Whoa. In a surprise move, Connor tries to steer the conversation away from Adair-slash-Acca’s guilt and onto my problems. Note to self: one of these days, ream Connor out about his Acca-love program. It’s ridiculous.
“I am perfectly healthy and our Ghost Towers are secure. All of that is Adair’s cover story for stealing my igni. Until she’s behind bars, she’ll continue to cause us trouble. She’s the one who’s really placing Purgatory at risk.”
“What are the specifics on this trap?” asks Connor. “Must be quite a scheme.”
Riiiiiiiight. It takes everything I have not to roll my eyes. Like we’re telling Connor diddly.
“I’m sure the children wish to keep the details to themselves,” says Octavia simply. A long pause follows as she glares at Connor. Whole conversations hide inside that glance.
While the stare-fest continues, I give Lincoln’s parents a careful once-over. What is it between them and Acca, anyway? They seem super-close except for this one area. It’s obvious that Octavia hates that House with a passion, while Connor doesn’t necessarily like Acca, but he certainly gives in to them all the time.
At length, Connor looks away. “You don’t need to go into specifics. We understand the gist of your operation.”
“Excellent,” says Lincoln. “So, what do you say?”
“I see no reason not to support you,” declares Octavia. “If you get the proof, we will uphold inter-realm law and place Adair in our prisons. Don’t you agree, Connor?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Inter-realm law and all that.”
Okay, that’s about the lamest endorsement I’ve ever heard.
I whip out my snarkiest tone. “Well, thanks for the support and all that.”
Connor looks dumbfounded for a full minute.
Lincoln and I share a look, and I know he’s fighting the urge to burst out laughing. Thrax are raised to never say ‘boo’ to their King. For me, mouthing off to power comes quite naturally.
Octavia quickly changes the subject. “I hope you’ll get this nonsense fixed right away. We’re holding Myla’s Ball of Welcome tomorrow night. If Adair’s sabotaging things, I certainly don’t want my event affected.”
Oh, crap. I totally forgot about that Ball of Welcome.
Images flash through my mind. Dresses. Shoes. Small-talk. Waltzing. Arrrgh. No question. I need to sweet-talk my way out of this.
“Come to think of it, there’s a lot going on this week, what with the sting operation and all. Maybe we should put off the Ball for a while and—”
Octavia fixes me with a stare that could melt lead. I fight the overwhelming urge to cower and yell ‘yipe-yipe-yipe’ at the top of my lungs. Damn, but when she wants to, Octavia can be scary. And I know scary.
“Or, on second thought,” I add quickly. “We could still have the Ball tomorrow night.”
“As I’d hoped,” replies Octavia. “My seamstresses are working on a lovely over-gown for your Scala robes. That way you can keep them on and still look thrax traditional.”
“Thanks, Octavia, that sounds—” What should I say about this over-gown thing? I mean, if she’s gotten me nun-chucks, I’d have tons of comments. My mind becomes a total blank as a single word escapes my lips. “Nifty.”
Nifty? Really, Myla? Yow, it’s been a long day.
“You’re most welcome,” retorts Octavia. “I’ve made other interesting plans for the Ball as well.” With that, she launches into a long explanation of all her Ball preparations. I do my best to listen, but I can’t help noticing that Lincoln pulls his father aside for a heated discussion. I’ve never seen Lincoln so angry.
A chill of foreboding creeps up my skin, making me shiver. Based on the way my life is going lately, I’d bet a million dollars that their talk has something to do with Adair.
And something mighty unpleasant, too.
Chapter Fourteen
Lincoln and I rush onto the transfer platform in Arx Hall. All through the ride back, he doesn’t say a word. Every time I try to look at him, he glances away. Whenever I ask a question, I get a one-word answer. If I take his hand in mine, he gives my palm a quick squeeze before letting go.
No question about it. Lincoln’s fight with his father has him mega-bummed out.
Once we reach the Pulpitum in Purgatory, I find us a quiet bench on the nearby cobblestone yard. A few silent minutes pass while we soak in the grey Purgatory day. Finally, Lincoln meets my gaze. A sad smile rounds his lips.
That’s my cue. He’s ready to talk.
“What happened back there?” I ask.
He exhales a long breath. “What didn’t happen back there?”
“I mean with your father. I saw you two chatting after your parents agreed to jailing Adair. You looked not-too-happy.”
“Well, it’s obvious where this is going, from Adair’s point of view anyway. If her plan works, she’ll take the rest of your powers. Become the Great Scala herself.”