are you planning to do?"

Josalyn shook her head, looking amused. "Did you know Pike and I used to be lovers?" Her tone was conversational as she spun the weapon lazily. "Do you know much at all about your dear friend?" She snapped her fingers, and Pike opened his single eye with a startled gasp. "I could tell you a trove of secrets about this man."

Rodan's hands were in fists so tight he started to feel the bite of his nails. "You're planning to torture him in front of us."

He did not make it a question. He did not need to.

Josalyn's gaze flicked to his, and he saw a hesitation there he wanted to pry open, given how much Maeve owed her. "You don't want to make an enemy of her," he said gently. "Or of me."

The sorceress scoffed. "I am, by my very nature, something that would make me an enemy of you both. Do not condescend to me."

Maeve's voice was deathly cold, and Rodan could see the slight flicker of the blue flame between her fingertips as she spoke, drawing the focus of everyone in the room. Even Pike, lying there restrained, rolled his gaze toward her.

Something she is starting to do more and more often , Rodan thought. Draw our attention. Pull us in.

He did not mind, but he had to be sure next time they trained she was made aware of it.

"If you hurt him, now or in the future," Maeve said. "I will ensure you never rest. And when I get my hands on you, I will erase you from existence."

Josalyn stared, utterly still, then then barked, "Get out." There was a breath of silence as she turned her head to the guards near to Nath and before the closed doors. "All of you, out. I will speak with the Fae alone."

"Mistress—" one of them argued.

She shot them a withering look, and the guard stood at attention, bowed, then left the room with the others.

Nath sagged against the wall, and Rodan went to him, knowing Maeve had this. "My friend, I should not have sent you," he said, steadying the man with a hand on his broad shoulder.

When the young man smiled his teeth were stained pink with blood. "I'm not that fragile, sire," he whispered, though he hissed as he moved, cradling his side.

Rodan made some of the potion, pricking his finger to activate it before passing it to his guard. In some ways, Nath had become his, just as Lizette was fully Maeve's. It was a good feeling, to have more people to share everyday with.

Nath's swollen cheekbone healed in front of his eyes, and he sighed in relief, standing straighter and turning his attention to the two women.

Maeve and Josalyn were staring each other down, and Rodan could sense a buildup of energy in the room. It was like when two strange gold bears faced off against one another. Rodan had seen the displays a few times, where they would circle each other, roaring and snarling, for minutes or up to an hour. Most of the time one left, surrendering silently to the other without bloodshed.

But sometimes, the claws and teeth came out, and things did not end until one lay motionless.

"You owe me a boon," Josalyn said. "And now I have your friend. What will you give me for him?"

"Nothing. You're going to give him back as an act of good faith," Maeve said. "And we're going to negotiate a small boon ahead of time, because if there is something I know it's this: a singular wish is not enough. The moment the boon is complete, I am no longer beholden to you. More importantly," she said, raising her voice as the sorceress began to speak. "Rodan is under no such obligation to you or your heirs."

The threat was obvious.

The woman waved a hand, and the leather straps holding Pike in place came loose, falling to the floor with a clatter. He leapt from the table, unsteady for a flash before he was between Josalyn and Maeve, teeth bared as he expelled a string of expletives at the sorceress that would have made a room of sailors stand up and cheer.

"Oh, enough," Josalyn snapped, beginning to raise a hand again.

"Don't you dare," Maeve said, gripping Pike's shoulder to hold him back. "Pike, go to the others."

There was only a slight hesitation before the scrapper did just that.

"You have him so well trained," Josalyn mocked, and Pike's gait stiffened, his hands reaching for daggers that were no longer there. "Have you ever tasted him?"

Maeve's cheeks flamed red. "No! He's like a father to me."

Pike startled, and Rodan caught when the words landed. Tears glimmered silver before he cleared his throat and looked away, as though the tapestry hanging behind the three of them were of a sudden immense interest.

The sorceress rolled her eyes. "How sentimental." She cast a glare at Pike. "No wonder he stopped reporting on you."

"Why did you want to learn about me to begin with?"

"Why wouldn't I?" she countered, pacing away from the strapped chair, which was folding up again to appear like a strange sort of wingback. On the desk at the furthest edge of the room near the fireplace was a jeweled box, and from that Josalyn extracted more of the pungent Elves' Folly, loading the dark green herb into a jeweled pipe before lighting it. "A strange and powerful force comes to my planet? I wanted to know everything."

Rodan's eyes watered a bit at the aroma, and Nath coughed, swaying. Lifting a hand, Rodan moved in a blink to the other side of the room and opened one of the wide windows, the smoke escaping through it. He saw a courtyard below, bustling with teenagers and children, playing games and reading, practicing sleight of hand and close-quarters combat. He wrenched his gaze away, glancing at the sorceress.

She was scowling at him. "I did not realize you could travel in such a manner."

Rodan reappeared the next moment before Nath and Pike, steadying the younger man when he started to tip over. "That drug is affecting Nath. I had to air out the chamber."

Dark eyes narrowed and Josalyn blew a plume of smoke directly at them. Rodan changed it into snow to drift to the wide wood plank floors. He did the same to what was in her pipe.

The sorceress gave a squawk of protest. "This is premium stuff, damn you!"

"Enough," Maeve said, her voice gentle but firm. "You are outmatched, Josalyn Price. Start your negotiations. What is it you want from me?"

"I haven't decided which is more important," the sorceress retorted. "Revenge? Protection for myself and my people? Knowledge and power from the gods themselves?" She paced, hands sliding into the front pockets of the apron she wore over tattered robes of Garnaism. "I have also wondered if I should pass it on to my heirs, to let those the future belongs to make this decision. I am old."

Josalyn looked to Rodan. "I remember when your rule was young. When people still speculated how long a Fae lived. You had not aged, after all, and it had been almost a hundred years."

He pulled in a breath.

If what this woman says is true, he spoke through the bond to Maeve. She is near a thousand years herself.

"Do you know how we extend our lifespan, we sorcerers?" Josalyn asked, tone mild. "Do you know how many have died for me to be standing here today?" She stopped in her pacing and stared at Maeve. "But I wonder how many more will die by your hand. You killed Brook, who would have harmed no one, ever, and always helped. She was a good friend."

Maeve's color was high.

"You killed her by Sebastian's behest, yes, but have you not committed similar acts since then? And what you did to Sekou at the duel," she clicked her tongue. "It is one of the reasons I will treat with you, Maeve Almeida, and negotiate the boon ahead of time. I do not wish to be erased."

The blue fire which Maeve had been holding between her fingers flickered out. "I am sorry for Brook," she said. "There is nothing I can do to bring her back, but I could ask after her."

"Gods-child," Josalyn murmured. "I hear you are flesh of Lutem, one who has supremacy over the dead. Would he have one such as her?"

"Yes," she said, keeping the response simple.

"Then, yes, I would like to know how well she rests," Josalyn said, her tone reflective. "I would like to know much about the world of the gods, but I have the feeling that is beyond even my reach." She tilted her head, dark, silver-streaked hair falling over her shoulder. "That is your good faith offer, I see, to tell me about my friend, just as I have released yours."

Maeve nodded, and motioned to the space before her, crafting a cushioned chair in black and gold, vines flowing along the stitching in metallic thread. She sat, crossing her legs, and said, "Let us begin our talks."

Josalyn moved toward her and Maeve created another chair of the same quality, but in the colors like those the sorceress herself wore, the pattern of the embroidery more geometric. The woman gave an appreciative grunt and settled onto the cushions. She mimicked Maeve's pose, folding her hands, the pipe discarded back on the desk.

Rodan spoke through the bond, I want to get these two home.

Maeve gave a nod. I'll be fine for the moment. Please come straight back.

Rodan grasped the little paths of the Realms and, grabbing hold of Nath and Pike's arm, transported them all to the castle. The conference chamber, sparsely populated with a handful of the guard, resolved around them.

"No time to explain," Rodan said as Victor rushed toward them. He gently deposited Nath in a chair, the younger man still lolling from his exposure to the Elves' Folly. "I have to be back with Maeve."

Victor still opened his mouth as though to say something, to demand, but Rodan stepped away from them all, and the next moment he had returned to the sorceress' chambers.

Josalyn stared him down when he reappeared, this time within a few feet of where Maeve sat. "If I had known you could do that, I would not have bothered with holding your men."

"It changes things?" he asked.

"Immensely. How far can you go?"

Rodan bared his teeth in a smile. "Anywhere."

The woman nodded and looked unsure for the first time since he had met her. She tilted her head at Maeve. "I thought to ask for the Nyx."

There was no response, and that end of the bond was drawn down tight, keeping her thoughts and emotions her own.

The sorceress continued, "And I thought to be done with both of you, by having you kill your lover. I don't think you would survive it. He survived your death, but I don't think the opposite would be true."

Now Rodan's own control began to slip, and he readied his abilities.

"But you would have immense power in death. I know that now. I would not make an enemy of you, Maeve Almeida, even though all I could ever want is achievable through you. Perhaps I could say your boon is to serve me for a human lifespan, to be like the djinn of old who granted wishes on command." She smiled at that, revealing straight but stained teeth. "The thought has its appeal."

Rodan's mouth went dry.

But Maeve only laughed. "Do you mean to frighten me?" She leaned forward. "You don't know anything about where I come from, or what I've had to endure. Tell me what you want and be done with it. I tire of this game."

Standing behind her, Rodan put his hand on the back of Maeve's chair in a show of support, staring down the sorceress who was still glancing between them. He could almost see the mechanisms in her cunning mind turning. "I want guaranteed immunity from him," she pointed a thin finger at Rodan. "I can see he wants to kill me."

"Do I need to ask again?" Maeve asked, voice weary. "Start at the beginning. What do you want?"

Josalyn's long nails clacked together, impatient-seeming despite her being the one who was delaying the proceedings. "I want justice, for me and mine. I don't know whether that means by eliminating the threat you two pose to our safety, or if I ask for territory, an army, a world? What would be enough? I know not, even though the question has been dogging me for decades now."

Maeve's shoulders relaxed. "How many people do you have?"

"Purely? Over three hundred. But they have kin. There would have to be guarantees."

"And what injustice has been done to all of you? Where have we failed?"

Rodan swallowed, because he knew this was not about Maeve and her brand-new rule. This was about the failings of his own empire before this. The one that had started so idealistic and well-loved, and had become rotten to the core.

The workings of Icarus, it had turned out. He had arrived in Rodan's court about four hundred years into his kingship, and started making adjustments. Using the curse Titania had placed upon him as a gift, instead.

No one remembered Icarus. Not once he was out of sight. He operated in shadows, provided knowledge where none should have let slip, and arranged events and appointments. Sowed division. Created fear. Bred an environment and a people where someone like Sebastian could come to power. Not only come to power but gain the support of thousands throughout the empire.

It was both Rodan's greatest failing and his most intense relief, understanding at last why things had become the way they had. All those at the core, his imperial guard and closest of advisors? Those had remained loyal, to a large degree, but Icarus' influence had run deep, and almost all the way to the top. He had even been the one to instruct Sebastian on the best spellwork to fell a Fae.

But Icarus had not fully envisioned what Maeve would be capable of.

Rodan's head swam with all that had come to pass, and all which he had learned. Even now, pieces of the puzzle were only just starting to lock into place. Sebastian had not pulled Maeve through on accident. Icarus had a hand in that, as well.

Why, he had yet to glean. But he assumed it had something to do with her godhead.

Josalyn was talking. "—with no families, with no one to care for them. Those who would be exploited into selling themselves into labor, into being kidnapped by Sekou's men. I teach them skills that will keep food in their bellies and a roof over their heads. We have amassed enough that we have this, and other havens throughout the city. But there are more."

"How did a dark sorceress become some kind of shepherd to the under-represented?" Maeve asked, fingers drumming on the arm of her chair. "Why do you care?"

Josalyn smiled, and the expression contained some measure of pain and sadness. "They tell me of the type of people who long for death. Those who would not be missed." She lifted her head, tone sobering. "I have to find some way to sustain this life. A sacrifice is necessary."

Maeve was quiet for several heartbeats. "How many?" she asked at last.

"It depends on the quality of the death. When I took Brook from you, that sustained me for close to two years but, generally speaking? One every six months."

"That's why Pike broke with you," she said after a beat of silence. "Not because of me. He cannot abide senseless killing."

Josalyn's peel of laughter was genuine and made Rodan's stomach sink. "You do not know him at all," she said, wiping at her eyes. Her fingers were covered in rings. They clacked and glimmered in the sunlight as she moved.

Maeve leaned forward, her head tilted. "I could do worse than erase you, you know. That's certainly an avenue we could take, but I could also make you forget, completely. I could make you mine, just as you threatened to make me yours. Only I would never let you remember yourself, or anything except how loyal and devoted you are to me."

Josalyn was already pale, but she looked snow white as she spoke next. "This is why I said what I am would make me your enemy, regardless. I did not lie, did I?"

"No, I don't suppose you did." Maeve sighed, and looked to Rodan, then back at the sorceress. "I have some conditions, and then I will give you what you're asking for. The safety you desire. I can find you a world of your own, or carve out a portion of the Realms. There are fertile islands off the Fifth Realm near Selga that might serve, and they are to my knowledge without occupant."

"You would allow me to stay on your world, knowing what I need do to preserve myself?"

Maeve swallowed. "There are some conditions, as I said. The first would be that any of your volunteers would have to be screened by Rodan, me, or one of my appointees, if you decide to remain here."

Josalyn tilted her head. "You surprise me."

"There are many reasons someone may choose to end their life. You may have a long waiting list, depending on your methods."

"They are painless, I assure you," Josalyn said. "And I already have a list."

Maeve laughed, and summoned wine, taking a full goblet and motioning for the sorceress to do the same. "I think we have much to discuss."