Page 82 of The Bone Season

‘You heard me.’

‘As if you’re interested in my life.’

‘I am, else I would not have asked.’ He was remarkably calm, all things considered. ‘Should you pass your second test, you will stay with me for good, unless I see fit to evict you. I know the crime that brought you here, but I trust there is more to you, Paige Mahoney. If not, I made a poor choice in claiming you.’

‘I never asked to be claimed.’

‘True.’

The glow in his eyes had faded. I kept flushing the wound, not bothering to be gentle.

‘You are Irish,’ Warden said. ‘From which region?’

He really was keen for a chat. I doubted I had a choice in the matter.

‘Munster,’ I said. ‘I was born in Clonmel.’ I soaked and wrung the linen. ‘My father worked in Dublin, so my grandparents raised me on their dairy farm. We had a quiet life until Scion invaded. Come to think of it, I have your consort to thank for that.’

‘Yes. The Sargas deemed Ireland ripe for the taking. Inquisitor Mayfield enacted their will. He wanted to live up to the legacy of the Balkan Incursion, which brought four territories into Scion.’

‘I know.’ I dealt him a hard look. ‘I can’t get this one any cleaner. Where next?’

Warden loosened the ties of his shirt and drew his other sleeve down some way, revealing several more slashes. This was going to take a while.

‘You have known war, then,’ he said. ‘How did you come to be here?’

‘You must know this,’ I said, impatient. ‘It’s in the database.’

‘Humour me.’

From the way he was looking at me, I could almost convince myself he cared. I dipped a new cloth and held it to his skin.

‘My father was a forensic pathologist. He did a lot of work for the Gardaí,’ I said. ‘Scion conscripted him during the second year of the Molly Riots. They wanted him to help research the root cause of unnaturalness, among other things. By that point, it was obvious that Ireland was fighting a losing battle, even if the rebels didn’t know it. Cathal Bell arranged our safe passage to London.’

Saying that name was difficult. It burned like poison in my craw.

‘I see,’ Warden said. ‘Did your father know you were clairvoyant?’

‘I imagine he does now.’ I dabbed along the first mark. ‘He’s amaurotic. He thinks it’s an illness.’

‘That must have been difficult.’

‘Yes.’ I sat back. ‘Are these wounds necrotic?’

‘In a sense.’

‘Then salt isn’t going to help. Half your arm needs debriding.’

‘That would be the case if I were human.’ He never took his eyes off me. ‘So you were forced to come to London. What of your grandparents?’

‘They stayed behind.’

Warden regarded me. I kept my face just as blank, even as my chest ached.

‘You have mentioned one parent,’ he said, once I was on the lowest slash, near the crease of his elbow. ‘Do you have another?’

I should have expected this. It had always been an interrogation, couched in false curiosity. He was lulling me into letting my guard down.

‘My mother died when I was born. Placental abruption,’ I said. ‘In case you were thinking of getting her, too.’ I put the cloth down. ‘Where now?’

---