Page 17 of Avalon Tower
He takes a seat in a high-back leather chair and folds his arms. “Why don’t you report in detail how you helped the fugitives reach us?” He still sounds like he doesn’t believe me. After all, what could garbage like me possibly know?
I sigh, growing flustered. “I was having birthday cake at a restaurant. I ordered lavender, but they brought blackberry—”
“I mean report the relevant details.”
“Fine.”
He lifts a finger. “Hang on, you were celebrating your birthday by yourself?”
I glare at him. That’s right, I’m a giant loser on top of everything else. “I’m on vacation by myself, yes. Not that it’s any of your business—”
“From what I remember, you spend a lot of time on holidays,” he murmurs.
“Do you want me to report or not?” I say sharply.
I suppose I don’t need to tell him that my days of having luxury vacations are over, that I spent five years eating store-brand cereal to save up the fare. And tempting as it is, I will not tell him that he ruined five years of careful planning by kidnapping me. “If you must know, Raphael, I saw the demi-Fey through a restaurant window. By the time I realized who they were, someone was watching us, and I was guilty by association. There were Fey soldiers marching around. The fugitives looked terrified, and I hate when people are scared.” My mind flickers with a memory of Mother screaming that bugs were crawling on her skin. I clear my throat. “So I pretended to be a tour guide and that they were my group. And I led them to the docks.”
“And that was it? You just jumped in and brought them to me?”
“It wasn’t that easy,” I snap. “A member of the group panicked and ran. Vena was separated from us, and the Fey soldiers slit her throat. That’s why I didn’t want you to leave the others behind. They’re executing people in the streets.”
His expression doesn’t change at this news. “There were fourteen when they left Brocéliende. Eleven got to us, plus the extra we didn’t want. That’s a seventy-eight percent success rate. Above average.”
My throat tightens. It seemed so cold to refer to Vena as a percentage. I didn’t know her at all, but somewhere, her family would be mourning her death.
His pale eyes are locked on my face. “I know what you’re thinking, but it’s a war. People die. We need to focus on the living. And right now, I need to know exactly what happened. Every little detail might be important. So, start at the beginning. Where did you see them? Why did you even approach them?”
I go over it, racking my brain for every single detail. The jewel. The woman who stuck her head out from her house. The two red dragons swooping overhead. The way we hid in the veil—
“Stop right there.” He raises his hand. “What do you mean, you hid in the veil? The veil is lethal to anyone without an orb, and there’s only a handful of those in the world.”
I shrug. “This part of the veil wasn’t lethal.”
He stares at me, his face an expressionless mask. “I understand how the magic works, and you obviously don’t. There are no parts of the veil that are safe. None.”
I spread my palms. “Well, I’m still here, so I guess there are.”
Darkness slides through his eyes. “All of it is lethal.”
I’ve contradicted him, and he doesn’t like it.
“You asked me to tell you what happened, and I’m telling you. The veil shifted over me like it was hungry. It enveloped me. But there was no humming once I was inside it. There wasn’t any prickling on my skin, like there usually is when I get close."
His expression tightens. “No…humming. You hear humming near the veil?”
“Yes, because it hums. Anyway, the others joined me inside the veil, and they were also safe, and it was quiet. No humming.”
His expression is so cold, I practically get goosebumps. “And if I go ask the others, they’ll verify that’s what happened?”
“I’m not imagining things,” I say with a touch too much force. Because the truth is I do imagine things, and I’m sometimes confused about what’s real and what’s not.
“Right. Give me a minute.” He stands, and I suddenly remember how ridiculously tall he is. He has to duck his head to leave the cabin.
I wait, replaying everything he said to me. His skill for condescension is really unparalleled.
Someone like you…
I remember you…and your mother. The disdain in his tone.