Witch's Pyre (Worldwalker #3)(27)

We don’t all have to stay, Tristan said sullenly.

You want to split up, Una said, surprised.

A long pause followed. “I think we should all decide on our own,” Lily said. She looked at Rowan. “Some of us might have personal reasons for wanting to leave the coven.”

Lily left them to discuss her without interfering. She was desperate to get out her kimono and wash the makeup off her face, and desperate for silence, both around her and inside her own head.

The thought of losing this Tristan to Bower City had hurt less than it should. She was almost relieved to not have to see him, to not be constantly reminded that he wasn’t her Tristan, and he never could be. As she realized that, guilt folded over guilt until it was piled high on top of her head. She was at her door when she heard Rowan’s voice behind her.

“Lily.” He stopped several paces from her and kept his hands at his sides where she could see them. He didn’t even try to initiate mindspeak. “Are you thinking of staying?”

“I’m not thinking anything yet,” she replied. “What about you?” Lily hated that his answer meant so much to her.

“I’ll stay if you stay, and I’ll go if you go.”

“Why?” Lily sighed and shook her head. “There’s nothing for you here. Not with me.”

“I can live on nothing,” he said, and for the first time since he’d returned, Lily saw him smile.

Carrick finished his glass of wine and went back to work on the steak. They’d tried to give him some kind of raw fish and seaweed for lunch, and he hadn’t touched it. He was sure in a classy place like this they had fresh fish, but even still. Didn’t they know they could get worms that way? Carrick always cooked his fish through and through, even if he’d just caught it himself.

“Hungry?” Grace Bendingtree asked.

Carrick shrugged. “I’ve been hungrier,” he answered. The tilt of his lips let her know how big an understatement that was. He’d been literally starving to death more than once in his life, but as he considered it, maybe this Governor Bendingtree had no idea what hunger was. It was difficult to tell. She lived high now, but she seemed broken in to him. Her features were worn smooth and her eyes were placid from years of weathering strife. Then again, she looked young, too. Carrick couldn’t quite place it, but he’d bet she had some years on her.

“Would you care for some more wine?” she asked.

“Later,” Carrick said. He sat back in his chair. The cushions were plump. Carrick disliked padding on his furniture. “Why don’t you just go ahead and ask me what you came here to ask me?”

Bendingtree smiled at him, slow and knowing. She wasn’t in any rush, but she still wanted something from him. Sure, he was her prisoner, and although this palace with its servants and fancy food and the tub so big he could swim in it didn’t look like any of the dungeons Carrick had been in before, he knew what was going on here. Some captors torture their prisoners, and some pamper them. Carrick knew so much about this dynamic that he saw to the truth of it. If he wasn’t dead, she needed something from him. Strangely, that gave him all the power. He’d respect her more if she tortured him a little.

“You’re an interesting man, Carrick. Do you have a last name?” Bendingtree asked as she poured him an unasked-for glass of wine.

“Bait men have no family names to give their children. They are what they do. Every Outlander knows that.” He wanted it clear that even though she wore beads and feathers, Carrick knew she wasn’t like him.

“So you are Carrick Son of Anoki and nothing else?”

Carrick narrowed his eyes. Not that many people knew who his father was. Had to be an Outlander who told her, but if any Outlander knew about this western city, they all would. Things like this place couldn’t be kept secret no matter how much you paid someone.

“How do you keep your spies from talking about this place?” he asked.

She smiled a pretty smile that Carrick didn’t particularly care for. “Why would you think I have spies?” she asked merrily.

“Don’t be coy. It doesn’t suit you.”

“I have eyes on the situation in the east.” She weighed her words before disclosing her hand. “Enough to know that there are two Lillian Proctors.”

Carrick waited for her to talk some more. People loved to talk, especially when they were proving how smart and powerful they were. A big ego can make even the cleverest person careless, and Carrick had found that silence worked better than a beating with people who thought they were important. All except for Lillian. She never gave anything away unintended. Never talked about herself. Never bragged. Probably because she wasn’t proud of what she did.

“I had hoped to get more information from the Lillian here, but she has proved to be exceptionally tight-lipped.” Grace reconsidered. “Or maybe Toshi isn’t as irresistible as I’d once thought.”

Hearing that made Carrick smile. “Don’t count on a pretty face charming that one into letting her guard down,” he said. Rowan may have distracted Lily for a time, but she wasn’t the type to get her head turned anymore. She came out of the oubliette changed. She liked suffering now; Carrick knew it. That’s why she was perfect for him.

“So which one do you belong to?” she asked. “The sickly Lillian in Salem, or the healthy one? I’m guessing the sick one is your witch, and that the healthy one has no idea you’re here.”