Page 15 of Xantera
Wait, the voice growls out.Don’t you darelea—
Without a second thought, I tear the chain away from my neck, and I’m alone in my room.
The next morning at breakfast, Malcolm and I sit down across the table from each other with a new energy between us. It’s slightly warmer, more relaxed, than ever before, and it gives me the strength to clear my throat over a spoonful of porridge.
“What are you teaching at the Institution nowadays?”
He raises one eyebrow, surprise etching into the grooves between both. “Right now, we’re going over the Dark Days.”
I nod. I remember that section of my schooling well. It was the time before the Guardians, when all anyone ever did was fight and steal and lie and cheat. When the Monster snatched up anyone it fancied at any time, and there was no Wall to protect us from its teeth and claws.
“Do you remember,” I start uncertainly, trying not to fidget, “what people used to wear?”
Malcolm frowns at me. “Like clothing-wise? Some of them went around practically nude, if that’s what you—”
“No, no.” I shake my head, trying not to imagine why anyone would want to walk around in public so exposed. “I mean, the greedy, self-indulgent things they wore. The shiny objects they hung around parts of their bodies—like their fingers or wrists or necks.”
All last night, I couldn’t sleep. Every time my eyes started to flutter, I’d jolt awake and stare at my dresser across the room, where I dropped the vial into a drawer by its chain.
Nothing whispered in my mind, though. No dark, masculine voice teased or taunted me. It was as if those five minutes of eternity where I had a conversation in my own head didn’t even happen, even though I could still feel the goosebumps that voice seemed to breathe over my skin for hours afterward.
How can you not know what you look like?
You don’t ask the right questions.
Your Guardians wouldn’t take kindly to being surprised, would they?
Find a mirror, little nightmare.
In all my life, nobody has ever spoken to me that way. No one has ever made me doubt and question and wonder as much as that voice did in the span of mere minutes, which tells me there’s no way my own brain could have conjured such outlandish thoughts, even if I was sick.
Not a fever, then. Also not a dream, since I kept pinching myself to no avail.
Someone was speaking to me through the vial. Either a Guardian or… I don’t even know. Another citizen? A Chosen One or someone banished from beyond the Wall? Whoever it was, I’m positive that voice must have been the last thing Diggory heard before the sentries dragged him off. Maybe it even drove him to madness, and that’s why he was screaming and thrashing by the end.
So for the rest of the night, a new resolve twined around my bones, hardening into place.
I was Diggory’s healer. IamDiggory’s healer. I will find out exactly what happened to him so that I can make an appeal on his behalf and save him before it’s too late.
And contrary to what the voice tried to claim about me, that means asking the right questions. Like what those shiny objects that people used to wear evenare.
“Oh.” Malcolm nearly laughs now, and part of me marvels over the way it changes the shape of his face, how it makes him look younger and more carefree. “You’re talking about jewelry.”
“Jewelry?”
Even though we technically aren’t doing anything wrong by discussing the Dark Days, our faces both twist in equal expressions of disgust, as if the word itself is greedy to use.
“Yeah,” Malcolm says, lowering his voice. “Back when there was an imbalance of power, the rich liked to flaunt their jewels in front of those who were less fortunate. Some children went hungry and cold while other children’s parents wore those jewels on parts of their body—rings and bracelets and necklaces.”
Necklaces. The chained vial is anecklace. I knew I’d heard the word before, but I never could have guessed how relevant it would become to me. How on earth did Diggory find such a thing from five hundred years ago? The Guardians destroyed all remnants of the Dark Days when they came to save us from our own ruin, building Xantera upon the ashes of everything foul and ugly. How did such a delicate piece of jewelry survive all that… and why?
“Why?”
“Why?” Malcolm echoes me. “Because they thought it was pretty. To show off their wealth. Why else would anyone drape riches over their body parts?”
I shrug.
“Saskia?” he asks, peering at me.
