He looks back up, expecting to see me. Except he’s not looking at me anymore. Because I’m not there.
He spins in frantic little circles, trying to catch me. It’s cute, and he reminds me of an adorable kitten, but I can’t hang around. As muchas I hate to admit it, the little Willshire can handle himself. Especially with my crystals.
I head back into the shadows where I belong. This isn’t my time yet. That’s what my master said. I have so many questions and he feeds me only morsels. Morsels that will only benefit him, surely.
I stalk back to where I left my meat-sack to find the spot empty.
Perfect.
I unstrap my dull knife, running a thumb lovingly across its edge. My grin stretches.
Time to hunt.
34
Thou Shalt Not Speak of What You Cannot See
Arwen
Iwake to hushed voices, angry and close. My lashes stay low, but I risk a sliver of sight. The three figures who attacked me in the forest are standing in the same room. Their backs are to me. It looks like a woman and two men.
My wrists chafe against something rough. I look down to see my hands are bound. My ankles also burn as the ropes bite deep, and there’s a gag strapped across my mouth. My heart races, and everything in me wants to scream, but I force myself still. Observe. Being frantic won’t help me right now. Universe, what have I gotten myself into?
I’m not at the Academy. I can tell from the drab surroundings. Coffee cups litter the floor, takeout boxes stacked. The air is heavy, musty with mold and old food. Everything looks dirty, like no one has lived here for very long. I’m lying on a thin mattress, the springs digging into my spine.
Two other mattresses are laying in the room, blankets tossed on them like careless afterthoughts. Maps cover the walls, pinned with scraps of paper, lines drawn in messy ink. Whoever these people are, it looks like they’re camping here, hiding out. But why?
The woman, who looks and sounds like she’s in charge, stands with her hands planted on her hips. She’s tall and broad, with frizzy brown hair exploding in all directions. “No, Jack. We’re not going to do that.” Her voice is firm, final.
Her words snap at the shorter man beside her- balding, middle-aged, his gut pressing against his belt. Jack, apparently. He mutters something I can’t hear, shifting from foot to foot like a restless child.
But it’s the third one that my eyes freeze on. He doesn’t speak, just nods at the woman. He’s older than them both, judging by his greying hair. Scars cover his face, cutting through a greying beard, eyes so cold they seem carved from stone. I have learned to be cautious around battle-scarred survivors. The ones who have seen, and survived, too many battles.
He looks dangerous.
And then those eyes turn. Right to meet mine. Too fast for me to squeeze mine shut.
“She’s awake,” he says, his voice like gravel.
I thrash, but my ropes hold. The woman steps closer, eyes scanning my face like she’s looking for something. She smells of smoke and cheap perfume, which makes my skin itch. But she walks with the confidence of a person in power.
“Tsk, tsk,” she says, amusement cold as iron. “Don’t hurt yourself. You’ll only make it worse.” She drops beside me on the mattress, the fabric whispering against my arm. “We’re going to have a little chat. But before we remove your gag, I want your promise that you’ll behave. Nod if you understand.”
Her voice leaves no room for argument. Not that I could if I tried. I nod. What choice do I have? It doesn’t look like screaming would help my situation much, anyway.
She pulls the gag away, and I cough. My throat is desert-dry, every swallow scraping like sand. “How long have I been out?” I rasp.
“Not long,” she says, eyes assessing. “An hour, maybe two.”
“Why didn’t you take me back to the Academy?” I ask, confusion odd and sharp under the adrenaline.
She laughs, a rich sound that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, little sinless? To be cozy behind your safe wards?” She sneers the last word. For a heartbeat I feel grateful- I’d rather not wake up back where I started- but then the word sinless registers. She knows what I am.
“Which councilor do you work for?” I snap. Better to try for practical answers than beg.
“Councilor?” She laughs again, louder, and it curdles in the room. “I serve no councilor, girl,” she spits. Like she’s disgusted she even had to clarify. “May the universe take those power-hungry bigots to hell.” Her voice is dangerous in a way that I can’t place—more venom than madness. The threat of speaking such treason doesn’t scare her one bit.
“So you’re not taking me into exile?” I ask. She shakes her head, and I try to piece together what they might want with me.
