Wade looked at him askance. “Is it an offering if it’s just sitting here?”
“You’ve been spending too much time with Sage. Yes, it’s still food given by the fae. Do you want to be stuck here for decades because you ate a fruit when you shouldn’t have?”
“Like they could keep me.”
“You didn’t want to be kept before by Tezcatlipoca, and he still managed it,” Patrick reminded Wade as gently as he could. “Medb is a goddess the same way Tezcatlipoca was a god. Don’t eat the food, Wade.”
Wade sighed loudly, but he stepped away from the table, which was all Patrick cared about. They’d been immediately imprisoned after being presented to Medb, who hadn’t done much more than look at them before ordering them locked up.
Patrick closed his eyes again, too tired to do much more than shift his position on the chair that was the only piece of furniture in the room aside from the table. It was hard as a rock, but large enough that Patrick could sit with his legs slung over one of the arms while he leaned his aching head against the backrest.
The binding the bracelets had wrapped around him felt as if it was draining him of his magic when he knew that wasn’t the case. It wasn’t like when his magic was being eaten by a soultaker. This was more like it was shoved in a box, out of reach, while his strength was sucked dry.
Patrick wastired, and forced exhaustion was an insidious type of jail he’d break out of if he could. He scratched at the skin around the onyx and silver bracelets. The metal was warm—not enough to burn him, but enough for him to always know they were there. As if he needed a reminder when he couldn’t reach his magic.
“Hey.” A finger poked his cheek. “You awake?”
Patrick raised a hand and clumsily batted at Wade. “Yeah. I’m awake.”
“You were snoring.”
“I was not.”
“Yes, you were.”
Patrick rubbed at his face, dragging his eyes open with effort. “What do you want?”
Wade peered down at him and blinked a couple of times. “I think I hear Jono.”
A jolt of adrenaline shot through Patrick’s veins, giving him enough energy to sit up and swing his legs around. “What?”
Wade tipped his head to the side, nose wrinkling as he concentrated. “Pretty sure it’s him. He’s the only one I know who usesfucking wankerlike it’s going out of style when he’s really angry and telling someone off.”
Patrick stared at him. “You can hear him through magic and however many stone floors there are between us?”
“Yes?”
“Remind me to never have sex with Jono when you’re crashing at our home.”
Wade made a face. “Gross.”
Patrick still didn’t know if Wade’s abhorrence of intimacy was due to having experienced it negatively while enslaved by Tezcatlipoca, but he wasn’t going to ever force Wade to talk about it. He only hoped the teen talked about it with his therapist.
“I can’t hear a fucking thing. I thought they warded the room for silence?”
Wade shrugged. “Probably? Doesn’t work on me.”
If Patrick’s brain didn’t feel as if it had molasses running through his thoughts, he would’ve remembered that. “Shit. Okay. Can you tell if anyone is standing guard outside?”
“In the stairwell? No.”
“Think you can open the door?”
Wade rolled his eyes. “Probably? You want me to break it down? I’d offer to pick the lock, but no way in hell am I kissing a door like that other guy with the tentacle mouth to get us out of here.”
Patrick pinched his nose, trying to get his brain to work better. “You pick locks?”
“Pickpocket, remember? Locks are easy.”
