Cato remains silent, but his jaw flexes as though mashing back words.
“It’s not like I could revive her if she’s stuck between obsidian walls . . .” I prod, hoping he’ll toss me a crumb.
He scoops up his fallen fruit, then gusts his air-magic over the pith-marbled flesh to remove any bits of dust.
“Cato, I’m not your enemy.”
“No.” He studies his orange with such intensity that his eyes cross. “You’re my queen.”
“Don’t queens deserve the honesty of their people?”
“Not indoctrinated ones,” he mutters beneath his breath.
“Indoctrinated?” I sputter. “Here I thought you were different. Here I thought you had more brains than ears, but apparently, you’re just like the rest of your kind!”
The air around me crackles, I assume with my fury, but then I catch flames skipping over a jumble of charred logs and suck in a breath, because there’s no hearth in my fermented grape hut, only sconces, which means—
“I’ve been waiting for you to tap back into my eyes, Fallon . . .” Bronwen’s voice propels my heart against my ribs. “I’ve something for you.”
Paper rustles and then a sheet of vellum appears between Bronwen’s dainty, scarred fingers. Midnight-blue whorls decorate the cream.
“I’ve tried to recall my long-ago lessons with Meriam.”
I hold my breath, afraid that blowing it out may blow away the soothsayer in turn. I’m probably turning blue in the face, but that can only work in my favor. After all, it’s preferable Cato notices my heightened complexion before my pallid eyes.
Bronwen moves her pointer finger over the first sigil, following the trail of ink as though she can see it. I imagine she’s feeling the subtle grooves left behind by the tip of her pen.
“This one can block out sound.”
My heart jolts. Although Justus has traced it many times, he’s done so on a dark backdrop, which made it difficult to discern. Against the light background, it stands out in stark relief.
“And this one, Fallon.” She taps the paper, indicating a glyph shaped like a ‘V’ that sits atop an inverted ‘T’. “If you forget all others, memorize this one, for this one will—”
A gust of icy air slaps me in the face, flinging my head sideways, and then my thundered name drills my eardrums.
No, no, no. Come back!
When Cato’s haggard face appears beneath my cage, his hands clutching the bars, shaking it, I toss myself face-first onto my mattress and will myself to tumble back into Bronwen’s mind, but try as I might, I cannot slip away from my body. Perhaps it’s because Cato is still shrieking my name and shaking me like a rattle.
Willwhat,Bronwen?I growl when my flimsy bed doesn’t vanish, then whip my head to the side and growl at Cato to stop.
He jumps at my harsh tone, snapping his mouth shut and releasing my cage. “And you expect me to share sensitive information with you?” Cato pants as though it took everything in him to whisk me out of my vision.
I don’t bother answering. Instead, I replay the precious revelation I was just given, visualizing both shapes until their lines and curves etch themselves into my skull. I roll onto my side—the one not facing Cato—and trace the patterns on my pancake of a mattress.
I’ve considered using the moss-filled pad as a drawing board, but I cannot exactly leave blood stains on the fabric. “Could I get some food?”
Cato is quiet. “I’m not allowed . . .”
“Fine. Starve me. Be like the rest of them.”
He sucks in a breath as though I’d asked him to traverse the Southern Sea on a worm-eaten raft. I’ve probably hurt his feelings.
Well, damn him.
Damn the lot of my jailers.
Damn this cage, and these obsidian walls, and—
