My teeth clench. I almost tell him I have no need of one of his admirers’ help and that I know exactly where my father is, thank you very much, when a thought strikes me. “Shaw, have you…does Denver have a wife?”
He eyes me warily. “No. Why do you ask?”
I shake my head, not wanting to arouse his suspicions further. “Just curious whether you’d ever had any sort of mother figure. You never talk about one.”
Shaw’s brow smooths as he accepts my curiosity as standard issue. “I never met my mother. My father told me she died in childbirth, but I’ve no way of really knowing. And it’s always just been Denver and me. There have been plenty of women who’ve tried to gain his affections, but he’s never shown any interest. Max says it’s because he’s too focused on Nadjaa, but I don’t know.”
Disappointment blooms in my chest like thick vines. I’ve been so caught up in Shaw and the discovery of my father, I haven’t allowed my mind to open to the possibility that my mother might very well be in Nadjaa, too. But now, the idea is swallowed as quickly as it formed. If my father didn’t arrive with my mother, what happened to her? Did he leave her as he left Easton and I, alone and defenseless on the Boundary?
I open my mouth to demand answers when the oldest woman I’ve ever seen approaches us. Her dark skin is thin and crumpled like a discarded piece of parchment. Gray spiral curls pour down over her shoulders and hang to her waist, dry and frazzled and glinting in the moonlight. Her eyes stare past us, milky white and unseeing.
“Anrai Shaw,” the old woman proclaims, the timbre of her voice odd and rhythmic, like the notes of the music that plays all around us.
I glance at Shaw, startled, both at the fact that the woman knows him without the use of her eyes and at the fact that she knows his full name. I haven’t heard anyone call him by it, with the exception of Calloway, and was beginning to think it wasn’t something he shared with anyone but me.
“Aggie,” he says with the most warmth I’ve heard him use to anyone, “we were just talking about you.” He takes the woman’s weathered hands in his. They are gnarled and twisted in comparison with Shaw’s smooth, slender fingers and I can’t help but stare awkwardly at the affectionate gesture.
Aggie smiles, revealing empty gums and moves her hands to Shaw’s face. “Anrai Shaw,” she gasps again, her raspy voice rising and falling like a warbled songbird, “I’m glad to see the fire has not yet consumed you. I would be terribly upset if it did before I got another visit.”
I glance around, wondering what fire Aggie refers to, but Shaw doesn’t seem to share my confusion. He grins almost shyly at the old woman, and she moves her swollen hands to his mouth, running her fingers over his lips perfunctorily.
“You know I’ll always come visit, consumed or not, Aggie,” he replies with a light laugh.
The old woman cackles happily, removing her hands from Shaw’s face and turning to face me as if she knows exactly where I stand. “And you, little bird? Will you come visit after you find what you need, or will you cage yourself forever?”
I gape at her, looking to Shaw for a clue as to how to respond to the strange question, but his face is unreadably pleasant. Damn him. Of course, he’d pick now to take on a manner of polite passivity.
I open my mouth once and then close it again, feeling slightly off balance. Aggie laughs, more of a rasp than anything else and turns to Shaw conspiratorially. “Her wings are not so little, if she will protect them from being clipped,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Aggie,” Shaw says. He doesn’t sound unsettled at all. “This is Mirren.”
My eyes widen. We never discussed whether I’d be hiding my true name along with my place of origin tonight, but with the reverence Shaw gives names, it seemed a safe conclusion. Aggie must have done something to earn his complete trust, to possess not only the knowledge of Shaw’s true name, but now mine as well.
“Mirren, Mirren, little bird, little bird,” she replies, the odd melody of her voice rising and falling.
It’s the same thing Shivhai called me before he pinned me to the ground. “It’s nice to meet you, Aggie,” I manage, uncertain whether or not it truly is.
“It is nice,” she declares, the skin around her eyes crinkling even more as she smiles. “I have not had the pleasure of meeting an adventuring Similian in years. Mostly sedentary creatures, you lot.”
My mouth drops in horror. A blind old woman has guessed my secret after being in my presence for a matter of minutes. I glance at the merriment of the celebration. How many more people have I given myself away to tonight? How many more potential threats have I just made for myself? How many more obstacles to saving Easton and my father?
“Relax, Lemming,” the old arrogance returns to Shaw’s voice. “Aggie just knows things. It’s why I wanted you to meet her.”
I lift an eyebrow, realizing belatedly that Aggie is the friend Shaw wanted me to meet; the one he thinks may know what happened to my parents. I conjured up many images of what Shaw’s mysterious friend would look like and none of them were as old and fragile as Aggie.
She tilts her head and though I know she can no longer see, I feel examined. “You have questions for me.” She isn’t asking.
I manage a nod, before remembering she can’t see me, but she doesn’t seem to need an answer as she shoos Shaw. “I think Mirren would like some of that cherry wine, Anrai Shaw. Evenyouknow it’s bad form not to offer your guest a drink.”
Shaw nods placatingly. “Yes ma’am,” he replies. With a reassuring glance in my direction, he turns and heads toward Max and Cal. I watch his retreating form, dark and tall, and desperately wish to follow him.
Aggie settles into one of the many scattered chairs, a plethora of bangles at her wrists clanking merrily together. Her withered body is wrapped in rich fabrics of aubergine, embroidered at the edges with swirls of gold. I know admittedly little about Nadjaan fashion, but I can tell hers denote respect. Curiosity wars with my sense of wariness. “How…how do you know the things you do?”
Aggie tilts her head. “The same way you healed Anrai Shaw.”
“How do you—I mean, I didn’t…the water healed Shaw. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Well then, I have nothing to do with the things I know.”
