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“What’s the Cabinet?” I ask, my voice raising unavoidably. “And what do you mean, hunting for sport?”
Fox claims they’ve changed since receiving those Guardian blessings, but if he was killing for sport, it’s an obvious lie.
“This exhibition is a waste of time,” Bodin quickly says, redirecting the conversation. “It teaches them nothing.”
“Agreed,” Legion returns.
Fox scoffs, “Half these primped and coddled mortals have no idea how to fight.”
“Nothing but vapid sensibilities.” Legion pushes his untouched plate away.
He seems a little disappointed. So does Bodin. They’re trying to distract me, but I’m a hound once I scent blood written between the lines. The topic they’re avoiding concerns the Keepers, who are still and attentive.
A party horn blares, startling me. People cheer. Accordion music picks up, and applause gathers as some take to dancing downstairs. Someone has taken a holly wreath and parades around pretending to be the Holly King.
Bodin pushes his untouched plate away, tension creeping into his posture.
“You’re not eating, either?” I ask.
“The food here is not to our taste,” he replies.
This is not bee bread.
I felt like Varen was trying to tell me something that morning. Maybe this is it. The Sluagh are not feeding on souls as they should, and someone—a worker bee—is supposed to collect the honey and nectar to make the bee bread. From the guilty look on Fox’s face, he was meant to be doing just that these past days, but instead became distracted with hunting dark-haired, pale men. He left the day after I arrived at the castle, after he carried me across the bridge because I was too terrified to move.
Cloud is pale and dark-haired. He is the reason Rory drowned—the reason for my phobia. I accused Fox of leaving me, of causing my suffering... Surely, he didn’t go on a rampage to express his frustration over not being there when I needed protection.
His quiet gaze clashes with mine.
“Fox...” The hint of a plea in Legion’s voice steals his attention.
“Fine,” he grinds out, flicking his napkin. “I suppose it’s a beautiful night for such macabre delights.”
“Don’t make a show of it,” Legion reminds him.
“Why not?” A note of bitterness turns Fox’s tone to ice. He stands and fixes his shirt. “That’s what I’m made for. Besides, no one will remember.”
“But you will,” Bodin warns.
A buzzing tingle erupts in the air, itching my inner ears.
“Something’s wrong,” I mutter.
“What are you talking about?” Fox flops back down, exhaling.
A stampede of invisible ants vibrate over my skin. This feels different than the usual sensation. It’s grimy and gritty. It’s like the ants crawl over sand, scraping my skin with tiny cuts.
Slowly, I push back my chair and walk to the window overlooking the half-frozen lake two levels below. Placing my hand on the cold pane, I scour the shadows around the mist.
“Willow?” Bodin asks.
I face the table, unsure how to explain what I’m sensing. Fox appears to be falling asleep, half drunk. Maybe I’m imagining this. But the itching of fire ants makes me scratch. It’s getting worse. Bodin lifts half out of his seat. Legion’s head tilts, listening to something far away.
“The Cauldron stirs,” he warns.
Ants scuttle up my spine, lifting every tiny hair on my body.
“Something is coming,” I whisper.
