Hyperbole, but Lore’s shoulders still inched toward her ears. “I can tell.” Her intuition was a spark in her chest, a torch that didn’t lead her wrong. Part of her was at home in the catacombs in a way she never was anywhere else.
All she’d ever wanted was to find somewhere she fit that wasn’t in the dark. But shadows and death were the only things that held space for her.
“You never did tell me exactly how this navigation thing works.” Bastian stepped up so they were level, adjusted his longer stride to keep it that way. “I assume it has something to do with being born here?”
Lore shrugged, studying the dark before her rather than the Sun Prince beside. “I assume so.”
“Then you’re the only one who knows the catacombs like this, because you were the only one born in the catacombs.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
His brow cocked.
Lore sighed, rubbed at her eyes. It was a good thing Bastian was the one to come down here with her; she didn’t have the energy to keep secrets. “There were other babies born to the Night Sisters,” she said. “More than one unmarried pregnant person thought hiding in the catacombs was preferable to dealing with their families on the surface.”
“Doesn’t say much for their families.”
“Or society in general. It takes more than one person to make a baby, but the onus always falls on the one who bodily carries the proof.”
“True.” Bastian dipped his chin in acquiescence. “But I assume children born here aren’t all able to use Mortem?”
“Nope.” Lore gave a halfhearted attempt at a laugh. “I just got lucky, I guess.”
He snorted, then inclined his head to her moon-marked hand, swinging by her side as the other held her torch. “Did all children born to Night Sisters get marked?”
Her hand curled closed. “No. Only those chosen to go into the tomb on the eclipse and see if Nyxara’s body has stirred.”
His eyes darkened at the word eclipse, knitting it together with the planned ball, synchronicities that itched.
A few steps of silence. Then Bastian swallowed. “You shouldn’t go to the ball on the eclipse, Lore.”
“I have to. If I don’t, it will be obvious that we—”
“No, you fucking don’t.” The words shredded in his teeth, vehement and bladed. “You don’t have to jump when August or Anton says jump. Remaut and I can come up with cover if we have to. Pretend you’re sick, lock yourself in your room, hells, run through the storm drain and go find a tavern to get raging drunk in, but I don’t think you should come.”
She stopped. “Do you know something?”
“Of course I don’t know something.” Bastian looked irritated. “But I don’t have a good feeling about it, and when it comes to you, that’s enough for me.”
“Why do you care so much about protecting me?” She planted her feet in dry dirt and bone dust, faced him like an oncoming cavalry. “Why do I care so much about protecting you?”
“I don’t know.” Rounding the bend to what they’d said before, this feeling of knowing each other, of being pulled along by strings they didn’t tie. “I don’t know.”
Lore sighed, looked away. “Fine. I will try to get out of going to the eclipse ball.” But even as she gave the promise, it sat heavy on the back of her throat, and tasted like a lie. Her thoughts turned to Gabe, to how he’d take it if she suddenly decided to completely defy Anton. He’d gone along with all this so far because of the threat of the Burnt Isles—the threat to her, specifically, since his connections and title could probably get him out of it. But after last night, she didn’t want to test how far he’d go for her, whether that line had finally been crossed.
Bastian nodded. “Thank you.”
“You shouldn’t go, either,” Lore said, ripping her mind away from Gabe. “What with your father trying to get rid of you, and all.”
“I’ve been bringing in my own food,” Bastian said. “And I won’t drink or eat anything at the ball, so that rules out overdosing me with one of his poisons. If I were someone who partook in such things, it would make his job easier, but I’ve always had a distaste for it.” The corner of his mouth lifted, his bared teeth gleaming in the light of his torch. “And if he tries to kill me in a less subtle way, who can blame me for returning the favor?”
Disquiet thrummed in her temples. “Let’s hope he behaves, then.”