“We can get a bite to eat if you want,” Clary said.
I didn’t think I’d be able to stomach anything until after the event. “Later, for sure.”
We slipped past a group of giggling girls to a spot where the path opened, revealing the tower in the distance beyond the trees.
“That’s the Devil Fish.” Benedict pointed at a large brick building down the road.
We passed a couple more stalls, one selling jewelry made from coral and bone, another offering bowls of hot, aromatic soup, and one lined with leather-bound books with gilded script.
Clary let out a squeak and hurried over.
“We’ll have to give her a minute,” Benedict said with an indulgent smile. “Clary loves to read. Have you been in her room yet?”
I shook my head, curiosity piqued.
“Books from floor to ceiling against every wall. We had a clear-out a few months ago, but she already restocked.”
“You can order stuff in from outside Nightsbridge?”
“Yep, once you’ve passed your grading, you’ll get permission to place orders through the Border House.”
Good to know. We headed after Clary and Dori.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
A woman sat in a rocking chair, knitting outside a shack on the opposite side of the road.
Click. Clack. Click. Clack.
She had no wares to sell, no stall; she was simply rocking and knitting.
Click, clack, click, clack.
“Well, hello there.” She set her knitting on her lap. “It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”
Wait, when had I walked over here?
“It’s all right,” she said. “I won’t keep you long. I was curious.” She tipped her head to the side and ran her sharp gaze over me.
Her silver hair was neatly brushed and tied in a bun high on her head. Her face was smooth and youthful, but her eyes held the weight of ages.
My skin prickled and bloomed with goose bumps and the instinctual awareness that I was in the presence of somethingother. “Who are you?”
“An interested party. Maybe even a friend—depending on your actions.”
“My actions?” I wasn’t a fan of cryptic conversations.
“Yes, Anamaya. You have some important choices to make.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Who are you?”
“Someone who understands how lost you are.”
Her intimate tone grated on me. “I’m not lost. I know exactly where I’m going.”
“Do you?”
A cold finger of foreboding slid down my spine. “If you have something to tell me, then do it plainly. I don’t have time for riddles.”
