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‘So, do you think it’s a trap of some sort?’ I said, fighting to suppress the faintest wobble of my voice and soldiering on with my search. ‘That they’re only welcoming me inside for some hidden reasons of their own?’
‘Doesn’t make sense either.’ The frustration in his voice was palpable. ‘I can’t see why they would want to harm you or trap you inside the city. You’re not a threat to them, and they should know it would cause them a damn lot of trouble with the rest of us.’
I pulled a greyish-blue frock from the shelves and cursed when two others tumbled out with it. The dress was fine, at least: a simple, innocent-looking blouson model I could easily adjust to fit my own measurements. I threw it over the hatboxes with the buttoned white one and glanced over my shoulder. ‘It’s also pretty unlikely they made a deal with the Mother to hand me over, isn’t it?’
‘About as unlikely as any alf house making a deal with the Mother,’ Creon said, shaking his head at the letter. ‘Even if the city-born part of the population would not care all that much, I doubt the part that has fled there during their lifetime would stand for any such thing.’
‘Right.’ I clambered past a messy clothing rack and over two trunks full of shoes in pursuit of the next fleck of white I’d noticed. Lyn did not make a habit of wearing pale colours, it turned out. ‘So what other possibilities are there? Any chance they want to take me hostage to get something from the Alliance?’
He groaned. ‘Can’t imagine. From what I know of their history, the Alliance has regularly offered to work with them, and thecity has always been the side keeping their distance. They should know they don’t need blackmail to get our help.’
I freed and unfolded the white piece of clothing I’d spotted – loose, frothy trousers that looked comfortable enough but were guaranteed to cause a stir in more conservative human company. The baby blue dress below it was perfect, on the other hand. I absently retied one of the bows on the sleeves and said, ‘So can we conclude that whatever is going on, at least it’s unlikely to put me in any serious danger?’
He didn’t reply. When I turned back to him, he sat staring at Consul Rosalind’s letter as if it might spontaneously combust any moment.
‘Creon?’ I said cautiously.
‘I don’tthinkyou’ll be in serious danger,’ he muttered in that slow, rough voice that sent shivers down my spine even now. He still wouldn’t meet my gaze, his frown contorting the inked scar through his eyebrow to a grisly gash. ‘But something is off all the same, and I wish we could figure it outbeforeyou have to walk into that city on your own. I hate leaving you to deal with this by yourself.’
Which sounded sensible enough. And then again, that darkness in his eyes …
It was more than simple worry, that look. More than suspicion or puzzlement. Something far more problematic was festering behind the starless night of his irises, that troubled expression I’d caught before whenever he thought I wasn’t watching him – something he wouldn’t tell me for whatever unholy reason.I’m not the one this is new for, he’d said as we passed the whispering inhabitants of the Underground, and I’d left it at that.It’s nothing of importance, he’d said before Thysandra’s cell, and I hadn’t believed it but had ignored it all the same.
Yet the issue had not solved itself.
So perhaps it was time I stopped allowing him to escape so easily.
‘And that’s the only thing plaguing you?’ I said, making my decision in the blink of an eye as I sank down on one of the shoe trunks and clasped my arms around my knees. ‘You seem bothered by something.’
From anyone else, the hesitation wouldn’t have been noticeable; it was just that his perfectly measured, fluid movements made every contrast so very jarring. He was silent for a moment as he folded the letter and slid it into his pocket, gaze still locked on some distant point beyond the colourful piles of clothes. Only after two, three heartbeats did he say, in that quiet, raspy voice, ‘I’m … thinking.’
The most uninformative of answers. If I hadn't believed he was hiding something yet, I would have been certain of it now; had he been thinking anything he wanted me to know about, I’d already have heard it. ‘About what?’
‘Anything we might be able to do to minimise the risk.’ His half-smile was so obviously forced I wasn’t sure why he even made the effort. ‘I doubt demanding a hostage from them in return would improve the situation, though.’
‘Well, it would be better than you fighting your way in through the gate after me,’ I said with a snort, ‘but significantly worse than pretty much every other option. What else?’
He quirked up an eyebrow. ‘What else what?’
‘What else are you thinking?’ It took all I had to keep the edge of impatience from my voice.Just talk to him, Naxi had said, but gods help me, how was I supposed to talk to him if he insisted on evading my every attempt to get to the bloody point? ‘You’re not going to convince me you’re looking that broody about nothing but a little abducting. What is it?’
Again that hesitation. ‘Em …’
I cocked my head at him, waiting.
It should have become easier, communicating with him, now that he was in possession of his voice again. Yet somehow it seemed I had gottenworseat reading him since that night at the Cobalt Court – missing the subtle clues I’d learned to pick up from his gestures, missing the way his expression would speak for him in the silence. What in the world was the tension in his wings and shoulders trying to tell me now?
Fear? Anger?
‘I just …’ He wavered, averting his eyes – sharp jaw clenched so tightly that the edge could have been sculpted from stone. His words came out hesitant, with deliberate precision. ‘I’m trying to figure out what I can do to help you. And what in hell I’ll be doing the next few days, if you decide you’ll indeed travel to the city.’
If he hadn't looked so antsy about it, I might just have believed him.
But if none of this was more than a little apprehension, why would he have to pick and measure his words so cautiously, as if one mistaken syllable might mean death? And either way, he’d been wearing that gloomy look for days. Neither of us could have predicted I would soon be visiting the White City when we were standing in front of Thysandra’s cell; reasonably speaking, his sombreness in that moment could not have had anything to do with it.
So he was not getting rid of me that easily.
‘Could you elaborate?’ I said, narrowing my eyes at him.
