Looking down at the swirling fibers of the wooden table, I recounted the moment that had violently ripped me away from my life. The moment that had landed me here, a woman wanted by two Princepes. “I wandered out toward the Domus to trap animals. The lands by my village were growing sparse, so I needed new grounds. This terrible scent settled around me, I hid, and then she stumbled into the clearing. I was going to leave.” Ishouldhave left. “I walked over to her, realized she was bleeding and that her blood was black, and then she grabbed me with a strength that no one has. Her voice…it was deep and raw and old.” Goosebumps pricked the skin of my neck at the memory. “I looked at her eyes, and then I saw light. It was almost like I was floating, and there were these shapes like tree roots, but a lot of them. It got painful for a moment, and then she was gone.”
My story was met with silent thought. Callen pushed away from the chair he leaned on and began to pace, staring at a wall of books as if it held the answers.
Harthon’s deep bass broke the quiet. “Can you give any more details about those tree roots?”
“They were just long tree roots. That’s it. And I only saw them for a few seconds.”
Callen halted, his face scrunched in thought. “Could you draw them for us?”
They didn’t get it. The shapes gave away nothing. But they would only understand and stop pestering me if I showed them that, so I shrugged.
Ana stood and went to a desk that sat against the bookshelves, every movement one of dignified grace. She was taller than me, a perfect balance of curves and muscles. She returned with a paper, quill, and ink pot.
Holding the quill awkwardly in my fingers, I dunked it clumsilyinto the ink. Whenever Merelda had made me write, it was usually in the dirt with my finger. Practicing on paper with ink would have been a waste, considering how expensive the materials were. I’d used a quill and ink a few times at Marsik’s insistence, but that was all. I certainly hadn’t practiced the technique enough to do this gracefully.
I brought the tip to the paper, a drop of excess ink plopping onto the surface. Thinking back to those shapes, I prepared to draw the muddled lines.
The quill didn’t move.
I tried again to move my hand, but it was as if it’d been severed from my body.
A throat cleared.
“What is it?” Harthon softly probed.
I wracked my brain again, fingers squeezing the quill. Nothing. Frustration bloomed as I bit my lip. “I can’t,” I uttered. I dropped the quill and then quickly picked it up again, only to have my muscles lock before ink could meet paper.
Ana leaned her elbows on the table. “What’s stopping you?”
“I…I don’t know. It’s like my body won’t let me draw.”
“That’s a crock of shit,” North accused.
I glared at him. “No, it isn’t.”
North turned to Harthon. “She’s lying, obviously. She doesn’t want to help.”
The false accusation in that self-righteous tone struck a nerve. “I’m not lying,” I snapped. “I don’t support your cause, but I do want to help, because helping will end this nightmare as fast as possible.”
“She isn’t lying,” Harthon confirmed, voice calm as he studied my eyes. “Themagviswas sworn not to reveal the path to anyone. It’s likely that oath transferred to Etarla along with the knowledge.”
I set the quill down, rubbing my cramping hand. “If the route eventually does come to me, how am I going to show it to you?”
“You won’t be showing us. You’ll be coming with us and leading the way.”
That was the absolute last thing I wanted to do.
Before I could protest, Callen spoke. “Looks like you’ll be paying Josenne a visit after all.”
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“A very mean old hag who gives everyone the creeps.”
Unamused by that, Harthon clarified, “She’s an old woman who knows things that many of us don’t. If any human knows how to unlock the route from your mind, it’s her.”
“Is she here?”
“She’s in Fifth. The Princeps there, Ellan, is an ally, but I haven’t yet decided if we’ll be sneaking in or greeting him first.”
