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“Let’s get down to the dining room,” she says, ushering me across the roof. “The masters waited for you.”
“All of them?”
“Except Master Fox.” She frowns and fists her dress. “He left rather out of sorts.”
“He’ll be fine,” Finch placates Cricket.
“He’ll get himself into trouble, that one.” She shakes her head. “You know he doesn’t think when he gets like this.”
“Like what?” I ask, feeling an echo of her worry.
“Like he thinks he’s in this alone.”
“He gets reckless,” Finch adds, then opens the hatch door leading to a stairwell down. “But he’s a grown man. He can take care of himself. Come on, love. Let’s get the girl some food.”
Chapter
Twenty-Two
WILLOW
Legion, Bodin, and Varen sit at one end of a ridiculously long mahogany dining table. Their plates of food are untouched. Each is impeccably dressed for the day. Bodin and Legion wear military-style coats—black with furred collars. Legion reads from a stack of papers. He hands one to Bodin, who makes a deep, rumbling comment of some sort. While they converse, Varen moves his crockery carefully, mumbling when one piece isn’t in the right place, then adjusting it again.
When they notice me, all three stand.
Awkward.
But also . . . respectful.
Bodin’s gaze lingers on my attire—Fox’s shirt. Legion notices the same thing. While they give each other a curious glance, I quickly drag more of my hair to shield my face.
Varen disrupts the room by swiping his hand, destroying his neatly arranged crockery. He shakes his head, eyes darting to and fro as if trying to recall something.
“To ventilate the nest,” he says to himself, tapping the table, “groups of honeybees fan their wings near the entrance, thus pulling air from the nest.” He swipes his finger two feet and taps.“But theymustalternate. They’re not alternating, and the nest is becoming hot.”
He slams his fist down, frustrated.
“That’s enough,” Legion says quietly. “No more beeisms at the table, Varen. You’ll frighten our first Shadow.”
They honestly don’t remember me.
And Varen has really lost his mind. Guilt punches me in the gut, and I don’t know why. It’s not my fault they’re in this mess. I didn’t do this.
I take a seat as Bodin tries to clean up Varen’s mess, and the guilt morphs into something different—sympathy. Their sparkling, radiant life isn’t so attractive up close. It’s a little sad.
Cricket deposits a plate of steaming food before me. Mouth-watering vegetables, meat, and toasted muffins with jam. She returns a short while later with juice, water, and something hot that’s both bitter and sweet smelling.
“It’s called hot cocoa,” she explains.
“It’s delicious.” I burn my tongue when I drink too fast. Geraldine said she liked hot cocoa, didn’t she? It must be an old-world drink. I’ll have to ask Cricket if I can bring some with me into the Nexus.
I dig into the food, ravenous, and smile gratefully through a mouthful. Her cheeks go bright red, and she grins, but then glares at Bodin and Legion before hurrying out.
They still haven’t touched their meals. Why would Cricket be angry at them for not eating? Don’t they feed on souls? Unless they’ve forgotten how to do that, too. The Wild Hunt also lives off the souls. Is it so small because they’re not feeding it? Because they can’t?
Was Fox’s card up their sleeve something to do with the baby Wild Hunt?
Swallowing, I turn to the three Sluagh and say, “I can’t help thinking the Wild Hunt is in danger because of me.”
