Page 32 of Daughter of No Worlds

This would be so much easier if I could sense his thoughts. Still, I didn’t need magic to feel the anger that surrounded him like a cloud, tainting the air.

“Why do you hate the Orders?” I asked.

“Because they’re archaic and controlling and power-hungry.”

He didn’t look up.Clip. A blossom fell to the dirt.

“I only need for you to tell me what I need to know for the test. Only this.”

Clip.

Max laughed.

“Onlythis,” he repeated, shaking his head.

“Please,” I said, making my voice small, sweet. “I need your help.” Men loved that voice. All tiny and helpless. Over the last eight years, I’d honed mine to perfection.

Max’s eyes flicked to me only briefly, with a removed coldness that told me he was neither fooled nor moved by my performance.

“I went through a lot to gain my freedom from the Orders. I’m not about to turn around and hand it right back to them. I don't want to get myself thrown into Ilyzath, so I’m not kicking you out, but make no mistake, I don’t plan on making this easy for them.”

“Ilyzath?”

“It’s a— prison. That’s beside the point.”

Clip.

Max scooped up a handful of browned, wilting blossoms. He didn’t even look down as fire rose from his skin to consume them in his palm.

It took me a few seconds to find the Thereni translation for “prison” stored in my mind, but when I did, I wondered what Max did to be in such precarious standing thatIcould get him locked up.

“You can do what you want,” he said, “but I’m not participating.”

I stood up. Crossed my arms. “Fine.”

“I’m glad we understand each other.” He did not look at me.

I didn’t need him anyway.

I had five months. That was more than enough.

Chapter Nine

Ibegan by raiding Max’s bookcases, sprawling the tomes all over the floor and chipping through words I hardly understood. Something in here had to help me, or at least give me a hint as to what would impress the Orders. But reading them felt like wading through sludge. Aran words blurred in front of me, little more than a tangle of letters. Tucked between books were pieces of parchments with circles scribbled on them, similar to the ones I’d seen Nura draw, but I had no idea what they did. The books didn’t help with that, either.

Max regarded me through all of this, ignoring me except to remind me not to touch something or to clean up whatever I had misplaced (I refrained from pointing out that “cleaning up” was an awfully relative term, in this house). Eventually, he went into the kitchen and soon, aromas that made my stomach rumble filled the house. He emerged with two plates, motioning for me to sit.

I slid into a chair, not even really bothering to look at what I was eating before inhaling it. I was that hungry.

Max eyed the pile of books at the center of the floor. “How far did those get you? They’re not exactly easy reading.”

I pushed my rice around my plate. Before I could find a way to tell him exactly how far theydidn’tget me, the door swung open.

I looked up to see a man standing in the doorway — tall and straight-backed, hands tucked into the pockets of a well-fitting bronze jacket. He was perhaps Max’s age, with dark skin, cropped black hair, and quiet eyes that slowly moved from me to Max and back again.

Max looked over his shoulder. “You should knock. One of these days you’re going to walk in on something that you don’t want to see.”

The newcomer’s brows rose, just slightly. “Is that what I’m doing now?”

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