Twenty Four: Bad News

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Jordan was listening to the fire.

He wasn't sure what it meant, but unlike normal fire, the one burning in the grate now seemed to have a rhythm to it, one that timed itself with the beating of his heart. It was hard not to listen to it; his own magic responded to it. Though Yddris had set the fire, the man seemed unperturbed. Jordan wondered if he was used to it, or if he couldn't hear it and Jordan was out of his fucking tree.

He blinked and looked round when he heard Yddris's footsteps on the stairs. The Unspoken had disappeared to the attic for several minutes, but Jordan hadn't cared whether he was there or not. He felt numb and hopeless, with no idea what to expect. No idea how he was going to get out, or what to do about this Gift when he was home. Whether getting away was even possible; though he hadn't dwelled on that.

Yddris, if he had any words of comfort, hadn't said them. Sometimes wondered if the man forgot Jordan was there until he said something, as that was the only time he spoke. Nika had still not arrived, and if no one intervened soon in the stoic silence of his tutor and the sinister rhythm of the fire, Jordan was going to start pulling his hair out.

The Unspoken paused in the doorway, as if surprised to find Jordan there.

"Nika's coming," he said after a minute. "He'll be here any second."

Jordan nodded and tore his gaze from the fire. The dagger Yddris had given him sat heavy in the sheath at his hip. He was too aware that it was there; that he might have to use it someday.

He was trying not to think about it too much.

Yddris looked at him for a moment, before he sighed and joined Jordan on the floor by the fire. He smelled like he'd been smoking upstairs, and Jordan was glad he didn't have to sit in a cloud of it over dinner. Whatever was in the pipe made him go all weird at the knees and gave him the strangest urge to laugh at nothing.

"I suspect that I don't need to ask how you're feeling," Yddris muttered. "But out of courtesy, I'm going to ask you if you want to spit it out."

Jordan snorted softly. "Like shit warmed up."

"Thought as much."

Jordan glanced at the Unspoken sidelong. "Do you ever take those off? The cloaks?"

"Yes," Yddris said. "It's quite hard to bathe with it on, believe it or not. And they need washing from time to time. But in any situation where someone else might catch us without them, no."

"Is it so bad if people can see the marks?"

"It's not just that." Yddris sniffed. "Part of it is tradition. Part of it is caution. It's a trip to the scaffold to cause any kind of harm to Unspoken, but that doesn't mean that people don't want to. If somebody knew you or recognised you, there's no capital punishment attached to making life miserable for your loved ones."

Jordan's thoughts went to Grace, and he shuddered. It had nothing to do with the draught coming up through the floor. He hadn't felt properly cold since his magic manifested itself, but now he felt like he'd been dunked in ice. Already, people all over the city knew who they were. Half of them thought he and his sister were some kind of blessing from a god. It wasn't a stretch to imagine that someone from the other half might go after Grace to get to him.

He pushed the image of Arlen's face from his mind as it rose unbidden.

But the idea that no one would ever see his face again was disturbing. That nobody he met from here on would know him by sight, and as he got older, only he would know what he looked like. It was a terribly lonely thought.

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