Page 24 of Xantera
The two sentries on either side of the representative twitch forward, their hands sliding to the pommels of the rapiers in their belts.
For a second, I have the strangest feeling that the woman is about to attack them with her bare hands. That, or try to charge through them, straight through the double doors of the palace.
But after a few hushed seconds, her back straightens, and she lifts herself to stand on shaking legs. She manages to toss the representative a curt bow before turning, pulling the edges of her cloak tighter around her, and walking away.
“Wait,” I find myself whispering. Then, shaking my head, I step fully out of line before racing after her, through the crowd and out onto the main road again. “Wait!”
She pretends to ignore me at first, or maybe her hearing is actually failing, because it’s not until I’ve shouted after her a second and third time that she turns, her forehead wrinkling to find my hand outstretched toward her. Her red-rimmed eyes flick to my face, confusion and wariness setting her mouth into a hard line when she realizes she doesn’t recognize me. Our paths may have crossed before during one of those endless “good morning” treks to work, and we’ve no doubt been in the same vicinity during the Choosing, but neither of us find the other familiar.
“Can I help you?” she asks with a sniff.
Yes. No. I don’t know. I’m probably making it all up—this feeling that Idoknow you in a roundabout way.
“I only wondered…” I glance over my shoulder at the Blood Moon Palace. The sentries have returned to their stoic stances. The human representative is already listening to the next person in line. The visitors beneath the balconies are waving at their Chosen loved ones once again. As if everyone just fell back into their place like a gear in a machine. “Are you okay?”
The woman’s shoulders stiffen.
“I am perfectly fine. Thank you for your concern.”
She turns to continue walking away, but I blurt out, “Are you sure? Did… did a loved one of yours get Chosen?”
Slowly, the woman swivels back toward me, her lips pinching, her eyes narrowed. “Yes, in fact. But that was a long time ago.”
A long time ago? She wouldn’t be in a frenzy over someone who’s already been gone for a while. Plus, nobody just goes up to the Blood Moon Palace asking if their Chosen One is still alive—because ofcoursethe Chosen Ones are alive. They are among the safest citizens in the entire city.
No, there’s only one type of person she could have been pleading for information about: someone who was taken in for a transgression against their will.
“Are you her?” I whisper, my eyes going wide. “Are you Diggory’s partner?”
Ever since Gaia declined my request to find Diggory’s information, I’ve put the idea of his partner to rest. I thought I had arrived at the right decisions over the last few days:don’t snoop; don’t put on the necklace again; don’t keep it a secret from the Guardians any longer.
But the ironic thing about limiting your people’s voices is that those with grievances will inevitably come together at the same place, on the same day, at the same time—head-to-head.
Just like this woman and I are staring at each other now.
“Who are you?” she asks in a voice that brushes the border between suspicious and awed.
My hand automatically slides into my cloak pocket and grazes the necklace’s vial. Electricity flares within me for a millisecond before I retract my fingers again, but it only takes that millisecond for me to realize that I don’t want to give this up yet. Not just the necklace and my strange, terrifying connection to the Monster, but thisangertaking root inside me. The questions, the doubts, and the realization that I may as well have been sleepwalking ever since I was a kid, going through motion after motion and letting Rules define my very self.
I don’t want to sleepwalk anymore.
“I was the last person to see Diggory,” I say under my breath, locking eyes with the woman. “And I think we should talk.”
Lucan.
It’s nothervoice that calls out my name in my head.
Four days I’ve been waiting. The moon rises each night and still she doesn’t come.
Thisvoice though, these thoughts, are as familiar as my own. Birthrights do that to you: connect you to the ones closest to you, the ones who are there for you,always.Even when you don’t want them to be.
I could pick out the cadence of Vivian’s voice anywhere—distinctly female, yes, but it’s not as smooth or soft as Saskia’s.
Saskia,I repeat in my head, just as I’ve done a hundred times since she let it slip. That name is like a whisper of moonlight. The way it rolls off mytongue in a—
Lucan, Vivian says again firmer.You need to rest. Eat. You’ve been like this for four days.
I thought I asked you not to shift?
