Justice shifted, moving subtly to position himself between Luvic and Jagger. He must’ve sensed something or seen a threat. He held himself in the taut-wire pose that preceded an explosive attack.
Luvic barred his teeth in a taunting smile. “Yes. The Smith stole our crown. Killed our brethren. And . . .”—he looked at me, his eyes filled with amusement—“set our homes ablaze. When a leggerock claims he has the only means to defeat the Smith, we become . . . curious.”
“Take note,” Primus said, holding out his hand, with his thumb pressed to his second and third fingers. “If you lie, you die.”
Jagger laughed. It was a happy rockslide scrape. He enjoyed it when the conjurers threatened him. He felt it meant they took him seriously as an adversary. A wolf didn’t snarl at a gnat; it snarled at another wolf.
“I do have the means to his defeat. The man harasses my creatures. He harasses you. It seems we have a common enemy. I propose we enter an alliance.”
“No,” the Clark said. “Clarks don’t align with lesser creatures.”
“Neither do Bards. There is nothing a leggerock and his creatures can do that we can’t do better.”
Jagger turned to me. I felt his will running through me, a poisonous stream scalding my veins.
“Mari. How about a small demonstration?”
My heart thundered, pushing Jagger’s will through my limbs. My hands tingled with pins-and-needles sensations, and my mouth tasted like copper. Oh. I’d bitten my tongue.
Luvic sent me a quick glance. He was surprised but covered it quickly.
He knew what sort of demonstration Jagger meant. For years, Luvic had helped me to stay undiscovered, and now, I was about to throw it all away.
I stepped forward, my black dress billowing around me.
“Mari?” Last mouthed. Her mouth formed a pleased “oh,” and then she looked at me as if I were a table full of sweets she was about to glut herself on. A smile blossomed, stretching her hollow cheeks and lighting her eyes. I hate to admit it, but a little pulse of happiness shot through me. It was left over from her memory crown; the facsimile of her illusion was still tacked inside me. Jagger’s blood rushed to the pleasure and devoured it. Last lifted her hand and gave me a small, happy pinkie-wave.
“Mari,” Primus said. His gaze scraped over my features, a callous calculation taking place behind his eyes. “The Smith’s body? The one who killed the null? You are that Mari?”
I didn’t flinch at his question even though I wanted to. Instead, I nodded and said in my cold mine voice. “I am.”
He inhaled excitedly at my admission, and then his eyes raked over me once more.
“She killed him once,” the Bard said, “and it didn’t stick. Why should we believe she’ll do better the second time?”
“Because,” Jagger said, smiling at the way Primus was dissecting me with his gaze, “she was a nine then. Now she is a mine. I’ve made her into a creature of solange.”
At his words, the conjurers stilled.
This was Jagger’s lie. His half-truth, full lie. He wanted the conjurers to see I could unravel illusion, but he didn’t want them to know I was a true lockpick. He wanted them to think he could create mines that held the power of solange.
“How?” the Clark asked.
I thought of the treatise on his desk.
He studied me, probably searching for the traits and characteristics of a lockpick. I didn’t have any. The record was faulty. It claimed truth seers were ugly, warted, and disfigured; that they hated washing themselves and smelled like rotten corpses. It also said they could appear golden-haired, green-eyed, and angelic in their beauty. It was one or the other. Horrifically ugly or impossibly beautiful. I was neither.
“How?” Jagger asked, smiling, “How does a leggerock’s power work? Hmm. Let’s ask the earth. Let’s ask the sky. Let’s ask?—”
The Bard cut his hand through the air. “I want this demonstration. Show us how your creature could defeat the Smith.”
Jagger smiled, his sharp teeth glistening. “We’ll need a volunteer.”
The Bard snapped his fingers at Luvic. “You. Do it.”
Luvic raised his eyebrows. “Me?”
The Bard snapped his finger again, and Luvic flinched.
