Chapter 15

I'm sorry about that.

His voice was in my head by the time I climbed into my top bunk that night, Emelle already snoring beneath me. But how was I supposed to talk back to him?

Just like you're doing now.

Even in the confines of my mind, that damned voice was a gentle, growl-tipped caress, and... it chuckled as I thought that.

Okay, maybe I don't want you to talk to me mind-to-mind, I thought, trying to block out every mental image of him on top of me, of the feel of his—shit. No. I couldn't be remembering this while he lounged in my mind, couldn't let him know that the taste of his tongue still filled my mouth, that dark and exotic…

Don't worry, came his unhurried voice. Every woman at the Institute wants to have a good tumble with me.

I scoffed against my pillow. I think you're too big for your own britches.

Oh, much too big, he agreed. I was ready to bust out of my pants with the feel of you squirming beneath me. A quick laugh at the blush that oozed into my mind, but then his voice sobered. I'm only sorry that you didn't choose it for yourself. I couldn't let anyone think we were doing more than—

I know, I thought back, rather quietly for being in my own mind.

Because while Kimber's disgust was painful, her suspicion might have been detrimental—for me and the mysterious others that Coen was protecting.

Did you… I rolled over in bed as some other girls tiptoed into the bunkroom, whispering loudly. Did you ever date her? Kimber? She seemed sort of angry.

Thankfully, Kimber had her own private bedroom, too, as a fifth-year and our house's princess. Unlike Jenia, who was due to return to the bunkroom any night now, I'd never have to worry about Kimber hovering over me while I slept.

Silence in my head, though I still felt his presence: a mass of sly strength.

Coen?

I like it when you say my name, he finally chuckled. And yes, we did. For three years. But I don't want to dwell on it any more than I have already.

Three years? Any hope that I might be something special to him deflated like a popped tire. Compared to three years, I was a speck of nothing and no one.

You are not nothing.

Right. I'm a pirate's daughter. A pirate who abandoned me as soon as she—wait. My thoughts stuttered as the realization hit me. If my mother was a pirate, then she got through the shield undetected. And stayed for nine whole months without anyone ever suspecting her of being an outsider.

Yes, said Coen.

It had already occurred to him, of course… although he'd had a week to mull it over whereas I'd only had a few hours. The implications of a pirate successfully breaching our dome…

Do you think she's still on the island, I asked after a breath, or do you think she made it back through the shield?

Coen's presence seemed to hesitate. Beneath me, Emelle gave a violent snore.

I think, he started slowly, there's no way of knowing for sure unless your father can give you more information about your birth. Perhaps you could send him a letter, asking him?

I blinked against the darkness. A letter. Why hadn't I thought of that already? No messengers traveled between the Institute and other villages, but surely, I could befriend a bird who would deliver it for me?

Perhaps my gift had its merits, after all.

I will first thing tomorrow. And… and I'll let you know what he says.

I couldn't see a reason to distrust Coen. He'd saved me more than once, let me in on his secret, and led me to understand my own. We were from the same people, and in equal danger if the Good Council ever found out about what loitered beneath our skin.

Great, Coen said, as if he hadn't heard every rationalization I'd just waded through. Then I'd better leave you be so you can get your beauty's rest.

I pushed it way, way down—the desire to ask him to stay.

Goodnight, I said, all confidence and ease.

Goodnight. And Rayna? Coen's voice sharpened to a lethal quiet. I can't get the taste of you out of my mouth either.

The next morning, when the birds chirped at us to wake up as they did every morning, the other women shushed them before rolling over and sinking back into soft, even breathing. No classes today meant sleeping in for most of them.

Not me, though.

I slipped out of bed and shook Emelle by the shoulder.

"Hey, Melle, I'm going for a walk, okay? I should be back around noon."

She waved a sloppy hand, still reeking of ale. After leaving Coen's room last night, I'd found her dancing within a swarm of guys, swaying much too violently for my liking, so I'd brought her home and put her to bed.

"You do you, Rayna," she said now, her words merging with another snore before she'd even lowered her hand.

I got dressed as quietly as possible, then slipped downstairs. Just as I reached the landing to the foyer, a braided, black head appeared at the top of the staircase leading downward. Dazmine. I almost stopped in my tracks, but decided to round the corner without saying anything. To pretend I hadn't seen her.

"Watch your step," came Dazmine's voice, softer than I had expected.

I paused, glancing downward for some kind of obstacle on the floor. There was nothing. I whirled back toward her, where she, too, had paused on the landing.

"Was that a threat, Dazmine?"

Her eyes bore into mine. Behind her, the cuckoo clock gave a mechanic chirp, signaling that it was eight in the morning. For a second, I thought Dazmine wouldn't answer. Then…

"A warning," she whispered, and hurried upstairs.

I was still thinking about that as I settled into one of the polished wooden chairs in the study chamber, which was tucked away at the end of a hallway leading from the foyer.

Here, dozens of desks sat against the walls, stocked with papers and fountain pens. I grabbed one of each and stared at the blank piece of paper.

What to write him? How to word it so that no one besides Fabian—and Don—could understand what I was asking if it happened to get intercepted?

As I was tapping the pen against my chin, a small voice squeaked, "What are you doing up so early?"

I followed the voice to the windowsill, where a mouse perched on the ledge.

"Writing a letter," I said, too surprised to think of anything but the truth. Why was I surprised, though? This was my new normal, wasn't it?

"I wish I could write letters," the mouse said, rather mournfully for such a squeaky little thing.

"Really?" I couldn't help but let myself get wrapped up in this conversation. "Do you have friends or family far away? Perhaps I can send a message for you."

"No," said the mouse, "all my friends and family live in the walls with me. But if I had hands to write a letter, I'd have hands to grab all the cheese in the cupboards."

"Oh." That wasn't what I'd been expecting. I returned to contemplating my letter, until the mouse scrambled closer, stopping at the head of my paper.

"I could help you word your letter if you get me some cheese from the kitchen."

I blinked at it. "Thank you… so much. But this is rather a private letter…"

The mouse blinked back at me. "Private? I can't imagine why you're doing it so early in the morning, but aren't you writing to your father Fabian to find out more about your heritage? Or am I mistaken?"

My mouth fell wide open. I dropped my pen.

"How did you know that?"

The mouse cheeped its equivalent of a scoff.

"Wemice hear everything that goes on between every house's walls. We just don't sell that information like those horrible eight-legged beasts do." It shuddered. "But it's a good thing you told Coen Steeler to communicate with you via mind from now on, because my friends and family can't be there every time to kill the spiders listening in on your secrets."

When I continued to gawk at the mouse, its tail twitched.

"We killed them for you," it said slowly, as if it thought I might be stupid, "three bold jumpers, one woodlouse, and a crab spider. That monster from the Good Council sent them to spy on Mr. Steeler, but they usually never catch anything of importance because he's always spoken to his other friends mind-to-mind about important matters. Last night was the first night they learned anything of substance. But we killed them before they could scuttle away and report anything."

Still, I gawked, even as the horrifying realization swelled inside me.

Dyonisia Reeve suspected Coen… of what, though? Did she know he and his friends had come from beyond the island's shield? Or did she simply suspect him of hiding a deeper magic than his bascite-granted Mind Manipulating one?

And another thing—I'd thought Dyonisia was a Shape Shifter, not a Wild Whisperer. Unless… maybe she had such a tight grip on the other Good Council elites that she'd asked one of them to send spider spies for her and translate their findings.

"What's your name?" I asked the mouse finally.

"Willa," it replied promptly. A female, then.

"Well, Willa, I will give you cheese every day of your life if you help me with this letter—and alert me to any suspicious spiders creeping in for a closer listen. You don't have to kill them. Just tell me if they're there."

Willa didn't even pause to consider.

"Deal. Now, here's what I want you to write."

Half an hour later, after finishing the letter to Fabian and sneaking into the kitchen for some cheese, I finally started outside for my morning walk—to the Element Wielder house down the street.

I had exactly three tasks left for today: find a bird to send the letter for me, see if I could talk to Quinn, and catch a crab for my crocodile friend in the swamp (calling him a friend helped with the nerves.)

Three tasks. If I did it right, I didn't see why I couldn't merge them into one.

So on my way to Quinn's house, I threw my head skyward, where gray clouds were stirring. "Hey, you!" I cried to some neon green honeycreepers chasing each other above the rooftops. "Can one of you come down here for a second? I have a question."

Three of them flitted down and zipped around my head as I walked.

"Yes?"

"Yes?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think one of you could send this letter for me? To my father in Alderwick?" I held out the sealed envelope… which looked much too big for a honeycreeper.

"Oh, no, we're not strong enough for that," one of them chirped. "But hold on! Let me get one of the crows. They're too bored and grumpy for their own good anyways.They need something to do."

All three of them whizzed away.

I stopped, waiting in the middle of Bascite Boulevard, until one of the honeycreepers returned with a large-billed crow, who flapped itself to my feet.

"What do you want?" the crow squawked.

"To ask if you would send a letter for me."

Willa had told me back in the study chamber that though birds of all species were social creatures, they didn't affiliate with any one side of a human conflict and therefore could be trusted to deliver a message—but only if they felt like it. I was not to goad any of them too much.

The crow cocked its head. "Say please."

Okay, then. If that was what he wanted…

"Please, oh mighty crow, would you brave the rough and stormy skies to send a letter for me? I would be eternally grateful."

I'd meant to dramatize it, but even as I said it, a raindrop plopped on my head.

The crow's beak seemed to smile. "I don't need that much pizazz, but since you asked nicely… sure. Name and address?"

After I had given him instructions and he'd clamped the letter in his talons, I added, "If you happen to see the tiger Jagaros on your journey, tell him I say hi!"

"Absolutely not." The crow ruffled his feathers. "We aerial creatures do not dare speak to the king of Eshol. He would tear our beaks off just for sport."

And the crow flew away, up into the drizzling sky.

I stood there, staring after him as rain peppered my face. King of Eshol? Neither Mr. Fenway nor Mr. Conine had ever mentioned a monarchy among the animals of the island, and Jagaros himself had certainly never mentioned being king… although I supposed there hadn't been much time for him to give me much backstory, what with the crowds of thousands staring at us.

I made a mental note to ask my instructors about it on Monday—or maybe I'd just ask Willa once I made it back to the house—and turned toward Quinn's again.

Only to find her already standing there in the street, facing me.