Lips tightened, holding back further frustration at the Voice's cruelty, but Jigano nodded slowly in understanding as Sam revealed that blood couldn't replace fluid for him. Damn. Having it confirmed still hurt, and he tried again to find an alternative, only to have the option of Rexanna fizzle away as another dead end.
Not that he couldn't approach her himself, perhaps. "As a Queen, part of her duty is to protect her subjects," he said softly. "Even those not in her god's favor." Though politically it might be convenient for those concerned about the Voice - and Wessex - and her sly maneuverings behind the scenes. A consideration for another time and place, when his heart was not so full of pain for his friend's dilemma.
Jigano had been one of the first to learn of the monsters' status as failed experiments, but he had read it in an old tome, and recognized that such second (or third) hand knowledge might be out of date or incomplete. "I wonder if the reason they didn't 'work out' was because they refused to worship and obey her," he tried to explain his reasoning. "It sounds like she values the illusion of free will and choice... but not the practice of it."
He sighed, shooting an annoyed glare at the birds which were edging closer, hoping for another handout now that they'd had one. He'd hoped to coax them onto their shoulders, take Sam for a walk across the waves... but the mood didn't align for that now. Turning his attention back to the bookmaker he shook his head. "A year... is still a long time. Time we can use to try and find other options. If nothing else..." He hesitated, then drew in a slow breath as an idea floated to the surface of this thoughts, dangerous - desperately dangerous. "I know a way to reach the Draig Cordillera. Maybe... maybe there's something there that could help us. The monks I met guarding its entrance said that souls that were lost there didn't pass on to Mort. If anything happens to us... well. It might be enough to sever your soul from the Voice, too." A final act of defiance, if the goddess wouldn't release her hold on the bookmaker even after laying the foundation for his wasting death.
Not that he couldn't approach her himself, perhaps. "As a Queen, part of her duty is to protect her subjects," he said softly. "Even those not in her god's favor." Though politically it might be convenient for those concerned about the Voice - and Wessex - and her sly maneuverings behind the scenes. A consideration for another time and place, when his heart was not so full of pain for his friend's dilemma.
Jigano had been one of the first to learn of the monsters' status as failed experiments, but he had read it in an old tome, and recognized that such second (or third) hand knowledge might be out of date or incomplete. "I wonder if the reason they didn't 'work out' was because they refused to worship and obey her," he tried to explain his reasoning. "It sounds like she values the illusion of free will and choice... but not the practice of it."
He sighed, shooting an annoyed glare at the birds which were edging closer, hoping for another handout now that they'd had one. He'd hoped to coax them onto their shoulders, take Sam for a walk across the waves... but the mood didn't align for that now. Turning his attention back to the bookmaker he shook his head. "A year... is still a long time. Time we can use to try and find other options. If nothing else..." He hesitated, then drew in a slow breath as an idea floated to the surface of this thoughts, dangerous - desperately dangerous. "I know a way to reach the Draig Cordillera. Maybe... maybe there's something there that could help us. The monks I met guarding its entrance said that souls that were lost there didn't pass on to Mort. If anything happens to us... well. It might be enough to sever your soul from the Voice, too." A final act of defiance, if the goddess wouldn't release her hold on the bookmaker even after laying the foundation for his wasting death.
