Page 66 of By the Orchid and the Owl
“Are you asking if you can read my mind right now?” I asked, incredulous. “Because you do that all the time, you know, and I’ve already given you permission.”
“Well, I can hear the thoughts you’re currently thinking whether I’m in your mind or not—they’re sort of screaming right now. But to access your emotions and memories and deeper thoughts when you’re obviously in so much distress… I’d like your permission again. It might hurt a little,” he added, “letting someone in your mind while it’s vulnerable and wild. It can be uncomfortable.”
I only arched my neck toward him. “Go ahead. But I don’t think I can form coherent thoughts, so I need to talk it out with you afterward.”
Coen’s fingers brushed my temple, grazing down my cheek. His eyes glazed over for a moment, then widened, then narrowed, then widened again, and soon he’d cupped both hands around either side of my face, holding me upright. A faint headache pulsed near the back of my head, but it didn’t hurt much beyond that.
When he was finished sifting through my recent memories, he released me, and the absence of his touch left aching coldness trailing down both sides of my face. Not that he’d evenneededto touch me to read my memories. He could have done that from across campus.
“I’ll kill him,” he breathed, his hands—now wrapped into fists—shaking.
“What? Coen, what are you talking about?” I took his fists and held them steady. “Didn’t you just hear what Ms. Pincette told me?”
Coen blinked, as if refocusing, but gnawed on his lower lip.
“That Fergus kid. I told him not to touch you again.”
That’swhat he was going to focus on after witnessing my entire testing experience? The mold had sucked, sure, but the idea of a prison full of tortured Esholians seemed like a more pressing matter to me. And the fact that such torture would come straight from the leaders who’d sworn to protect us rather than faceless enemies on the horizon… it made the whole fungus incident wane in comparison.
“Fergus didn’t touch me, Coen. He abided by your rules and didn’t lay a physical finger on me, so please don’t punish him any further. He’ll only figure out a way to retaliate against me again if you do. And besides,” I said, adding in a miserable attempt at a laugh, “you’re not allowed to kill anyone, remember? That was a ruleyouannounced to everyone when we first arrived.”
Coen stretched out his fingers, flexing them. He gave a curt nod, then flicked a glance at a pack of Element Wielders stumbling toward the bridge, their arms around each other. Celebrating the end of the first quarterly test, I was sure.
“I think,” Coen said, “we’re going to need more privacy. Are you up for a little midnight hike?”
It wasn’t a little hike.
By the time Coen stopped us a mile uphill, along the winding path of the estuary that flowed in the opposite direction, my throat ached with the force of my panting. Nocturnal animals peeked at us through the trees here, and I could hear their curious whispers as Coen began running his hands along the ground.
“It’s some of those weird human creatures from the school.”
“Do you think they can understand us?”
“Don’t say anything insulting in case they can.”
“Why is the male one digging through the ground? Do humans burrow, Papa?”
“No, son, but sometimes they go rabid, like this one here.”
“Um, Coen,” I interrupted, and all those voices blinked into silence, “whyareyou digging?”
He grunted as he remained stooped. “I’m trying to find the—ahh, here. My friends and I haven’t used this in ages, but Terrin discovered it when he was doing one of his weird earth exercises. He said the ground felt hollow in a certain place, so we all investigated and found…” Another grunt. “This.”
There was a rusty squeak as Coen lifted what looked like a hatch buried deep among the ferns. I stared at it, unsure I was seeing right, but Coen planted his hands on his hips and grinned at me.
“Welcome to what Terrin calls the Throat. Here, I’ll help you down.”
I didn’t move.
“Help me down? Into a hole in the ground called theThroat?”
“Yeah. I promise the end will be worth it.” Coen held out his hand.
“Is the end called the Stomach, by chance?” I grumbled, but stepped forward, twining my fingers around his. The warmth of his skin tingled my wrist, and before he could flit through my mind to detect that, I slid down.
It wasn’t a long drop. I landed with barely more than a thud and squinted into the darkness, shuffling sideways so Coen had space to land beside me. When he did, I could barely make out the silhouette of his face or the gleam of his eyes in the dark.
“I think I liked the bridge better,” I whispered.
