The mystic’s rasping voice sounded as if she hadn’t spoken in ages. “He put the other two back in, but didn’t have the part he needed to fix my machine. He’s at the Meat Market, meeting with the Viper Queen.”
Ithan sniffed, trying to get a read on her. All he could get from this distance was salt. Like it had brined the scent right out of her. “You know when he’ll be back?”
She only stared at him, like she was still hooked up to the machine beyond them. “You were the one who freed me.” Solas, she sat with such … Vanir stillness. He’d never realized how much he moved until he stood before her. And he’d considered himself capable of a wolf’s utter stillness.
“Yeah, sorry.” But the word stuck—freed. She’d been pleading to go back. He’d assumed she’d meant into the between-place where the mystics roamed, but … What if she’d meant this world—back to her life before? The family who had sold her into this?
Not his problem, not his issue to solve. But he still asked, “Are you okay?” She didn’t look okay. She sat the way he had in his dorm bathroom the night he’d learned that Connor was dead.
The mystic only said, “He will be back soon.”
“Then I’ll wait for him.”
“He will not be pleased.”
Ithan offered her a reassuring smile. “I can pay, don’t worry.”
“You’ve caused him a great deal of inconvenience. He’ll kick you out.”
Ithan took a step closer. “Can you help me, then?”
“I can’t do anything unless I’m in the tank. And I don’t know how to use the machines to ask the others.”
“All right.”
She angled her head. “What do you want to know?”
He swallowed hard. “Was it true, what the demon prince said, about my brother being safe for now?”
She frowned, her full mouth unnaturally pale. “I could only sense the other’s terror,” she said, nodding toward the tanks. “Not what was said.”
Ithan rubbed the back of his neck. “All right. Thanks. That’s all I needed.” He had to know for sure that Connor was safe. There had to be some way to help him.
She said, “You could find a necromancer. They would know the truth.”
“Necromancers are few and far between, and highly regulated,” Ithan said. “But thanks again. And, uh … good luck.”
He turned back toward the doors. The mystic shifted slightly, and the movement sent a whisper of her scent toward him. Snow and embers and— Ithan went rigid. Whirled to her. “You’re a wolf. What are you doing here?”
She didn’t answer.
“Your pack allowed this to happen?” Rage boiled his blood. Claws appeared at his fingertips.
“My parents had no pack,” she said hoarsely. “They roamed the tundra of Nena with me and my ten siblings. My gifts became apparent when I was three. By four, I was in there.” She pointed to the tank, and Ithan recoiled in horror.
A wolf family had sold their pup, and she’d gone into that tank— “How long?” he asked, unable to stop his trembling anger. “How long have you been in here?”
She shook her head. “I … I don’t know.”
“When were you born? What year?”
“I don’t know. I don’t even remember how long it’s been since I made the Drop. He had some official come here to mark it, but … I don’t remember.”
Ithan rubbed at his chest. “Solas.” She appeared as young as him, but among the Vanir, that meant nothing. She could be hundreds of years old. Gods, how had she even made the Drop here? “What’s your name? Your family name?”
“My parents never named me, and I never learned their names beyond Mother and Father.” Her voice sharpened—a hint of temper shining through. “You should leave.”
“You can’t be in here.”
“There’s a contract that suggests otherwise.”
“You are a wolf,” he snarled. “You’re kept in a fucking cage here.” He’d go right to the Prime. Make him order the Astronomer to free this unnamed female.
“My siblings and parents are able to eat and live comfortably because I am here. That will cease when I am gone. They will again starve.”
“Too fucking bad,” Ithan said, but he could see it—the determination in her expression that told him he wasn’t going to pry her out of here. And he could understand it, that need to give over all of herself so that her family could survive. So he amended, “My name is Ithan Holstrom. You ever want to get out of here, send word.” He had no idea how, but … maybe he’d check in on her every few months. Come up with excuses to ask her questions.