“Let’s not count our screws till they’re tightened.”
“You’re right.”
“Where to?” Samson asked, daring to look around himself.
“This way . . .” Jo started them down another hall, then quickly turned, ducking into a room that switched back, connecting to a stair.
“How do you know this?” Samson whispered.
“The elves were proud enough of their castle to include a book on its history in their library for guests. Even if I couldn’t read it, I could look at the pictures.” Jo paused only long enough to shoot him a grin.
Samson flashed her a broad smile, one that looked filled with relief and triumph. “I wondered why you picked up something entirely in Elvish.”
“I think . . . it’s one of these,” Jo whispered as they finally came out on a landing high up in what she presumed to be the North Tower.
“Which one?” Samson asked.
“I don’t—” Jo stopped in her tracks. She stood a little straighter, feeling a small amount of tension evaporate from her shoulders.
There, on one of the doors, in elegant script was the name “Eslar.” It was not a perfect copy, but it was too perfectly reminiscent of another door to be pure chance. For a man who gave the impression of hating everything the Society had been, he had found an odd way to honor it.
Jo knew Samson saw it too by the look on his face. His eyes grew wide and glassy. His arms were limp at his sides.
“Well, go on . . .” Jo nudged him. He didn’t move at first, but when he finally did, it was to look over at Jo with something akin to terror on his face.
“Will you wait here?” he asked, suddenly frantic.
“Yes, I will.” Jo stepped down onto a lower stair, sitting low and close to the wall where she hoped she’d be out of sight.
Samson hovered alone in the hallway until his chest puffed and his back straightened. He balled his hands into fists and marched over to the door, muscles in his forearms tensing as he raised a hand. Then, with the lightest of touches, he gently rapped on the door.
A sliver of light appeared like a spotlight on Samson, and the door opened.
Chapter 15
The Person I Love
Even with her eyes rooted firmly in front of her, Jo had no problem envisioning that initial exchange. Their breaths, their words, the slight shuffle of their feet—Jo could see it as if it were projected on the wall before her. It was Eslar who spoke first, as anyone would have expected. He muttered Samson’s name in what sounded like surprise. The only response to reach Jo’s ears was silence, a brutal heaviness that stretched long enough that Jo felt her own pulse speeding up, anxiety on Samson’s behalf becoming not only palpable but almost suffocating.
“How did— What are you doing here, Samson?” Eslar spoke again, and Jo winced at the way the warmth leaking into his earlier surprise had vanished, replaced by a demanding cold. Samson must have heard it too, judging by his shaky inhale.
“I needed to see you,” he said. There was a tremor beneath his words, but no stutter, a strength built upon the foundation of a newfound determination. Jo wished she could see it unfold instead of just listening in. “I need to speak with you in private. Can I come in?”
A beat of silence, then another; Jo’s eyes staring straight ahead, unblinking, as if that might help her hear the words left unsaid. With the sound of the door shifting on its hinges, Jo exhaled a quiet breath of relief. A few seconds later, Eslar’s door shut with an echoing click.
Jo crept forward, inching toward the door. She felt like a creep, but Samson had asked her to stay, so the least she could do was continue offering her silent and secret moral support. Not to mention, she wanted to be ready if Eslar decided he was going to turn on Samson, because Jo certainly wouldn’t let that slide.
Inching up to the door, Jo prayed that Eslar felt safe enough this high up in the castle not to put any sort of wards on his room that would alert him to her presence. Pressing her ear to the door, by the crack on the floor, Jo could hear their conversation clearly.
“I told you I needed time to think this over,” she could hear Eslar saying.
“We don’t have time,” Samson sighed. “We know of the dangers and we have a plan to go up against Pan, but . . . But without your help and the help of High Luana, we have nothing. And that means Pan wins.”
“Would that be such a bad thing?”
Jo’s eyes shot open, her jaw falling slack. Surely he didn’t mean—
“For all intents, Pan has already won,” Eslar continued, though his words did nothing to loosen the twist in Jo’s gut. “But even so, the last year has been . . . You can’t expect me to risk a second chance like this, can you?”
