Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
What Preston tells us adds little to what we already know. Part of me wonders whether the lower chamber is the same room my mother prepared for me—the room where they meant to sever my connection to the suppression grid and kill me.
The severance chamber.
I do not remember where they took me the first time. I was unconscious.
Now I prepare to walk into the heart of the thing that has fed on me for thirty-two years.
It is too much to contemplate all at once.
We decide not to leave Preston’s house tonight.
The house is already fortified, and darkness has fallen.
The mission to the Aegis Spire should be carried out in daylight.
Cáel’s people have worked quietly and thoroughly, and with disruption spreading through the Districts, no one is looking up here. Everyone’s attention is focused below.
We are unlikely to be noticed.
Preston is escorted to one of his own holding rooms. I do not ask what happens inside it.
If I am honest, I want the man dead. He knows too much about my magic, and he has signed too many orders targeting children. Yet the decision is not mine, and I accept that.
Vivian and Thea raid Preston’s kitchen and produce dinner for everyone.
Mina receives imported chicken and rice and is delighted, her tail thumping the floor hard enough to shake the table legs.
I eat what I can manage, which is little.
Bird-sized portions have become a habit after years of eating too little, and a handful of good meals does not break it.
The food is excellent, but the table remains quiet. Everyone is exhausted.
Thea checks her device twice during the meal and shakes her head. Nothing from her laboratory yet.
Cáel slides a folded page across the table to me without comment. An address in the Ink District, in Preston’s handwriting.
Wallace.
I put it in my coat and say nothing. Tomorrow is the Spire. The man who chalked those lines will keep another day, and I find that I want him to.
Preston’s house has more bedrooms than we need. We avoid the master suite and take rooms along one side of the corridor so we remain together.
Cáel walks Mina and me to our room.
“How will we get into the Spire tomorrow? Do we have enough people?”
“I’ll plan it tonight.”
“Do you need help?”
“No. You need rest.” He meets my gaze, his expression steady. “We don’t know what tomorrow will demand of you, and you must be at your best.”
I do not argue.
He is right: we do not know exactly what my magic will need to do. It feels new to me, almost foreign, despite the way it hums beneath my skin as though it has never forgotten me.
Tomorrow: the Spire.
I am nervous but hopeful, and far too tired to remain awake worrying.
“Your heart stopped at the boundary today, Elenora.” His eyes say the rest.
I had hoped no one would mention it.
“If I could scoop you up and run, I would. If I could take your magic, fix the problem, and hand it back—or swap it with mine—I’d do that too, without a second thought. I hate that you have to endure this. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right,” I say. Then, because he clearly needs something else to think about, and because I am trying, lately, to be better at this, I add, “How are you holding up? Will you face trouble when you go home?”
My voice cracks on the final word. I cannot dwell on it.
“Me? This isn’t about me. You’ve learnt a great deal these past few days. About your parents. About what they did. We haven’t discussed any of it.”
“I know. I’m not ready to. When I try, it becomes overwhelming.” I pause, rubbing my thumb across my palm. “It has changed how I see myself, though. That’s the strange part. I thought finding out would break something, and instead it put something back.”
He watches me and says nothing, which is his way of asking.
“I used to believe there was a reason it all happened to me,” I say.
“There was. It was a ledger, and a signature, and a very tidy woman deciding which of her children was surplus.” I shrug, and it very nearly does not hurt.
“I can’t control any of them. Only myself.
So that is what I shall do, and we shall see. ”
He opens his mouth.
I clap a hand over it before he can speak. “Don’t you dare,” I whisper. “We are not tempting anything tonight. Not with all of this already in motion.”
He raises an eyebrow, and his full lips twitch beneath my palm.
“So we do what we’ve decided,” I continue, lowering my hand. “Follow the evidence, tidy this mess, and save as many people as we can.”
Because that is what good people do, even when they are screaming inside.
The sigil on my sternum flares hot. I press my hand to it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s not nothing.”
I tug the neckline of my top down far enough to show him.
He leans closer to study the sigil. “It isn’t active—it isn’t black or silver—but it’s not your skin tone either.” He tilts his head. “It’s orange and yellow. It looks like a flame.”
“A flame,” I echo.
I have thought of it that way, vaguely, but never examined it properly. I cross to the bathroom mirror and see that he is right: a vivid flame, saturated and warm, as though lit from within.
What the heck is that?
“Is it connected to the rune network?” I ask.
“I don’t think so. It isn’t my speciality.” He straightens. “Thea might—”
“We’re not bothering Thea.” I adjust my top. “We’ll leave it.”
“We can’t ignore magical phenomena.”
“We can for one night.” I meet his eyes in the mirror. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”
“No. Ink magic is extraordinarily rare, and your range is unique.” The corner of his mouth lifts. “History records only a handful of Ink bloodlines—none like yours.”
“Thank you. I try.”
“I have a theory. Let me research it before I speak.”
“A hint?”
“I won’t speculate about your magic.” He draws himself up with professional dignity. “I’m a governor.”
I laugh.
He puffs himself up further, which amuses me even more.
“You’re a very handsome man,” I say, my cheeks warming as the sigil pulses in time with my heartbeat.
“You’re adorable when you blush,” he replies, pressing a kiss to my temple. “Right trouble.” The nickname is gentle, softened by affection. “I need to check in with my team, then plan tomorrow. Get some sleep.”
“You too.”
“We should know more by morning. My team are sifting through Preston’s documents—securely. We’ll have answers.” He smiles. “Sleep.”
He starts to close the door.
A huff. A black nose. Then Mina shoulders through the gap with determined purpose.
Cáel’s head reappears, half amused and half helpless. “May she come with me? She probably needs the exercise.”
“Of course.”
He smiles, clicks softly for Mina, and shuts the door.
She needs the exercise, and she will relish patrolling the perimeter—new scents everywhere, kennels to investigate, and an entire estate to catalogue with her nose. As they move down the corridor, I am almost certain I hear the squeak of a dog toy.