Page 31 of Xantera
“And are you feeling okay? Emotionally?”
“Of course,” I say.
“Taking care of unwell people can place a burden on you mentally, especially when it’s children and those you feel you cannot help or can’t determine what’s wrong. Did the stress cause you to lash out?”
“I wouldn’t say either of us lashed out.”
She stares, a piercing brown look that could pin me to the wall. “Do you remember the Cardinal Rules, Saskia?”
I never told her my name, but she wields it as a threat.
“Yes,” I reply cooly, despite my tight throat. I haven’t counted how many I’ve broken lately, but it’s more than one. I try to keep the tally off my face as I list them in my head. One glance at Malcolm, and my worry multiplies. Based on his narrowed eyes, I wonder if he would turn me in for asking questions. “I count them to myself every night before bed.” Like a prayer to the Guardians, but now I don’t know who I’ve been praying to.
I feel like I’m right back in a rigid metal desk, a yellow-badged eleven-year-old.
“Rule number three, Saskia!” my old teacher would shout—a pop quiz in the middle of history class. I flick my eyes back to Malcolm, wondering if his style resembles Miss Dolores. His eyes look gentle, though, a warmth that lives there like you’re stepping into the sunlight on a chilly day. The suspicion lingers in them still,but I could never imagine him drilling twelve rules into someone until they cracked, and I don’t think he would turn me in.
“Rule number seven?” the sentry prods.
“Don’t engage in arguments,” I answer automatically
She raises her eyebrows. “Yet you argued with Gaia.”
“It won’t happen again. I was mistaken thinking I was doing best for my patient.”
Rosalyn stays silent but tips her chin to acknowledge that it most certainly will not happen again.
Malcolm turns his head to study me with an urging look.Are you telling the truth?he seems to say.
I’ve got this, I try to communicate with my eyes.
Rosalyn interrupts our moment. “How is your partnership going?”
Tearing my eyes off Malcolm, I slip my hand through his. My forearm lays across the pocket in my cloak, and from underneath the fabric, the mirror’s handle digs into my skin. A reminder of how much risk I’m taking. Lying. And it’s not just myself I’m gambling with, but Malcolm as well.
I turn back to her. “It’s going well.”
“ItisSunday,” she comments, leaning forward and clasping her hands in front of her. Her lips curl.
A look of sick satisfaction crosses her face like a hologram, and her eyes dart to the blinking camera involuntarily. A hollow, sinking feeling spreads outward from my stomach.
Someone is watching us. Recording this entire interaction. Did they hear Malcolm and me whispering the other night? Our voices weresolow. But nevertheless, a new fear simmers in my chest—that they know about our forbidden agreement.
“I hope your spark is alive and well,” Rosalyn simpers. “We wouldn’t want it going out so soon.” Her neck cranes toward our joint bedroom door before her tone drops and slows, dripping with amusement. “Would we?”
Unmistakable fear hammers in my chest. She’s getting off on her power. I can see it in the creases around her eyes and lips, in the twitch of her fingertips. Like she’s happily pulling our strings.
I squeeze Malcolm’s hand. He squeezes back.
We both know what she wants. What she expects.
It’s not about the sex. It’s about the control.
Which we bend to like marionettes.
Malcolm smiles softly. “Rosalyn, thank you for your visit.” The slat in our door scrapes open, and I can hear those anonymous hands place a tray down with our dinner, but no one dares turn their head.
Instead, Malcolm rises to his feet, keeping his fingers laced with mine. “We may just skip dinner tonight,” he comments to no one in particular, but his tone is one I’ve never heard before—almost sultry. He tugs gently on my arm to pull me up. Without looking at her, he smiles seductively at me but directs his words at Rosalyn. “I trust you can see yourself out.”
