“Again what?”
“Let it answer.”
Rev’s head turned.
“Is that wise?”
“We are past the time for caution, LeJoi,” Cosima said.
I looked at the dress in Cosima’s hands, at the open shoulders, at the bodice waiting for my mother’s brooch.
Then I pushed up my sleeve.
The Mark showed itself without ceremony.
The lines were brighter than they had been yesterday, more restless since my night with Caspian. A shape that had been asked too many questions and had begun answering in its own language.
Cosima assessed it.
Rev came closer but did not crowd me.
“Does it hurt?” she asked.
“Less than yesterday.”
“You know that was not my question.”
I glanced at her.
She waited.
“It feels like there isn’t enough room under my skin for all of it,” I said.
Cosima nodded, as if that was the answer she had expected.
“The formal will make that worse.”
“Fantastic.”
“That is why it generally works in getting the Council the desired outcome,” Cosima said.
Rev looked from my wrist to the dress in Cosima’s hands.
“I hate this place,” she said.
No wit in it.
That helped more than wit would have.
Cosima laid the dress on the bed.
“You can still refuse to wear it,” she said.
“If I refuse, they use it. If I wear it, they use it.”
Rev sat on the edge of the table.
“Then choose the version that will piss them off the most.”
