He glanced back down at the token. “So, what does this do, then?”
August shrugged, then winced at the pain it clearly caused him. He still looked like a corpse, curled on his side, the black tendrils creeping up his face. Had they retreated a little? They were only halfway up his jawline now. He could’ve sworn that they were nearly to his eyes only hours ago.
Not that he’d been paying attention to August’s face.
Felix turned the object over in his palm. “Mar?”
“Dunno,” she answered, fiddling with a button on her jacket as she eyed the token. “It has an arcane glyph, so it definitely doessomething. I just haven’t a clue what, or how to get it going. Sometimes you need a phrase or something.”
A flicker of frustration. “You knew how to work the finding token.”
“Because Ciaran used the things. Never seen one like this before, though. Maybe it’s some ministry yoke.” She pursed her lips, then said, “Try pressing on the symbol.”
Felix pressed his thumb flat to the engraving, and the token took on a soft orange glow, like molten steel.
A smooth, feminine voice came suddenly, impossibly, from the token.
“Benjamin Clarke,” it said, clearly irritated. “I expect a compelling explanation as to why, despite your assurances, he was not at the specified location.”
Felix frowned. That wasn’t Ashcroft. Who was Benjamin working for? He was debating whether to respond to the voice when August beat him to it.
“Mother?”
The word sent a jolt through Felix, and he nearly dropped the token.
Solach.
August’s heart was in his throat as he dragged himself to sitting.
“Augustus?”
Felix fumbled with the token. “How do I turn it off?”
Marlow threw out her hands. “I don’t know!”
August stared at the glowing caern. His mother could hear him. He could tell her where they were, and she’d send someone to take him home.
No. He didn’t want to speak to her. He didn’t want to go back to the castle. He shoved away that ingrained impulse, the need to reach for family, for something familiar and solid. She wasn’t his family anymore. She probably wanted nothing to do with him.
But when his mother spoke again, the cold detachment he’d come to know was gone, replaced by a warm, genuine concern.
“I thought you were dead. Where are you? Are you coming home?”
Something in August cracked.
She was worried about him. His mother wasworried. Even now, even knowing what he was.
Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she could accept him, despite everything. He could be this and still be loved. She knew. She knew everything. And she wasworriedabout him.
In that moment, he ached for everything—the castle, his room, his life—with a fierceness that stole his breath.
“I’m already here!” August blurted. Marlow lurched forward and tackled him backward. “I’m in Fallowm—”
She clamped a hand over his mouth, cutting off the rest.
But it was too late.
“Where, Augustus? I’ll send—” The connection cut off mid-sentence.
