“I have a good feeling about the coins.”
“I’ll get it.” I stand and pluck it off the shelf. It’s covered in glossy black paint and red symbols that match those on the coins inside. It rattles as I hand it to her. I love the sound of the coins, of the anticipation of what might fall out.
Kahina rubs the bottom of the jar in circles. “Your friend Luca? It’s hard for me to picture him. Perhaps because I’ve never met him...” she says and then gives it to me hesitantly. “Picture him and give it a go. But I can’t promise the reading will be detailed. He seems quite cloudy, in my mind.”
I shake it a few times before turning it over. A single dark coin falls out, barely the size of my fingernail. On one side is a wolf’s claw and on the other, the three streaks made from a claw tearing through earth or flesh. I don’t have the gift of fortune-work, but, even to me, the coin feels cold and dead.
Kahina takes the coin hesitantly, as if not wanting to touch it. “You were thinking of Luca when you shook the jar?”
“Yes.”
“There’s no hint of him on this coin. I cannot see him in your fortune at all.” Her face softens as she watches mine. “I’m sorry. Were you hoping I would?”
“I’m confused, I guess,” I say. The kiss aside, I’ve been with Luca the past several nights, and I’ll be with him again for many more. How could his fortune be so distant from my own?
“This coin means impending doom,” she says. “The Were’s Claw.”
My heart stutters for a moment. “You don’t think...another illusion—”
“It’s difficult to say when everything is so cloudy. You know I cannot tell fortunes for your illusions. Perhaps the Were’s Claw references the wars brewing around us. Or perhaps it does refer to Luca, and I’m having trouble seeing it.”
I frown. If Luca is about to encounter trouble, the chances of it being associated with me are low. He spends his free time befriending assassins and the like, and I can hardly be the only person his personality has—at some point—rubbed the wrong way.
“Do you see anything more?” I ask her.
“It’s unclear. Perhaps the vision is clouding because Luca is an Up-Mountainer, and the entire fate of this area balances on the edge of a knife. It feels as though Gomorrah cannot move fast enough to outrun what will happen if the Up-Mountain city-states are no longer united. It could mean a war here.”
“Luca isn’t mixed up in any of that.”
“I’m not certain,” she says. “But you should be concerned about his safety. The fortune in this coin feels very imminent. Tell him to be wary. The Were’s Claw does not simply warn of danger. It promises it.”
*
When Nicoleta and I visit Villiam that evening, Chimal and Agni also await my arrival inside his office. The atmosphere, even just upon entering the room, is tense, as though they were in the middle of an argument before we arrived. Cups sit in front of each of them, filled with red tea that has long gone cold.
“Sorina,” Villiam says, his gaze shifting to Nicoleta questioningly, “we’re hoping you have reconsidered your decision about Hawk. The more I’ve spoken to Chimal, the more it seems that Hawk would prove invaluable—”
“I’m not changing my mind about that.” I pull up the fourth chair at the table and take a seat. They all watch me with apprehension. “But I have a compromise. You say you need someone with abilities the Up-Mountainers won’t expect. I propose Nicoleta.”
“The stage manager?” Chimal furrows his thick eyebrows and inspects her skinny frame. “Forgive me, Nicoleta, but I didn’t realize you had any jynx-work.”
“She’s stronger than ten of your men combined,” I say for her.
“But not reliably so,” Villiam adds.
“True, I’ve been known to get stage fright,” she says. “But, from what I understand, this is hardly the sort of job that would elicit an audience. Besides, you wouldn’t be sending a child into battle.” She lifts her chin higher in self-righteousness.
“I think that is a very viable idea,” Agni says.
Villiam drums his fingers on the table. “With no disrespect, Nicoleta, how can we depend on you?”
“I will show you what I can do.” Nicoleta bends at the knees and picks up Villiam’s chair in her right hand and lifts him with ease. He grips the edges of his seat so as not to slide off. With her left hand, she lifts Chimal, who raises his eyebrows in interest.
“I look Up-Mountainer,” she says. “We may have to enter through the front door, but you could easily make me look the part. Only Sorina would need to remain hidden.”
“Can you replicate the accent? Walk like a dignitary?”
“I’m a performer. Of course I can.” She sets Chimal and Villiam down. The teacups rattle.
He crosses his arms. “It will be dangerous.”
“I imagine so,” Nicoleta says.
Their words remind me that by making this compromise to ensure Hawk remains out of the conflict, I have lost my opportunity to escape myself. I wish I was braver, but the thought of walking directly into an Up-Mountain crowd terrifies me. As much as I want to please Villiam, I’m scared. So much is depending upon me—my survival most of all.
What if the doom referenced by the Were’s Claw is my own?
“It’ll require preparations every day until we reach Sapris,” Chimal says.
“I’ll make arrangements.” She leans over the table. “I know that you were more interested in what Hawk had to offer, but I believe you’ll be making an altogether safer decision if I accompany Sorina. If you are dissatisfied in the future, you can change your mind. But you won’t get Hawk. It’s me or nothing.”
Chimal purses his lips like a child who’s lost his toy. “Fine. We start tomorrow.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
An hour before Gomorrah reaches Gentoa, I slip away to the Downhill to pay Luca a visit. His caravan is empty, though nothing appears out of the ordinary. As I walk back to the Uphill, I tell myself over and over again not to worry. All of Gomorrah is about to unpack, which means people are scrambling about, preparing to set up their tents and belongings. He’s probably on errands. Or at one of his tea parties with his assassin and prettyworker friends. Not in danger, like Kahina predicted.
Still, falling asleep that night poses a challenge.
When I do drift off, I dream of Luca. I dream of him in such detail that it even embarrasses my dream self. The pout in his lips. The angular shadow cast by his brow bone. The slopes where his neck blends into chest, then shoulder. My imagination roams to other places, and I am more than a little humiliated at the level of intimacy. In the dream, I know every line of his body. I know every memory behind his brown eyes.
It all feels familiar.
I wake with Venera’s knee jutting into my back, her drool staining my pillow, the details of the dream already becoming distant and hazy. I shake Venera awake.
“Hmm?” she says, her eyes closed.
“I want to talk to you about something. A boy.”