Page 44

He glanced at Tared as he raised his hand, just the quickest vigilant glimpse, yet enough to make me abruptly realise the mistake I’d made.

Lyn hadn't been the only one in the room while we blissfully chatted about hand languages, showing her the alphabet and whatever other gestures came up in the conversation. Which meant any of them could have picked up just enough to read our exchanges.

Which meant not even our signs would be private on this trip.

Apparently reaching the same conclusion, Creon returned nothing but a blandSleep well.

‘Thanks.’ My breath had grown shallow. ‘You too.’

He’d already turned away to look for a quieter spot.

Chapter 9

Iwokestiffandsore on the creaking wooden floor of the farmhouse, the smell of dust and rot heavy in my nostrils, the thin blanket around me a woefully lacking alternative to strong arms and velvet wings.

Creon.

The memories of last night returned to me like a fist in the face, and I shot up so abruptly I nearly tore my blanket.

Watery morning sunlight filtered through the windows and the holes in the roof, bathing the living room in a deceptively peaceful glow. Edored lay sleeping next to me, arms wrapped around his backpack, leather overcoat folded into a pillow under his head. Tared and Lyn had made themselves at home in the opposite corner of the room. The distance separating their makeshift pillows suggested they’d started out with a good two feet between them, but Lyn’s small body lay curled up against Tared’s shoulder now, a mess of blankets and bright red curls covering most of his arm and chest.

Creon was nowhere to be seen.

I scrambled to my feet and staggered to the back of the house, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I quickly searched the bedrooms and scullery. Most were empty. I only found Naxi sleeping in one of the small beds, sprawled out over the ancient mattress as if every inch of this house wasn’t tainted by the gruesome fate of its inhabitants.

If she was sleeping but we hadn't been burned by plague magic, Creon had to be awake and near.

My guts knotted even tighter. If he hadn't waited for me to wake up and talk, did that mean he didn’twantto talk to me?

Swallowing a curse, I tiptoed out through the back door, which hung askew on its rusty hinges and only squealed a little when I pushed it open. A panorama of wild vines and hills and mountains opened up before me, no less dizzying through the wisps of grey-white morning mist that covered the landscape in the glow of the golden morning sun. In the vibrant mess of the overgrown garden, my eyes found charred animals, a collapsed shed, and no Creon.

I made my way through the dewy grass and around the house, drawing in deep gulps of crisp morning air to soothe my anxiety. Just a few dozen steps, but it was more than enough to think of a hundred bitter reproaches he could throw into my face, to remember every cold glance he’d levelled at me last night.

My heart stopped dead in my chest for an unmeasurable moment when I stepped around the last corner and found his familiar winged silhouette on the porch.

He was sitting cross-legged against the wall, coat around his shoulders, as he scribbled some note in his lap. It took just a moment too long before he looked up, just a moment too long before he shoved parchment and pencil back into one of his many pockets.

The coldness was gone from his gaze, but this resigned, heavy weariness was an improvement only in the most technical sense of the word.

‘Morning?’ I whispered.

He sighed.Morning, Em.

Nocactus.No smiles. Clambering towards him over the half-rotten porch boards, I felt like a beachcomber approaching a brand new shipwreck, unsure whether I’d find death or treasures inside.

‘Did you get some sleep?’

His shrug was, presumably, ano.He’d lain awake, too, then. I recalled Naxi’s quick and smooth intervention to keep us from talking last night and wondered if it had been intentional – if she’d known what was going on behind his cold façade and decided I’d better stay away from him until he’d taken a few hours to calm himself.

A nauseating shiver ran up my spine.

‘I’m sorry.’ My voice came out small. ‘I should have handled that better.’

His hands remained motionless in his lap as he rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. But his lips mimed,It’s alright.

Not what I’d expected him to say. Glancing at the expressionless mask of his face, the set of his jaw too hard and the line of his lips too tense, the relief wouldn’t come.

‘You’re not happy, though,’ I managed.