But since Flor had sent word ahead of Magda’s return and intent, arrangements had been made, somehow. She was only glad she hadn’t needed to beg the elders to put them up. If they’d refused, she would’ve had to stay in the district, a much more dangerous proposition, as the thin rules that protected her from overt attack within the family’s residences didn’t apply in the city.
From the windows all around, she could feel the skim weight of gazes following her. Curtains fell when she lifted her eyes to pick out a face from the dim recesses. Others remained right where they were, staring back. Some stepped out to inspect her openly, making no attempt to hide. Guards lined the rooftops, leaning over the edge to look down on her and her retinue.
Damion and Honey caught up with her.
Behind them, the elders lingered, conferring or merely tracking her movement, as though they thought she might attempt to break for another residence.
“Good to be back, huh?” Damion said under his breath. “What next?”
“A reception this evening,” she replied, slowing her pace as they approached the garden gate behind Southterrace House. “Find out where Lavana is and if she’ll be attending.”
“My pleasure.” Damion veered off before they stepped through the leaf-covered entrance. Beyond, a pool burbled with clear green water. Past that stretched a series of wide terraces, dotted with broad stone planters, padded chairs, and candle-lit tables.
Magda glanced over at Hero, but he seemed to be snoozing.
“Honey,” she said. “Flor explained to you—”
Honey gazed at her placidly with those haunted eyes. “Yes. She explained everything. I will do as instructed, of course.”
She stopped in the middle of the bridge spanning the pool. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Her tongue flitted over her bare gum. The urge to say something, apologize, pushed against the back of her lips, but this was neither the time nor the place. Instead, she turned and started towards the house again.
“It’s all right, you know?” Honey said softly from behind her. “I knew it would never last.”
Before Magda could respond, Honey drifted by, up the steps to the house where Flor, Kaelan, and Toryn had already entered.
As the nymph disappeared through the open glass doors, Hero leapt down and hurried back to Magda, racing up her leg and onto her shoulder.
“Hello,” Magda said. “I wasn’t sure you were coming back to me.”
“I was having trouble making sense of what I was experiencing with the nymph. I did not wish to return to you until I had a better idea.”
“And?” She leaned upon the stone railing of the bridge, peering down into the glassy green water.
“And there are voices speaking to her.”
“You can hear them?”
“Yes. But there is something odd about them.”
Flor appeared in the doorway, hands on her hips, toe tapping, scowling out at Magda.
“What?” she murmured to Hero.
“At first they seem to be different voices. But I believe that they are, in fact, the same voice.”
“What makes you think that?” she asked.
“When Honey speaks to Caden as opposed to Rahul’s dead wife, a difference should be distinguishable. Certainly one is deeper than the other, but as I have listened, I am now certain that the voices are actually one voice pitching itself higher and lower—in imitation.”
“So what does that mean?” She crouched as if she needed to check the buckles of her boots. “She’s not actually talking to the dead?”
“Someone is talking to her,” he said, “but I cannot tell you if they are dead or not.”
“Magdalena!” Flor called. “What are you doing?”
