“Let’s just say I made sure to do my research.”
Skylar focuses back on the door. “I can feel them,” she murmurs.
“Feel what?”
“The wards.” She stretches out her hand, stops short of touching the door. She was in such a rush last time that she hadn’t noticed. Butshe can feel the magic now, pulsing. Her skin prickles. It feels a little like the wards around the temple, where the egg is housed.
Astrid is looking at her curiously. “And your Blooded power is…?”
Skylar snorts. “What, like, if the rest of them can’t get it out of me I’m going to tell you?”
Astrid grins—and it’s almostfriendlyseeming. “Worth a shot. Maybe you’re a Discerner,” she muses. “Sensing magic like that.”
“Go ahead, Little Witch, keep guessing.”
You are not Blooded, Skylar.
A Dreki, closing in on her.Nowhere left to run, girl.
And the stranger, surrounded by shadows.What are you?
She just about controls the urge to shiver. “Besides,” she says, as Astrid slips another vial out of her belt, “I’m not the only one with a secret power, am I? How about we trade—I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”
Astrid gives her a look as if to saynice try,before unstoppering the vial and pouring its contents along the bottom of the door. Like with the window, something seems to smoke. Skylar feels the magic waver—and then it’s like she canseethe wards, dissolving in front of her. Astrid murmurs something that sounds like “avask” and the lock clicks.
“That it?” Skylar asks, and Astrid nods.
Astrid gestures for Skylar to place her hand on the doorknob, then covers it with her own.
Skylar frowns and goes to pull away, but Astrid holds her still.
“We need to be touching,” she murmurs, “so that I can get in, too.”
Skylar has a fleeting urge to shove Astrid away and tell her to get lost—but, then again, Skylar couldn’t get in without her. Still, she doesn’t like the way it feels, touching the witch’s skin. It’s like whatever the Blood Binding did is heightened, something inside her pulsing in recognition. From the way Astrid is looking at their hands, Skylar knows the witch feels it, too. Then Skylar turns the door handle, and they both step inside.
Astrid mutters another spell and a ball of light appears, hovering in the middle of the room.
Skylar glances at her. “Handy.”
She turns a circle, taking in a large drinks cabinet, the paintings on the walls—including one of the king and Bruma, of course—and a dragonglass sculpture atop the ornate desk. Astrid heads for the bookshelves on one side of the room, running a finger along their spines as she reads the titles in turn. The desk, Skylar thinks. The desk has got to be the best place to start.
The first drawer opens easily—presumably because the king thinks no one stands a chance of getting into this room.
“What exactly are you looking for?” Astrid asks, as she takes one of the books off the shelf, then checks to see if there are any others lurking out of sight.
“Oh, you know,” Skylar says vaguely as she flicks through what look to be nothing more than stationery supplies. “Old birthday cards, family keepsakes, that sort of thing.”
“Right.” A hint of frustration creeps into Astrid’s tone. “You know, if you told me, I might be able to help.”
There’s that word again. Help. Then again—couldAstrid have heard something? She is the Arturean heir, after all.
“I want to know where the conscripts are being taken,” she says eventually. That’s vague enough, right?
“Why?”
Skylar shuts the first drawer, opens the second. “Now, now, Little Witch—we may be on breaking-in terms, but let’s not get carried away with braiding each other’s hair—or did you forget we’ve got to try to kill each other in a few weeks?”
“No,” Astrid says, her voice soft—almost sad. “I could never forget it.”
