“Who hates newsouls.” Maybe I didn’t know Deborl well, but I knew enough about him and his choice of friends. Merton had attacked me, spoken out against me, said those horrible things after Anid was born. And Deborl hadn’t seemed to care when someone attacked me in the market field. “Do you think anyone might have let it slip to Deborl—”
“That fast?” Whit shook his head. “Everyone was at Sam’s for a long time after the discussion. No one left early, right? No one had time to speak to anyone, accidentally reveal our plans, and then the second person go out and set explosives. There just wasn’t time.”
How long did it take to set up an explosive and get away? Or not get away, if it was Deborl? He’d been at Geral’s. “SED messages.”
Neither Sam nor Whit argued with that possibility.
“What are you trying to prove?” Red veined Whit’s eyes; I was upsetting him. “Do you want someone to have betrayed us? Why are you pushing so hard?”
“Someone has to.” My throat tightened, making my voice pinched and desperate. “I hate the idea of someone betraying us, but I swore I’d protect newsouls to the best of my ability. I have to.”
Both men stayed silent, just watching me like I might burst.
At last, Whit spoke softly. “Would it be easier if one of our friends were somehow responsible for this?”
“Easier than watching more newsouls die.” I swallowed hard. “Easier than not being able to do anything at all.”
Whit glanced at Sam, something passing between them, and then Sam touched my elbow. “We’d better go.”
I wanted to apologize to Whit, but I wasn’t sure what it’d be an apology for. Instead, I thanked him for his time as I pulled on all my warm clothes again. Sam and I headed out.
“I can’t protect newsouls from Janan.” My eyes stung with tears and cold. “I can’t pull them out of the temple and bring them to life, no matter how much I wish I could. But I should at least be able to protect the ones who escaped. I should be able to protect them from people.”
Who was I kidding? I could barely protect myself.
My hand fell on my tiny knife, and I squeezed it until my knuckles burned. Not much protection.
“Let’s go.” Sam sounded like he didn’t know how to respond to my confession. I didn’t blame him. I wouldn’t have known, either.
Before, snow had left a white sheet on the ground; now it coated cobblestones like a blanket.
“I think we should go home,” Sam said, linking his arm with mine. I wasn’t ready for this kind of closeness, but he knew his way around the city in the dark. I tightened my arm with his.
“But we need to speak to everyone.”
“Not tonight.”
“And if there are more explosions? I won’t be able to live with myself if another newsoul dies because we stopped just short of catching this person.” There was no wind and the snow fell in silence, but my voice still rose as if we stood in the middle of a blizzard. Icy air snaked inside my clothes, making me tremble.
“Ana, you’re shivering already, and we haven’t been out but two minutes. How many times do you expect me to keep you from frostbite or hypothermia?” He brought his face so close to mine I could feel the heat of his words. His skin. “You enjoy making me worry, don’t you?”
“No, I hate it.” There wasn’t much vehemence, though. “I want to do the right thing.”
“Sometimes”—he tugged me closer to him—“that means not freezing your fingers off. We still have tomorrow. Anything that happens between now and then is not your fault. Let’s go home.”
“Fine.” I hated when he was right. Snow was piling up; if we waited too long, getting home would be more of a challenge than either of us could handle, especially on empty stomachs. “But first thing tomorrow, we’re either going to see people, or be making a lot of calls.”
He glanced toward the sky, though it was just dark with swirls of snow. “Calls, unless this lets up. Which I doubt.”
I almost asked how he knew, but right. He was five thousand years old. He could probably tell by the smell or the size of snowflakes.
Our trek back to the southwestern residential quarter was long and cold and slow. We passed the temple—Sam had somehow maneuvered so he walked between the tower and me—and still had a long way to go when the wind kicked up. What had been a beautiful, if annoyingly timed, snowfall became rough and stinging.
Snow flew horizontally down South Avenue. It howled like a sylph as it cut through narrow places in the industrial quarter. Trees whipped in a frenzy. Sharp wind scoured the cobblestones clear, and if not for Sam, it might have carried me off, too. I was a rose petal in a snowstorm.
Drifts stood knee-high against buildings, though Sam managed to find walkable paths. I held tight to him, wishing we were already home. My legs ached with cold and fighting the wind. My muscles burned with exertion, and it felt like I should be sweating, but frigid air stole the ability. It was hard to breathe.
Once we reached our street, thick conifers buffered us from the wind. The night was black and snow. My eyes burned. Every bit of me was freezing, even inside my wool coat and mittens.