Colin’s young. Somewhere in his early twenties. Handsome too, if you’re into things like men. “We won’t go anywhere, Colin. I need her to do something for me.”
His eyes narrow. “What?”
“Temple business. Nothing against the rules,” I lie.
He squints, trying to work out whether I’m having him on.
“Now. Do me a favor and take a walk. Come back in fifteen minutes, yeah? And take this with you.” I shove the liquor into his gigantic paw. “I’ve seen where you sleep, and I know how badly you need it.”
He looks at the bottle, at Lydia, and back at the clock before glaring at me again. “Fifteen minutes,” he says.
“Thank you, Colin.”
“Don’t go nowhere!” He looks between us, posture rigid.
“I give you my word as high priestess.” I lift one hand. “We won’t move from this spot. And if you don’t tell anyone about this, I’ll bring you another one of those tomorrow. Deal?”
Standing off to the side, Lydia studies us adamantly, her aura buzzing.
“All right,” he says after a moment of consideration. “Got yourself a deal.” He unstoppers the bottle, taking a long swig before rambling off toward the Waymark. Hums a lively, out-of-tune song the whole way.
Once he’s out of earshot, I grab Lydia’s wrist. Haul her out of the shed and around the corner.
“Aren’t you a sight.” I pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her.
“Mm-hmm.” She hugs me back.
“But you’re a natural human. Right, Lydia?”
She nods vigorously and motions at her sealed mouth. “Mmm.”
I separate us and squeeze her arms. “I know. I wish I had scissors, but they keep everything sharper than a blunt paper knife away from everyone, priestesses included. Unless we’re doing a Mediation. Even if Icouldfree your mouth, I couldn’t sew you back up again. Not with so little time. This isn’t ideal, but”—I whip out the pen and paper—“it’s better than nothing.”
“Mmm!” Her eyes go wide. She snatches them like a starving woman clawing for sustenance.
We sit on the ground, tucked behind Kael and Autry’s quaint cottage. The mountain’s chipped sandstone wall digs into our backs, and the compost shed blocks us from view.
My old acquaintance wastes no time, scribbling so quickly her head bobs with the effort. Holds it up for me to read:
You still have memories?
“Yes,” I whisper even though we’re alone. Lower my voice further and lean in: “The ritual didn’t work on me. Only two other people know. Looks like it didn’t work on you either, did it?”
Lydia makes a noise. Scribbles rapidly:
she didn’t bother. Sent here to die. Made me watch the others.
“Goddess.” I flinch.
The screams of other women—theirshrieksthrough poison-damp cloths while our life-force was syphoned away—
The ordeal of it is rarely far from my mind. The memories seldom give me peace at night. To force Lydia towatchwithout the escape of oblivion afterward is cruel. Even by Deirdre’s standards.
“Corporal punishment,” I say at last. “You really pissed off the wrong person, didn’t you?” Someone in such a high place,thiswas his way of making an example of her.
Besides being a changeling, it’s the only other reason a woman would end up here. It hardly ever happens.
She flashes me a look that says,Tell me something new. Starts scrawling away again. Underlines several words. When I peek over, most of them are scribbled so hurriedly they’re difficult to parse.
