“And Reverie LeJoi?”
“No.”
“Cosima Verraine?”
“No.”
“Delphine Moreau?”
My Mark flinched under my sleeve.
A tiny betrayal.
Linden’s pen moved.
“Where is she?”
Linden studied my face.
“That was not the question.”
“It’s what I want to know.”
Linden wrote three more words.
I heard Cosima’s voice from breakfast:You will not speak first.
Too late.
“Delphine Moreau is no longer in residence at Zenith Hall.”
“Is she alive?”
Caswell shifted near the door.
Linden remained perfectly still.
“Your concern for Moreau is noted.”
“Then note the answer too.”
“No.”
My Mark heated.
Linden wrote fast enough that the pen scratched.
“Concern is information,” Linden said when he was finished writing.
I shut my mouth.
Cosima had bought me time.
I had just spent some of it badly.
The rest of the interrogation went on and on.
They asked where I had been, who had spoken to me, who had touched my Mark, whether my Mark had warmed without a basin, whether I had concealed any movement from Juno, whether I understood that concealment was itself suspicious. They asked questions about Kieran twice. About Hale once more. Caspian’s without saying Caspian.
