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CHAPTER 8
I drop the page and slap both hands over my mouth to hold back the scream that tries to burst from my lungs.
Impossible. There’s no other way to describe what I’ve read.
Yet those were the exact words I heard while standing on the Sanctum wall. The Selenae man’s voice reached me then just as it did later, and neither time should have happened.
Impossible.
Simon is at my side, one hand on my shoulder. The gesture is too familiar coming from a stranger, but I’m grateful for the steadiness it offers. “Juliane,” he says, “can you get us some calming tea?”
“Right away.” She leaves, but I hardly notice.
When I remain silent, Simon ventures to speak again. “I’m sorry, Miss Catrin. I didn’t anticipate that would be so frightening.”
He believes my horror is from realizing I was being watched. That’s an assumption I won’t challenge.
“Do you think you could describe the Selenae man you saw later, or recognize him?” Lambert asks, sitting forward, all concern.
Yes, I could. I don’t imagine there are many as scarred as him. Yet I have no reason to believe he was malevolent. In fact, he was trying to protect me. Why else would he have urged me—twice—to go home?
This is not a night to be out.
“I—I don’t know if I would recognize him,” I stammer. “It was so dark. I was upset from finding… the body.”
A cup of tea appears in front of me. The steam carries the pungent odor of valerian root and other herbs I don’t recognize. “It tastes better than it smells,” says Juliane kindly.
The liquid scalds my tongue, but what flavor I taste is positively floral. I take several slow sips, letting the warmth spread through me. With each inhalation, my body feels lighter, like I’m floating upward. I half expect my head to brush against the rafters.
“How are you feeling now, Miss Catrin?” Simon asks.
“Better.” I smile and raise the cup to my lips again, but Simon grabs it with impossible speed, splashing hot tea on his fingers and my lap. He brings the drink to his nose and sniffs.
His eyes dart to Juliane. “Did this brew all night?”
Juliane wrings her hands, and I’m struck by how visible her knuckles are in her thin fingers. “I brought what was in the pot,” she says. “Is it over-strong?”
Simon looks back at me. “Most definitely. I’ve never seen it affect someone this much so quickly.”
“Will she be all right?” Lambert peers at my face. When he blinks, the short fringe of his eyelashes sweep the dust motes around him, making them dance in the sunlight streaming through the window.
“I’m fine,” I tell him. I can’t even recall why I was so anxious.
Simon frowns and sets the cup aside. “She only drank about a quarter of it, so I’m not too worried.” He sits next to me,straddling the bench. “But I don’t think she’ll be able to answer questions for much longer.”
I scowl, annoyance pushing through the fog of contentment. “Please stop talking like I can’t understand you.”
“Of course,” says Simon. “My apologies, Miss Catrin.”
“Cat,” I say thickly. My tongue feels as heavy as a Sanctum stone.
His blond eyebrows come together. “What?”
“I’m just called Cat.” Each word requires concentration. “‘Miss Catrin’ makes me think you’re speaking to someone else.”
The tiniest of smiles tugs the corner of Simon’s mouth. “Very well, Cat. Was there anything else you heard or saw last night?”
I heard Perrete’s despair and the Selenae man’s words. I saw blood on the Sanctum wall just like in the alley. Or did I see the alley wall from the Sanctum?I shake my head to clear that thought. “I saw what was done to Perrete,” I answer, conscious of the double meaning.
