Water dripped somewhere through the silence. We all stared at the book.
“Spirits be damned, Marietta!” Gabriel grabbed the journal, magic crackling in his grip. He stormed from the room and up the stairs. A loud whack echoed above as he threw it.
Lucian’s eyes met mine. “Goodbye, Marietta.”
“Lucian, wait.”
But he had already opened the door. He slammed it behind him.
I sank into my chair and looked at the papers on the floor.
Gabriel walked back in and clanged a pot on the high table. Then a spoon, then a jar. He threw ingredients in as I stared at his back.
He stirred, his elbow making a small, tight circuit. “We are going to Ironhook tonight.” His voice was completely calm, as if nothing had occurred, as if the spoon wasn’t scraping the sides and battering the metal.
“Why?”Hook your guts, rust your bones, and iron your soul—Ironhook was one of the worst areas in the East End—in all of Gildon.
“Thorne Worley ‘sparkled’ there. Seen in three places. Trying to hide in the wastes. We are going to find him.”
All mages were wary of the wastes—magicless spaces drained of brightness and hope.
“What about Lucian?”
His shoulders tensed. “What about him?”
“Aren’t you going to do anything?”
“Yes, I’m going to find Thorne Worley.”
“No! Aren’t you going to do anything about Lucian?”
“That’s none of your concern.”
“You made it my concern when you argued in front of me. When you told me tosit.”
He continued stirring.
“You hurt Lucian.”
“Marietta.” Warning laced his tone.
I argued with Ferris all the time, but Ferris had never beencloseto Kennen or to me. If I’d argued withKennen, and seen an expression like Lucian’s...
“But—”
“No!” The spoon struck the bottom of the pot. His shoulders bowed forward. “You don’t understand. Please leave it.”
My mouth parted. He had never said please to me before.
“Very well,” I answered softly.
I moved to his side, picked up an onion and began peeling the skin. His shoulders relaxed a fraction and I said nothing more.
~*~
The tavern was dim and filled with unsavory types. The Carowell area taverns, though raucous and bawdy, had none of the overt sense of menace that Ironhook wore with pride. The patrons’ hard eyes and disappearing hands made me grip the pistol in my pocket.
Shooting was something even thenoncould become good at. I hadn’t needed estate magic to practice.
