“Do not speak the sigils! Chalk them up on the slab which my soldier holds.”
The sound of chalk dragging over slate makes the fine hairs on my arms stand on end. If only she could pitch the rocky canvas at Dante’s head. I pry my lids wide to try and peer through the velvet, but it’s fully opaque.
Between the steady drone of her chalk and the steady drip of my blood, my lids turn sluggish and begin to lower. When I open my eyes next, I’m back in my cage, and my wrist aches.
Lore, I whimper through our silent bond.Find me.
But more hours slip by, and he doesn’t find me.
If only he’d listened to me about Eponine. I grow angry at him even though none of this is his fault. My anger lessens when Cato stalks into the cellar, two guards trailing behind him.
I think he’s come to fetch me for Dante’s lesson until I catch sight of pale-pink silk fluttering off his sleeve. The fabric is so transparent that the white of his starched uniform shines right through.
“Dante has requested your presence at his supper table, Fallon.” Cato’s gray gaze skims the fabric draped over his sleeve.
“Hard pass.”
Cato’s fellow guard, along with the sprites sitting in various areas of the spiraling wine racks, gape, because no one turns down a direct order from the king.
Cato sighs. “Fallon—”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You haven’t eaten since you were sick, and it’s been two days.”
Two days.Here I thought time only flew when one was having fun . . . “Feed me intravenously.”
“Please, Fallon. Please think of more than your appetite.”
I realize he means:think of me, think of Antoni.
“Fucking fine,” I mutter, peeling my spine off my mattress to sit.
At least I’ll get to stretch my legs and get out of this harrowing gown that smells like stale vomit. Perhaps I’ll even get to play with a fork and a knife. I picture planting both inside Dante’s long neck. When my stomach fails to heave, I realize that I’d be plenty capable of such an atrocity.
Cato drops his gaze to the pastel cloth draped over his arm. “Antoni has been summoned to this supper, too.”
“As a guest?”
“I—I don’t know.” His Adam’s apple rolls as he holds out the pink thing on his arm. “You’re to wear this”—a nerve jumps beside his eye—“gown.”
“I’ll take pants and a shirt, thank you.”
Cato’s throat moves again with a jagged swallow and an even sharperplease.
A sprite lurches off his perch. “I’ll go report the Beast-charmer’s conduct immediately.”
“Did I command you to relay anything to our king?” Cato barks, stopping the tiny Faerie midflight. “You answer to me, Dill. Don’t forget it.”
“Actually, he answers to me. And so do you, Brambilla.” Justus presses away from the doorjamb he scrutinizes with much intensity. “Float the dress up to Fallon and depart.” The second they’re gone, he says, “You ready kill Dante, Fallon?”
Nineteen
Even though Justus’s tone is hushed, purelings have such exceptional hearing that I shoot my gaze to the tunnel entrance.
“Sigil there. I check.” Justus steps nearer to my cage. “But speak Shabbin like me.”
I’m again startled by the realization that I didn’t automatically pick up on the reason for his odd diction.
