Rhy said nothing.
Nadiya looked down.
On the table between them, the sand had finally stopped whispering over the paper. It fell still, turning to solid black lines around the piece of bone as it drew the map. A bank. A street. A house. One stroke at a time, the city unraveled. Rhy’s breath caught in his chest. Nadiya frowned. There were no names, no numbers, but they were not necessary. Both of them knew exactly where Tes had been taken.
The Emery estate.
III
Tes woke to the violence of cold water.
She sat up, heaving as icy rivers ran into her eyes and down her neck, soaking into her curls. Bex stood over her, holding a now empty bucket.
“Rise and shine,” she said, setting it aside.
Tes’s heart was pounding her chest, the taste of dreamsquick heavy on her tongue. She was lying on the floor of a well-appointed room, a puddle forming on the wooden boards. She wasn’t tied down, at least. That should have made her feel better. It didn’t. There were no windows, and only one door, and Calin was leaning against it, a dark bruise blooming like a shadow on one side of his face. Bex only watched as Tes rose, unsteady, to her feet, and wrung the water from her hair.
Something had changed.
In her shop, the two assassins had an easy swagger, the confidence unique to sellswords. There had been a looseness to their shoulders, an ease to their gait. Now both of them stood quiet, tense as harp strings.
She wondered why—until a voice behind her cleared its throat.
“I asked for a persalis, and you brought me a girl.”
Tes turned, and found a large man, cloaked in navy and silver. The threads that wove the air around him were an earthy green, but they were thin, and dim. His brown hair was trimmed short, his eyes a blue so dark she might have taken them for black if the light hadn’t caught their edges. His accent was pure vestra, and he had the bearing of a noble, but his knuckles were traced with pale white scars. Tes took a reflexive step back, even if it meant stepping closer to the assassins.
“Best we could do,” muttered Calin.
“My lord,” added Bex, and Tes caught the slightest mocking lilt in the words. “But in the absence of a fish, I thought you’d want the fisherman.”
The nobleman ignored the killers. He studied Tes, and as he did, she realized this must be him: the leader of the Hand.
“You’ve caused me quite a bit of trouble,” he said. “Let’s hope you can fix it.”
He stepped aside, revealing a large desk. Piled atop and around it were a myriad of spelled objects, many household, but not all, and half of them in disrepair. The kinds of things that had filled the shelves at Haskin’s, before she’d torn it down.
“Everything we could find,” offered Calin, “on such short notice.”
“And everything you should need,” said the nobleman. “To make another persalis.”
Tes recoiled, and said what she should have when the dying thief had first walked into her shop with the broken doormaker in tow.
“No.”
In her head, it had been booming, but when it crossed her lips, it came out hoarse and small, barely a whisper. And yet, it seemed to fill the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bex flinch, but the nobleman nodded, as if he understood. And then he began to unfasten his cuffs. The clasps, she saw, were silver feathers. Her mind spun. She wished she’d paid more attention to the royal houses, back when her father had insisted on her taking lessons.
“I’m afraid,” he said, rolling up his sleeves, “I do not have time to be persuasive.” He drew a small bottle from his pocket, its contents the color of oil. When he tipped the bottle, it left viscous stains against the glass. “Hold her.”
Tes stumbled back, shoes sliding in the puddle, only to find hands grabbing her arms, forcing her down against the wet wood floor. She fought, and screamed as they held her there, kicked out as the large man loomed. She landed a blow to his stomach, but it was like kicking stone; he didn’t even wince. And then he was kneeling beside her, uncorking the noxious vial, and Bex’s fist was tangled in her hair, forcing her head back.
The pain made her cry out, and as she did, the glass was forced between her teeth. Bitter liquid hit her tongue. She choked, throat closing against it, but the nobleman’s massive palm came down over her mouth, fingers clamping it shut until, at last, she swallowed.
The hands holding her disappeared, and Tes rolled onto her side, heaving. She curled small, as if to shield herself. As if the damage was not already done. A shadow fell over her, darkening the room. The nobleman, smoothing down his sleeves.