“Here.”
I twist my head and find an orange segment hovering in front of my face. “I want a proper meal heaped with every type of cheese imaginable.”
“I’m afraid we’re poor on variety down here, but I can try to raid the Rossi larder.”
I take that to mean that the larder isn’t below ground. Which leads me to wonder how Cato is able to visit it? “Isn’t it ill-advised to leave sigils painted on walls?”
“I’m sorry. What?”
I gesture toward the entryway of my cell. “I suppose you need magical doors in case Justus doesn’t return, but . . .” I let my voice peter out, hoping he’ll answer my circumspect question about exits.
“I know you think the worst of us, but we didn’t bury ourselves alive, Fallon.”
“So you have a door? A real door?”
His eyes round as he realizes his faux pas. “No.”
I don’t even require salt to know that he lies. If there’s a door, Lore will find it. But for him to find it, he needs to be searching for me here, in the west. If only Bronwen couldseemy location. My heart thuds so hard that my blood swooshes and prickles.
“Stop tormenting the poor man, moya.” Dante’s voice jams my spine.
Slowly, I turn my head, find him leaning against the entryway of my obsidian chamber, arms crossed. I almost miss the strip of brown leather fitted with an eyepatch that’s the same shade as his skin. I wonder if his eye is deadened or healing. Does it matter?
Soon, he’ll be headless.
My concave belly doesn’t even flinch at the thought of sawing through skin.
Dante pushes off the wall and ambles toward me. “Especially since he’s here because of you.”
I cock up an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate.
“Justus brought him down here because he knew you and Cato were close. Who knew the general had a considerate bone in his body?”
“Yeah. Who knew? To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
He scrutinizes my soiled pink slip before his blue eye scrolls back toward my face. “Time for our lesson, moya.”
My heartbeats strengthen and strengthen, until my pulse is the only thing I can hear. Adrenaline floods me and I sit up.
It’s time, but not for any lesson; it’s time to rip that crown from his head and carry it to Lore.
Twenty-Eight
As my cage is unlocked, I picture Lore.
Lore, who I will see this day.
Although I’ve not had more than three segments of orange in—Cato only knows how many days—my body strums as though I’ve ingested a jug of coffee and a full meal. As my cage door grinds open, I stand and reach out for the wall. Hand over hand, I balance on one bar, then the next, until I reach the gaping doorway.
My cage had openings, yet it feels like I’m being released from an airtight box. The vine ladder materializes, and I turn to climb down.
“Huh.”
I freeze as the low sound punctures the silence. When I hear the swish of metal against leather, I glance over my shoulder to find Dante freeing a dagger from his scabbard.
As he runs an indolent finger against the inlaid black stone, he says, “So eager for our lesson, Serpent-charmer.”
“So eager to get out of this cage.” But I hesitate on the ladder, heart clocking my ribs as I look from the gleaming blade to Dante’s slitted eye.
