Now, Adrien’s coming toward me, each step careful and slow on the ice, hands out and head tilted in a nonthreatening manner like I’m a rabid dog who needs calming. “Hey, Roland. You okay?”
I skate toward the other side of the square, trailing scarlet droplets. My knuckles look like they’ve been through a meat grinder. But the ring’s unscathed.
I reach the edge of the provisional rink and step into a narrow street. I have no idea where I’m going. I don’t care.
I just need to walk and get my head together. Is that even a possibility anymore?
18
Cadence
Idraw open the heavy velvet curtain protecting the tavern from the bone-cold chill of winter. The restaurant smells like early mornings—dark coffee, bergamot tea, sweet citrus, and browning bread.
The moment the curtain falls back in place, Nolwenn’s there, gasping and wrapping her arms around Gaëlle. “Your face!”
Gaëlle grimaces. “It’s nothing, Nolwenn.”
Nolwenn frowns like she doesn’t believe her daughter-in-law. “You two go sit. I’ll press some oranges. Then we can talk.” She tips her head toward the oval table by the window. A coffeepot, two baskets filled with pastries and toast, and a saucer of home-churned salted butter are laid out beside a stack of plates, gingham napkins, and scratched cutlery.
“Does she know about . . . the hunt?” I whisper to Gaëlle.
Her eyeballs move from left to right, and she raises a finger to her lips. I’m guessing that’s a no.
“Tell me about Slate,” she says, probably to change the subject.
I unzip my jacket and pull off my hat. “Not sure what to tell you. I only just met him.”
“I heard he was in foster care, but does he have friends? Did he come to Brume alone?”
I stuff my hat into the arm of my coat and drape it over the back of one of the chairs. “He’s not exactly the most open person.” Not that I’ve asked him about his life before Brume. I wasn’t feeling particularly friendly because of the whole crypt-desecration episode. “But I’m pretty sure he came alone.”
“So, no friends? No girlfriend?”
“I—” Does Slate have a girlfriend? He’s such a flirt that I don’t think so, but what do I know? He didn’t kiss me on New Year’s. What if it was because he didn’t want to cheat on someone instead of his make-your-own-luck excuse? “He must havesomefriends back home. Why do you ask?”
“Just to get a better sense of the person we’re working with. He seems like such a . . .wildboy.”
“Didn’t Papa tell you about him?”
“Your papa told me not to worry about anything. That he had everything handled. And between Romain, the twins, and the shop, when someone tells me not to concern myself with something, I don’t.” She rubs her cheek again, and I notice there’s still blood on it, but it mustn’t be hers because she has no cuts.
“There’s some blood on your temple.”
She wrinkles her nose and grabs a napkin, spits on it, then scours her skin. “Is it gone?”
I nod but notice a yellowish-green mark has bloomed along her cheekbone. “You’re going to have one heck of a bruise.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. He hit me with the Bloodstone. That thing’s harder than a diamond.”
Can Nolwenn hear us? Probably not over the whir of the juicer.
Gaëlle unloops her yellow scarf. “I still can’t believe we’re actually doing this.”
“You’re telling me? I didn’t even knowthiswas real.”
Her lips press into a repentant smile. “I advised Rainier to tell you years ago.” She pours herself a mug of coffee and fishes apain au chocolatfrom the basket.
“I wish he had.” I take a thick croissant and plop it onto a plate, my stomach making as much noise as the thing in the well.
