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When she opened her mouth, struggling to find the right words, an image of one of her tutors popped into her head. The sharp-nosed woman had leaned over her paper, overseeing a handwriting lesson, dictating yet another highborn proverb to copy a hundred times.
A loose tongue announces its owner’s death.
Like most things in a highborn curriculum, it had served a double purpose.
“It’s nothing, Dixon,” she said. “I just need to work. The mole has already done enough damage, don’t you think?”
Lila stood up and reentered the cabin. The desktop computer beeped as soon as she opened the door. The oracle’s list had been culled, the biographical data pulled. Two hundred names stared back at her—far too many to investigate all at once. She quickly filtered the list for those who had been in and out of the compound as recently as six months ago.
Forty names remained.
Dixon scratched his cheek and pointed. Nico.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Lila found another interesting name below Nico’s. Fiona, the captain in charge of guarding the prisoner during first shift. The prisoners had nearly escaped a few weeks before. Connell had called it a false alarm, but now, Lila wasn’t so sure.
Dixon bumped her arm, pointing again.
I thought Connell grew up here? he wrote on his notepad.
I did too, Lila typed in a small window on her laptop. This is bad, Dixon. No woman wants to hear that her lover might be a spy for the enemy.
So don’t tell her until you’re sure.
Lila pointed at the list, surprised to see another name. Annag is the compound’s head chef. How did so many people enter the compound so recently and get promoted to positions of power and influence? These people eat lunch together. Chef Annag could poison them all with one dish.
Should we grab a cup of tea before dinner? We could scope her out.
Lila nodded. “Let’s have tea, Dixon. I need a break. Just give me a few moments to change.”
Five minutes was all she needed to slip into a pair of trousers, a sweater, and boots. She grabbed her coat and swept her damp curls into a ponytail, regretting her decision immediately when the first burst of cold air hit her.
She and Dixon entered the cafeteria, the tables already scrubbed for the next meal. Striding up the center of the room, they flitted through the double doors in the back. A row of cooks stood inside a room of wall-to-wall stainless steel, hunching over cutting boards, mincing garlic, dicing celery, and chopping tomatoes. Knives smacked against the cutting boards in a rapid staccato. A cook on the end tilted a bowl, whisking its contents with a sharp scraping of metal against metal. Their little white hats cocked to the side as they worked, slipping from the sheen of sweat on their faces.
All wore purple smocks with the oracle’s mark silkscreened across the front, except for Chef Annag. Her white smock had been trimmed in purple, the eye and wings stitched beautifully on her breast. She peered over each person’s shoulder, handing out admonishments for the slightest imperfections.
When she finally reached the end, she noticed Lila. After turning off the heat under a kettle, she strode toward her and Dixon. No sweat dripped off the chef’s skin. “What are you doing in my kitchen?” she asked.
“I just wanted a—”
“Want? This is not the place for wants. You eat what I give you when I give it to you. Dinner is in half an hour. You’ll not starve in the meantime. Now get.”
Lila eyed the kettle on the stove. “I just wanted some tea.”
The woman harrumphed. “Lorea, see to her. Tea is beneath my abilities.”
The whisker abandoned her bowl and fetched a mug from a shelf. She dropped a tea bag into it, then poured in boiling water from the kettle. “Ay dioses míos,” she mumbled, glaring at Chef Annag.
“What’s her problem?” Lila whispered, taking the opportunity to chat.
Lorea had appeared on the list too.
“Nothing a good kick in the rear wouldn’t fix. Do you want milk or sugar?”
“Both, please.” Lila settled at the counter, watching Lorea spoon out the sugar. “Chef Annag seems interesting to work for.”
“Ha! Interesting. If you think this is interesting, you should hear her during Shark Week. We mark it on our calendars every month. No one speaks for days until she stops gorging herself on chocolate.”
“You can’t find work somewhere else?”
