“It’s fine,” she growled. “Leave me.”
Perplexed, Thia watched her for another moment, but when the other girl seemed ready to launch herself off the bed, Thia figured it would be better for the injury if she obliged. “Let me know if you need anything,” she offered, and when Oskaren was silent, she left.
Sorscha was in the main room when she returned to it, sitting in the chair beside the bed. But instead of food, her hands were empty, her expression wary.
“What is it?” Thia asked, wondering if she’d overheard her conversation with Oskaren.
Sorscha blinked up at her. “Pagdan has called the Council of Elders. They want to see you.”
EIGHT
“THECOUNCIL OFELDERS?” THIA ASKED.
“Our appointed leaders,” Sorscha clarified. “Pagdan being the head, of course.” Her tone was off.
Thia frowned. “Should I be nervous?”
A voice came from behind her. “Should we?” Oskaren stood in the doorway, looking between them.
“What are you talking about?”
She slunk forward. “If the elders want to see you, they must have found something that implicates you in the Tyrant’s schemes.”
Sorscha shook her head. “We don’t know that for sure.”
“I’m not working with the king. I swear. I just want to go home,” Thia said to the woman whose hospitality she was relying on. Shewasplanning to ask him for help. But then, Pagdan already knew that.
“I know, love.” Sorscha put her hand on Thia’s shoulder. “Come. We shan’t keep them waiting.”
Chest thumping, Thia let Sorscha guide her out of the hut and into the sunlight of a clear morning. To her annoyance, she heard Oskaren prowling behind them, apparently delighted by the potential of her looming downfall. They crossed to the opposite side of the clearing, around the remains of yesterday’s bonfire to a larger hut set in a cluster of similar dwellings. Sorscha rapped on the door, and after a moment, Pagdan called, “Come in!”
They entered, Sorscha first to hold the door for Thia, who blinked as her sight adjusted to the dim interior. A single large room greeted her, empty except for an enormous round table in the center. Six people of varying age and appearance stood around it, watching Thia as she approached. She nervously smoothed her hair, self-conscious.
Then Pagdan pursed his lips. “Oskaren.”
“Your lordship,” came the sarcastic reply.
“I ask that you wait outside.”
“You may ask, but I may not acquiesce.”
Again, Thia was surprised at her tone. She would have expected the words to drip with snark or at least a sense of stubbornness, but instead they sounded flat. Perhaps that was to be expected of a girl with no heart. She glanced back at her and was rewarded with a mocking grin. Thia held her stare, ignoring the scorn for the hollowness beneath.
A muscle ticked in Oskaren’s jaw, and she abruptly spun toward the door. “Fine.”
Thia tried not to feel too pleased with herself, something that turned out to be easy as Pagdan ushered her forward.
Sorscha closed the door behind Oskaren, and Pagdan said, “Why did you not tell us who you were?”
Thia frowned. “What do you mean?”
He swept out a hand over the table. Thia stepped forward, and when she was close enough that light from the small window glinted off the smooth oak, something silver shimmered on its surface.
Writing, looping and elegant, was etched into the table like it had been burnt there with silver fire.The Tyrant’s days are numbered,it read.The Storm Crow is among you.
A rose in similar silver cuts sat just below, a serpent twining around its stem.
“You think I’m this—Storm Crow?” Thia asked, reading the words again.
