Venturing into the washroom, I pull my shirt off over my head, then ease the knot of my makeshift bandage down until I can slip the whole thing off my arm. I hadn’t even realized I was afraid to look at it. But surprised relief washes over me—the gash I sustained in the glider crash is now just a thin burn line. I test the edges of the skin and find only a dull ache, so I toss the ruined scarf into the corner.
Whatever Nimh used to cauterize it must have also contained something that speeds the healing process—I would’ve maybe preferred the royal surgeon’s neat stitches, but I can’t complain about Nimh’s results.
A lever turns out to release a steady stream of water from a spout built into the wall above the sink, and I soak the cloth beside it, using it to scrub at my exposed skin as quickly as I can. There’s a vivid line of bruising across my ribs, an angry, purplish-gray stripe underlining the tattoo my mothers disapproved of. It’s my family crest, and for a moment, I wish the wings to either side of the sky-island were real, were mine. I wish they could carry me away from here.
But the water is bitingly cold and doesn’t leave room for daydreams. I wouldn’t want to linger over the “bath” anyway—it’s approaching sunset now, and I haven’t slept since yesterday morning.
I try to order my thoughts as the cold water hits my skin, and by the time I walk out to where Techeki waits, I’ve got my game face on.
“Sit a moment,” he says, indicating the table. “Refresh yourself.”
It’s nicer than he’s been so far, and I allow him to guide me to one of the chairs. He takes his place opposite me and pours from a decanter into two goblets.
I take mine, and after a moment I realize he’s watching the way I hold it. He’s judging my manners. He wants to know who I am. And Nimh’s guidance didn’t extend beyond Tell them you helped me get home. What would she want me to say? And what’s best for me?
I wish I knew whether it was safer to be a helpful nobody or a noble guest. But I have no idea, and I also have a more urgent question on my mind: he’s just swirling his drink around in the goblet, but he hasn’t taken a sip—is it safe to drink? Am I being completely dramatic even wondering that? I’ve always been taught to be wary around unknown food and drink—though a tiny part of my mind notices I forgot those rules around Nimh.
Before I can decide what to do, he notices me noticing—and with a tiny little smile that I don’t like very much, he lifts his drink to take a long, deliberate sip, swallowing as he lowers it. See? his gaze says smugly. Safe.
But it says more than that—he’s smug because he knows that you don’t get instincts like mine drilled into you unless you’re somebody. I’ve told him something I didn’t mean to, and I could kick myself.
This guy is a player. He’d get on well with my bloodmother.
“Thank you,” I say eventually—polite, but not too gushing. I don’t want to give the impression I owe him anything, if I can help it.
He takes my words as a signal to resume conversation. “We must select clothes for you for the Feast of the Dying.”
He speaks as if I know what that is, and I don’t correct him. I assume the feast won’t involve any actual dying on my part, given Nimh could have organized that already if she wanted, and nod. “I’m honored to be attending.”
“Of course,” he agrees. “I am eager to ensure we follow the correct protocol for such an esteemed guest, to whom we owe such a debt of gratitude. Please, tell me about yourself.”
He says it so smoothly, as if the question is nothing. As if he isn’t trying to slot me into a hierarchy—figure out what value I hold for him and everyone else in the temple. Oh, old man. You have no idea whose student you’re dealing with.
I blink slowly and take my time swallowing. “About myself?” I ask, as if I barely know my own name.
“Where are you from?” he says, practically clicking his tongue now. “I am asking about your people, your home.”
“Oh,” I say, as if I understand, then proceed to completely fail to answer the question. “I just helped her make her way safely home.”
He closes his eyes for a long moment, takes a breath, tries again. “I am aware of what you have done,” he says carefully. “I am asking who you are. I hope you are not evading the question.”
Bold move, calling me out like that, but it tells me he probably doesn’t think I’m powerful. I can see him trying to decide whether I’m a player or a game piece. He’s leaning toward writing me off, but he definitely hasn’t made that call just yet. He’s too wily.
Nimh’s voice is in my head: Tell them nothing.
She’s certainly mastered that.
There was such an intensity to her face when she first saw me in the wreckage of the Skysinger, and in her voice as she questioned me—I’m not convinced she brought me to this place solely for my own safety.
I want to put my faith in her. Out there in the wilderness, she seemed kind, and capable, and fascinating—and she seemed to be almost as fascinated by me. The little seeds of something—friendship, my mind supplies instantly—felt real. It felt true. Here, though, I’m adrift. I want to be able to trust this girl, but she’s left me in the middle of a game without telling me anything about the board.
Nobody at home is looking for me—no one who falls Below ever returns. They’re probably planning my memorial service right now.
If I’m ever going to make it back, I’ll need to make it happen myself. So for now, I choose an answer that at least shouldn’t screw with Nimh’s plans.
“I’m a scholar,” I say. When one of Techeki’s impeccably groomed eyebrows rises, I add, “In training. I was traveling to the temple in the hopes of meeting with the Master of Archives when I came across N—the Divine One. That’s why I hurried straight to the library when I arrived. I didn’t think I had much of a chance of talking to him in person, so when the opportunity arose …” I trail off with the grin that usually gets me out of trouble with my heartmother.
Techeki doesn’t look convinced. I don’t know if that’s because he doesn’t buy my story, or because one doesn’t simply ask to meet the Master of Archives. But eventually he inclines his head. “I will see to it that you are escorted to Matias in the archives tomorrow for further discussion.”
The word escorted sounds an awful lot like I’m not allowed to leave this room without a guard. It sounds an awful lot like being a prisoner.
Nimh told me she’d keep me safe. But safe doesn’t mean free. It doesn’t mean allowed to find a way home.
For that, I can’t rely on anyone but myself.
THIRTEEN
NIMH
I wish that I could pace—but even among my own servants and acolytes, I can’t show such obvious signs of an unsettled heart. In such a public place as the healers’ wing, I must be above such displays at all times.
It’s only been a few minutes since I arrived to find that Elkisa wasn’t here. Though the healers said she was relatively unharmed, I can’t shake the need to see for myself. I’d been focusing so much on North and his significance, that I could not allow myself to stop and grieve for my friend. Now that I know she’s alive …