6. Mouths Gaping #3
“You allow me to ask as many questions as I want.”
“You already ask too many questions.”
“Well, then it’s fortunate you can’t hear inside my head. Questions are the bulk of my internal monologue.” Along with sarcastic commentary about your sparkling social skills.
He shook his head in exasperation. “Fine, you can ask all the questions you want. But I will answer only as many questions as I want.”
“Fine,” I growled. Not ideal, but better than silence.
“Fine,” he agreed, his eyes shining with victory. He stood up and pulled a dagger from his waist.
I leaned away from him. “Now? What are you going to do with it in the middle of the night?”
“With these types of people, darling, this is when they have their office hours.” He used that knife to cut two small strips of fabric from the side hems of the drapes. “Here. Braid it and tie it at each end.”
Separating it from my straight brown hair, I gathered the section of iridescent strands growing from behind my ear.
I made quick work of the plait, stopping to run my fingers along the shiny hair one last time.
As thick as my finger and almost long enough to reach my waist, it flashed in the glow of the oil lamp.
Light danced across it, chasing itself in shifting hues of aqua and pink.
My stomach twisted. Was I really about to hand over the one thing that proved I was Sideri?
“Hold still,” he said.
The blade whispered past my ear, and then my lock was gone. I shut my eyes before I could see it in his hand.
There went the last piece of my old life.
“How did they find you at the Citadel?” The words came out of my mouth without any real thought, though the question was an important one. I opened my eyes.
He looked at me and pursed his lips, contemplating whether he wanted to answer.
I cocked my head to the side and gave him a glare. “If we’re going to travel together, I have a right to know what’s chasing you and, by association, me.”
His jaw tensed, a muscle jumping once before he spoke. “There is a tracker,” he relented. “He can detect residual information on objects regarding the person he’s trying to find. He can’t gain a lot of knowledge regarding the person or events—but he can detect what you’ve touched.”
“That’s why you were careful not to touch the sarcophagus blocking the tunnel in the catacombs.”
He nodded. “Perceptive.”
“I have my moments. Usually right after I've made catastrophically bad decisions.” I paused. “Do you know him?”
A shadow crossed his face, but was gone as quickly as it came. He nodded again.
Of course he did. “Considering that he is obviously Sideri like us, do you think he’d really take you back?”
With a distant gaze, he wet his lips before answering. “Koel wants the favor of the queen more than anything else. He’d trade every ember in his veins for a second glance from her. He’s sadistic and ruthless. ”
“Ah, so he’s pleasant then.” Wait. A new and deeply concerning thought occurred to me.
“Will he find us here?” I asked, arching a brow at the floral prints scattered everywhere.
“I mean… this is a rented room, right? Unless you’re really into flowers.
But couldn’t he detect you checking in… or coming upstairs? ”
He brushed a hand along the desk’s edge. “I rented two rooms. The other’s across town. This one? I didn’t enter until a few minutes ago.”
I blinked. “You rented a decoy room?”
“To put him off my trail. At least for a little while. He won’t find us here tonight.” He put his overcoat back on and tucked my potens lock into his pocket. “I’m going to acquire some coin and transportation. I won’t be long, but you might want to get some rest.”
Sure, rest. A couple hours of peaceful slumber while being hunted by a cold-blooded tracker as my temporary ally sells my hair on the black market.
“Wait. How do I know you’ll come back?” I asked, doubt prickling. Trusting people hadn’t exactly worked out for me so far.
“I give you my word.”
I propped my hands on my hips. “I know nothing about you or the integrity of your word.”
He looked at me for a long moment with that stare I was getting quite accustomed to—the one that suggested he was either impressed or plotting my demise.
He pulled out one of his daggers. It was the one with the green-stone hilt.
I stepped back. I’d had quite enough of his persuasive pieces of metal tonight.
My pulse spiked, but he only held it between us.
“I won't leave without this,” he stated. He turned and set it on the desk, the green stone glinting like some sort of promise. Or threat. With him, it was hard to tell the difference.
I stared at the blade. “So… either you’re confident you could catch me if I run away with it—or you just have too many weapons.”
“Both.” He strode toward the side window. “Don't cut off your fingers.”
“That's your parting advice? Not 'lock the door' or 'stay alert'—just… don't maim yourself with my dagger?”
But he was already gone, disappearing through the window like some sort of criminal operating under a physics waiver.