Before She Ignites (Fallen Isles Trilogy #1)(9)

But the cup held only water, sharp with minerals, but water nonetheless. It felt wonderful on my aching, sob-racked throat. Part of me wanted to splash it on my face and rinse the grime off my skin, but there wasn’t enough water to feel clean. And I was so, so thirsty.

The cup was empty too soon, and only as I crawled under the bed again did I realize I should have saved some for my neighbor. “Sorry,” I whispered as I pressed the cup into the hole. “I drank it all.”

He tapped on the floor in a quick pattern, and though a tap was just a tap, some gave the impression of length. Maybe he’d dragged his finger. One long, one short. A pause. One short, two long, one short. Then, like an afterthought, he said, “No problem.”

“I should have saved some for you.”

“Ceiling drips.” He drew the cup toward him, and I tried not to think too hard about having just drunk ceiling water. That couldn’t be sanitary. “Better?” he asked.

“Yes. Thank you.” My neighbor wasn’t much of a talker. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that thirsty in my life. I keep fantasizing about a bath, too. Even if I could just wash my face, I’d feel so much better.”

Three quick taps sounded through the little hole. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re not the reason I ended up here.”

Two taps: long, short. “No.”

No, it wasn’t his fault, or no, he was disagreeing with me and he thought it was his fault? Daminan etiquette forced me to keep going—put him at ease by assuring him of his innocence.

“It was definitely my fault.” A sigh shuddered out of me. “I just wanted to help.”

On the other side of the wall, there was no sound but the faint rustle of fabric.

“I’m worried about my friends. Ilina and Hristo—” I shut my runaway mouth. Mother said one of my biggest flaws was that I didn’t think about all the things people could do with information before I let it spout out of me.

“Well, never mind. It isn’t particularly important.” Yes, it was. It was possibly the most important thing I’d ever come across in my life. It had consumed me so much that when Ilina’s mother asked me to leave Ilina out of my story, I hadn’t considered what that might mean.

That turned out to be the only blessing in the whole mess. By the time I’d realized the Luminary Council wouldn’t help, I’d known better than to say anything about my friends. If the council punished me for discovering their secrets, Ilina and Hristo would be in even worse trouble. Maybe killed.

I resisted the urge to touch the twists in my hair, no matter how close it made me feel to Ilina; too much fussing would ruin her work. “I trusted the wrong people.”

He didn’t respond, or acknowledge the invitation to tell me what he’d done.

Like I hadn’t said anything at all.

Suddenly, I wondered if he wasn’t real. Maybe he—and the drink of water—was just a sliver of my imagination and soon I wouldn’t care that I was in prison because I’d start to hallucinate my way out. What if—

No. That wasn’t what was happening. My neighbor was just very, very quiet.

Determined not to let the panic overtake me again, I reached into the darkness to pull my blanket under the bed with me.

“Do you have anything to cut with?” I hoped he was real, this person on the other side of the wall. Otherwise, everyone down the cellblock would hear me talking to myself.

“No.” Two taps: one long, and one short.

Oh, right. Of course he didn’t. Assuming he was real, he was a prisoner. Like me. No weapons. “It’s just, I always wrap my hair at night. I thought I could cut off a piece of my dress.”

Even as the words came out, I realized he didn’t care. Everyone here had it just as bad as me, and my hair was definitely not a concern. Neither was my name or face or status. We were all trying to survive.

But everything was out of my control, and if I could just do something normal, I might feel human again.

“Sorry,” he said. Another three fast taps. There was definitely a pattern, but I couldn’t figure it out.

“How long will it stay dark like this?”

No reply.

“How do you think they got the noorestones to go out? I’ve never heard of that happening before.” At home, we pulled curtains over wall-mounted noorestones and had thick cloths to place over the others. Well, the servants did it. Mother wouldn’t allow Zara or me to perform what she described as a “menial task” except in the privacy of our own bedrooms when we were preparing for sleep.

These noorestones hadn’t been covered, though. No one had come by; the light had just gone out.

What an alarming thought.

“Do you think they have some kind of device?” I asked. “Or special noorestones? I heard there are scholars who think—”

I bit off my words. I didn’t want to start a discussion about noorestones.

Most people liked talking about themselves. They loved to brag, especially if they could make it sound like they weren’t bragging. I had tons of practice encouraging these kinds of conversations. It kept people from noticing my shortcomings.

I started with something basic. “What’s your name?”

Silence.

“Are you a real person?” Did those words really come out of my mouth? “I—Sorry. I just meant I didn’t see you when I walked through.” Which probably gave credit to the imaginary-person theory.