Mirabelle considered the question.
This time, she didn't answer immediately. She needed a moment to gather herself.
And, more importantly, to stop herself from saying something profoundly disrespectful.
Because a very small — very rational — part of her understood exactly why her grandmother was asking this. Unfortunately, the much larger part was absolutely furious.
She drew a slow breath.
When she let it out again, a hint of irritation slipped into the exhale despite her best efforts.
Her mother shot her a warning look.Mirabelle ignored it.
"So," she began evenly, "you want to know whether I would choose to let my villagers die... or my mates."
She folded her hands in her lap. Mirroring her grandmother.
"First of all, I reject the premise."
Her grandmother's eyebrow rose almost imperceptibly.
"I don't believe my mates would die.
