Thread of Darkness

Ch. 24: as if he were a faraway star

"Right," Brigid said. "Who wants to start?"

Camille wrapped a pink ribbon around her finger. They were sitting in a private room off the infirmary; golden phials of somnium littered the shelves, alongside a pencil sketch of an angry-looking tutor with an enormous head (Teagan's work, no doubt). A book on horse-breeding lay open on the desk.

Ryne was sleeping on the cot, his eyelids flickering as he dreamed. Brigid adjusted his blankets. John guarded the door. Eris and Tristan stood by the bed, eyeing each other warily. And Anna paced around the room, picking up objects at random. Several, Camille noted, seemed to have disappeared.

She wound the ribbon tighter; it dug into her ring.

"Let me rephrase." Brigid leaned forward. "Someone start talking."

"I could recite a soliloquy," Anna offered. "I'm very good at Is That A Wooden Peg In Your Pocket, Sailor?"

Brigid pinched the bridge of her nose. "Why is she here?"

Anna picked up a dragon-shaped paperweight. "Entertainment value."

"Get out."

Brigid pointed at the door. Anna ran a finger along the dragon's spine.

"I've been instructed not to leave the Castle," she said.

Brigid's dark eyes narrowed. "Of the room."

"Oh, that." Anna paused. "I don't think I will."

Brigid raised her voice. "Guards!"

"Stop it!" Camille seized Brigid's wrist. "Just... stop."

Her head was pounding. Blood pooled in the finger with the ribbon, turning it red and swollen. Brigid blinked. Camille wasn't sure who was more surprised; Brigid, or herself. Slowly, she released Brigid's wrist. A savage, burning sensation clawed at her chest.

She'd never hated someone before.

Never.

But after going to her childhood cottage... after piecing together what Brigid had done to her parents...

Camille swallowed.

If they even were her birth parents. How long would it take Grayson to search through the Wynterlynn adoption records? Weeks? Months? More?

"You know something," John said.

He was looking at Camille intently, his clipboard hovering like a question mark. Camille wound the ribbon again.

"I don't know anything," she said.

Anna snorted. "You're a bad liar, Camille."

The other girl was picking up silver candlesticks now, weighing them in her hand. Camille looked away. Something twisted in her gut. She wished that she'd never seen Anna and Isaac kiss. Wished that Anna wasn't a Nightweaver. Wished that — in some other world — they could have been friends.

Alas.

Brigid leaned forward. "Tell us."

Camille looped the ribbon around. "I promised Ryne I wouldn't say anything."

"Ryne could die." Brigid's voice was tight. "His wishes are irrelevant."

Another loop. "It doesn't matter. You can't help him."

Brigid leaned forward. "You know what he's sick with, don't you? Tell me, Camille. Please."

Her finger throbbed. "I'm sorry."

Ryne made a wheezing noise.

Camille moved unthinkingly, lacing their hands together. His pulse fluttered under her fingers. Air rattled in his lungs. If Penny was here, Camille thought, she could take some of his pain away; she could ease his suffering. And if Isaac was here...