"But we've had it already. Me. You. The Grand Duke." Bovras snarled back.
Rhys nodded. "And the decision then was to wait."
"And the decision now..." Bovras said. "Is still to wait. Yel's not wrong about their strength, but strength is never the only factor. Half the Hydra sees them as myth. The other half sees them as rebellion made flesh. If we recruit them, we take away a symbol. You think the streets of Portspond will stay quiet if that happens?"
"They're not quiet now."
"No." Bovras said, voice low, almost tired. "But they're not burning. Not yet."
He leaned forward, both elbows planted on the table with the finality of an old soldier who knew how much words could weigh. The veins along his arms stood out like anchored ropes, thick with age and memory. Outside, the wind rolled hard against the stone shutters, a muffled battering of sea air and distant gulls, but inside the room it was all stillness, as if the fortress itself had gone quiet to listen.
