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She crossed her arms and raised a brow. “You didn’t answer my question. What do you do for a living?”
The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he found her stubbornness amusing. “Answer mine first, considering I helped you off the island. Are you on the run?”
She did not respond.
Her silence only seemed to motivate his curiosity. He lifted an ankle onto his knee, shifting into a more comfortable position. “Are you a serial killer?”
She continued to ignore him.
“A psychopath?” He rubbed his jaw. “A convict?”
Naia rolled her eyes. “If I were any of those things, do you honestly think I would tell you?”
“Probably not.”
Ronin discarded his can in the small trash dispenser near the door with an underhanded toss.
She fixed her attention out her window again. The movement of her head brushed Wren’s tassel along the side of her neck. Knowing the hairpin was still in place brought her a wave of comfort. She’d secured it in a lousy bun to get her damp strands off her neck.
The train ride was peaceful—aside from Ronin’s interrogation. It was a little past 3 AM, according to the clock above the door. The cabin was tranquil, with most passengers lost in slumber.
The storm persisted outside, the raindrops streaking down the window like veins.
“Have you ever been to Hollow City?” Ronin asked. “It was founded by Finnian—the High God of Witchcraft and Sorcery.”
A hub for witches and sorcerers to gather. Deities were not welcome.
Finnian’s cleverness was always his second most troublesome quality.
“It’s why most of its population are mages,” Naia replied, proving she wasn’t completely clueless about the place. “Tell me, is that why you live there?”
From the moment Finnian’s name scoured the Mortal Land, Naia had kept up with his endeavors. She studied everything she could get her hands on about Hollow City. It was easy since she’d managed ways to keep the stock of library books up to date in the palace through servants’ help. Once Finnian became a High God, researchers and historians wrote biographies about him.
Ronin gave a small laugh. “Mages?”
Naia blinked, unsure of what he found to be entertaining.
“Nowadays, we just call them witches,” he said, smiling. “And you are partially correct. There are quite a few in the city, but I’d say the population is about sixty-forty.”
Naia berated her out-of-date way of speaking and asked, as casually as one could, “Do you know where Finnian lives?”
“He stays hidden.” A dark look passed across Ronin’s face—a shadow of an emotion Naia could not decipher. Then she recalled what he told her earlier, before Solaris appeared, about despising the gods. The same discomfort she’d felt then deepened the crater in her chest.
“With the help of his ghouls, no less.” It was impossible for Naia to withhold her animosity towards the foul creatures created by her brother’s hand. “They are his eyes and ears.”
Ronin cocked his head, conveying Naia had misspoken once more. Implying she knew miscellaneous details about the gods wasn’t odd, per se, but how she regarded Finnian in a familiar and personal way was suspicious.
She sighed, tempted to tell the mortal the truth. It was too hard to filter her words and the way she spoke them.
“I have a past with the god,” she said in dismissal.
“What kind of past?” His tone was wary.
She lifted her eyes to his. “If I ask you not to ask questions, will you do so?”
Ronin leaned forward again with his elbows propped on his knees. Loose strands of his hair slipped into his face. “You just asked if I am a witch. The only way you’ll get a straight-forward answer from me is if you give a little too.”
Naia rolled her lips to keep her truths from blurting out. “I cannot do that.”
