Last quickly looked at me and immediately hid a flicker of worry. “But?—”
“Now.”
She dropped her head, her pale cheeks staining red. “Yes, Heir Clark.”
I didn’t look at her, even when she sent me a meaningful glance. Was she reminding me that if Primus showed too much interest, she’d pull off my cricket legs and break my forewings? Or was she genuinely concerned? The door slammed after her, and a rush of air blew a cloud of dust free from the scrolls. They rattled in the breeze and then stilled.
Primus watched me with a heavy-lidded gaze. Maybe he expected me to speak or shift uncomfortably or cower. Who knew? But I’d been trained since infancy by a leggerock. A being who was as unmoving as granite. I’d stood under his baleful stare for hours without moving an inch.
I hovered outside myself, expecting Primus to conjure.
Instead, his eyes narrowed to slits, and his lips stretched into a slow smile. “I know what you are.”
He waited for a response. I didn’t give him one.
His smile grew. “The Bards are too stupid to see it. The Ward was too grief-stricken over his father’s death to notice. Even my father doesn’t quite know what to believe. But I . . .” His pale-boned hand drifted over his desk and pulled free a yellowed, crumbling piece of parchment. “The truth seer is first and foremost your enemy,” he read, looking up from the parchment to watch my expression. There was something in it he liked, because his eyes darkened. He continued, although he kept his eyes on me. He must’ve memorized the words. “All truth seers must die, because they are the death of illusion. They have many faces and many forms. They often appear harmless, weak, or innocent. But this is a lie. A truth seer is a conjurer, and no conjurer is weak. A truth seer, above all else, loves destruction. They seek to destroy. You must kill a truth seer before they destroy you.” Primus let the parchment slip from his fingers and float to the desk. It landed with a sigh.
I held myself ready, expecting Primus to conjure any second.
“Well?” he asked.
I tilted my head. Even though it was cool, my skin was hot.
“Do you deny it?”
“I’m a mine,” I said.
Primus’s mouth stretched wide enough to show a row of teeth. “And does that trump being a truth seer? After the dinner, I researched and read every document we have on leggerocks, nines, and mines.” He steepled his fingers. “Sadly, we don’t know much. Leggerocks haven’t been of interest to us.” He looked at me as if that had recently changed. “But it appears a mine is similar to how we Clarks make and control our bodies. Thirteen, for instance, is loyal to me. He obeys me. He is mine until death. Is this the same?”
I swallowed, my mouth as dry and bitter as ashes. “Yes.”
“Heir Clark. Say it.”
“Yes, Heir Clark.”
His shoulders relaxed, and he fiddled with his pen, thinking.
“This is an interesting situation,” he said finally. “There has never been a truth seer controlled by a leggerock. Never one controlled by a conjurer. Do you want to destroy me?”
I looked into Primus’s eyes. “No.”
He smirked. “I didn’t think so.”
“Do you want to destroy my sister?”
Last? “No.”
“Do you have an insatiable need to destroy illusion?”
Was that what was written in his documents?
“No.”
His eyes gleamed. “But if the leggerock commands you to destroy, you will?”
“Yes.”
His expression became gloating and as close to happy as I’d ever seen. “I’ve often found people in history were shortsighted. Don’t you think?”
