Ah shit. This is just like back when school had just started and Xali found out there are tests in this place. People apparently expect you to pay real serious attention to boring things and the concerns of lesser peoples. And now she was supposed to remember what happened to Marzipan or whatever?Elzabeth’s eyes narrow at Xali’s words. You have no doubt at all that she got the insinuation. Rysha, the furry one, continues to look bored. She has a travel slate – a wooden frame with wax lining used to record words not worth committing to expensive paper – tucked under one arm and she has occasionally been making marks on it, as if counting something. When Xali speaks, she makes an additional mark. Xaipho, the scaly one, furrows her spiky, be-horned brow. Then she takes a snack off the tray and eats it.
“Well,” Elzabeth says. “Well, well, well. Cousin Ella has been a naughty girl, hasn’t she? Rysh, make a note of that.”
Rysha makes a note of that.
“If we’re being un-subtle,” she says, giving the word some extra bite, “let me ask you a question first. Then we’ll trade. It’s only fair, since you seem to know so much about us already.” She puts her tiny, tiny hands on her hips. “Where’s Mazragul?”
Wait. No hang on. Wasn't this the dragon that got turned into cheese-holes and then made a zombie? Or something? Pretty sure it was like that. Now, phrasing something like that to Elzabeth requires a gentle touch. Empathy and condolences. Make it clear that it was Fleshbinder's lot who were really responsible. In short, this is what calls for a master diplomat.
"Oh he dead," Xali says.