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Over on theother side of the room, Thirteen clutches a steaming mug of herbal tea as she looks out of the window watching the sun slowly lower towards the horizon. Since our talk a few hours ago, she’s been quiet, her heart harbouring as many secrets as my own. I recognise the weight of them sitting on her shoulders.
“Thirteen, why don’t you use your name? You’re not a Number, not in the same way as the others.”
“I’m not a fan of my name,” she smiles, her gaze still fixed on the horizon.
“Why?” I ask, pulling the blanket up around Jakub as he sleeps. “Cynthia is pretty.”
“Not when it’s shortened to Cyn…” Her voice trails off as she loses herself to a memory which shadows her features and rounds her shoulders.
“Thirteen, there was something my mother said in her letter to me. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it, but the opportunity never arose…”
“Oh yes? What was that?” she asks, placing her mug of tea on the table beside the window and sitting down in the chair on the opposite side of the bed.
“My mother said I should trust you.”
She grins. “Thank goodness. I hope you do.”
“To be honest, there was a moment that I wasn’t one hundred percent sure about you or your intentions, but I am now. You’re a good person.”
“Well, thank you, I think.”
“That wasn’t the only thing my mother wrote about you in her letter.”
Thirteen pulls the sleeve of her sweater over her hands. “This sounds ominous. Are you certain you should be telling me this?” she replies with a thin smile.
“She said you were running from your own fate, that it’s going to catch up with you eventually and when it does I need to be a friend to you. Do you know what she meant by that?”
Jakub murmurs in his sleep, groaning as he shifts onto his side giving Thirteen a moment of respite. I readjust his blanket, tucking the thick material around his body to keep him warm. The fire in the hearth has almost burned out, and even though I’m wearing a thick pair of flannel pyjamas, I can feel the steady creep of cold as it passes through the gaps in the wooden floorboards. For a minute Thirteen picks at thread on her jumper, staring off into the distance. Eventually with a heavy sigh, she opens up.
“Your mother was right, I am running from something. Someone actually. Three someone’s to be precise.”
“Who?”
“The Deana-dhe.”
“The Deana-dhe?”
“Yes, it’s the name given to a group of very powerful, very dangerous men.”
“Wait…”
My voice trails off as I try to recall why I recognise that name. Then I remember the first vision I had of Grim and Beast speaking on the telephone to Arden and them mentioning the name.
“Arden Dálaigh is one third of The Deana-dhe. Lorcan Sheehan and Carrick O’Shea make up the other two thirds. Together they’re the most feared men in Europe,” Thirteen explains, confirming my suspicion.
“More feared than The Masks?” I can’t help but ask.
“The Masks are well-known and respected by their clients for what they can provide them: an incredible show, beautiful men and women, fantasies,sex. The Masks will punish anyone who goes against them, so they have a reputation—”
“Kill you mean,” I interrupt, remembering the Baron.
“But,” she continues, “They’re not feared in the same way as The Deana-dhe...”
My eyes widen in surprise. “So what makes The Deana-dhe so frightening?”
“Firstly, they’re undefeated in the underground fight scene, and secondly, they deal in debts.”
