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“I agree,” Lio said.
Cassia was better at questions about Miranda’s past, so he let her answer for them. “I remember you standing over me in this room, using magic. But I don’t actually recall you healing me. You took that affinity from Pakhne and used it at Mederi Village to make us believe you were an apostate healer, and I made an assumption to fill the gap in my memory.”
“You were always too clever for your own good,” Miranda said, “but I managed to outsmart you this time. I tore Pakhne’s magic out of her right in front of you two while controlling my bloodless. When you examined my mind, Lio, why couldn’t you tell I am a Gift Collector?”
How quickly they left the easy questions behind. Lio wracked his mind, but it was sluggish from the poison. He could not think of a single text on necromancy that gave him any hints.
“I can’t deny it,” Cassia said. “You are much cleverer than I am, Miranda. You’ve learned so much about magic during these years, while I still know so little.”
Miranda smirked. “Admissions of defeat are not against the rules.”
Brilliant Lady Circumspect. With her well-chosen words, Cassia had given Lio a hint. The right answer was not necessarily correct information. Sometimes it was telling Miranda what she wanted to hear.
“Your arcane arts are beyond Hesperine comprehension,” Lio said. “You knew I wouldn’t be fooled by the trick the Collector used to enter Orthros within Eudias and Skleros. You must have used a more advanced tactic that is unknown even to scholars like me.”
“Correct,” said Miranda. “You understand so little about my bond with the Master. You see, the Collector did not possess Pakhne and me at the same time. I possessed Pakhne on his behalf. I displaced myself into her. And so my mind felt entirely as you expected, and I was able to wield my full power through her. She was a strong mount. She lasted longer than I expected.”
Mount? Was that the word the Old Master used to describe those he possessed? Such a demeaning term for people like Eudias and Pakhne.
Miranda stepped back from Cassia and went to the worktable. “Am I a mount?”
“Of course not,” Cassia answered.
“Clearly,” Lio said, “Gift Collectors have a much higher status in the Master’s game than mere mounts.”
“You are learning quickly.” Miranda picked up a mortar full of a crushed substance that smelled like apple peel and ash. “We Gift Collectors sacrifice our magic to the Master, and in return, he dwells within us. As long as he holds my affinity, I am as immortal as you, Lio. And he gives me the skill to fill myself with manifold magics.”
Cup and thorns. Here was a mystery Rudhira had been trying to solve for hundreds of years—why Gift Collectors were nearly impossible to kill.
Miranda emptied the mortar into a dish of some liquid Lio had no desire to identify. While she worked, Cassia turned her head toward Lio again. “I hope Knight is all right.”
“So do I,” he said.
“I should punish you for that insinuation,” Miranda snapped. “But I too will adhere to the rules. What do you take me for? Is your memory really so faulty that you’ve forgotten how much I love animals?”
Her crow flew to her, for all the world like a pet that sensed she needed comfort. Did an undead creature have such emotions? The crow ran its beak through her hair, and she stroked it.
“No,” Cassia said. “I remember the time your father was beating his horse, and you tore the riding crop from his hand. Agata and I kept you out of his way for days, until his temper cooled.”
Lio could imagine how a man who beat his animals might treat his daughter, too.
“Where is Knight?” was Miranda’s next question.
“He’s safe at Patria,” Cassia answered. “You lied and told us you would bring him to give us a false sense of safety.”
“Precisely. I take care of animals, and unlike you, I don’t betray those who have been good to me. Did I hurt Perita or her child?”
“No,” Cassia admitted, “but you gained her trust so you could use her to hurt me.”
“She’ll be better off without you.”
There came a knock at the door. Lio jumped, and his manacles made him regret the small motion. Miranda set her concoction to heat over the small flame of a fire charm, then went to answer the door as if she had been expecting the visitor.
A woman in a simple gown and apron trundled in, carrying a tray. Her brown hair was streaked with gray and tied back in a messy knot under her kerchief. She had lines around her eyes and mouth, like someone who laughed often. But she had no heartbeat.
She gave Miranda a kind smile. “Here you are, my dear. Your favorite apple tarts, fresh out of the oven.”
The scent of Cassia’s tears was salty against the sweet aroma of the tarts. “Agata?”
