Zendaya
“The Green One is here.” Enzo doesn’t stammer as he announces his presence, but he speaks slowly, spacing out each word.
Agrippina whirls, her silver frock rippling around calves thinned by disuse. Though I don’t remember her from before, I assume, from the stories Justus told of her desire to succeed him, that she must’ve been whittled like the rest of his soldiers.
My Serpents’ scrutiny is so thorough that I can almost hear their eyes squeaking as they press and roll over one another’s bodies.
Agrippina is the one to fracture the quiet. “You can call me the Blue One if it mends your ego.”
“I d-don’t—” He wedges his lips tight.
Agrippina tilts her head. “You don’t…?” After a full minute, she repeats her question.
His eyebrows dip.She can’t hear me.
She can’t?Out loud, I say, “Try to talk to Enzo, Agrippina.”
When her own eyebrows writhe, I deduce that they cannot penetrate each other’s minds.
“The Crows can only communicate with each other when in their beast forms. Perhaps it’s the same for us?” I suggest.
Agrippina walks up to where Enzo stands like a beanpole beside my closed door. She holds out her hand then speaks in Lucin. When she remembers that I don’t speak that tongue, she switches to Serpent, “I’m Agrippina Rossi, your new denmate.”
He doesn’t take her proffered hand. “I kn-know who y-you are.”
Her shoulders square. “Clearly not, if you’re refusing to shake my hand.”
“Your fa-father’s s-soldiers—” He shuts his mouth, licks his lips, then parts them anew and blusters. “Ki-killed my grandfather.”
Agrippina bristles. “You’re holdingmeresponsible for myfather’s soldiers’actions? Now that’s unfair.” Her breathy voice is so at odds with her assertive speech, like a gory, death scene rendered with pastels.
Enzo flinches. “He w-was all…all I h-had.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, but it’s still not my fault, Seaweed.”
He balks at the nickname she’s given him.
I cannot help but wonder, as I stare at the purple circles rimming his eyes and the tracks of salt crosshatching his pale cheeks whether the death of his grandfather is the sole factor in his dislike of Agrippina, or if another loss—the exclusivity of my mind—is to blame.
“Agrippina, can you give Enzo and me a moment?” I ask.
My pleasure. To think Asha said he was sweet.Her nose wrinkles.
He is. He’s just angry with me.
Why?
I’ll explain everything in a little bit. Just let me talk to him.
She nods, takes his measure once more, then, chin tilted, she steps out into the bright square of sunlight beyond my tall door.
“Come sit, Enzo.” I turn and walk to my living area.
Though he follows, he doesn’t lower himself to the cushions. Sunlight fans across his taut features. Instead of lightening his purple circles, it makes them appear starker, a shade neighboring the black of his eyes.
“How are you feeling?”
How do you think I’m feeling?His tone is as cutting as his stare.
