Page 110 of Fallacies

All I can see is Iris’s gaunt face. How skinny she’d been when Callan rushed her to the Infirmary. The linens she’d been wrapped in when we buried her.

She’d been sick, and they…threw her out. Like some diseased animal. This girl is saying they’ve thrown more out since then. Gods, how many? Are they still alive? Why are they getting sick?

Swallowing against the onslaught of questions crawling up my throat, I drop my gaze to the floor and force all emotion out of my voice, “Must have.”

The girl continues on as if the comment meant nothing to her, talking my ear off about all the drama I missed while I was gone. None of it is helpful. I follow her through another door, emerging in the middle of a bustling kitchen.

It’s much bigger than the kitchens in Pirn—grander too. Silver appliances, beautifully stained countertops, a near-spotless black-and-white tiled floor arranged in a diamond pattern. There’s Rogues…everywhere. Servants, just like Alesi, frantically rushing to get breakfast together.

“Greer!” An angry voice snaps. “You’re late!”

“Sorry, Umbra.” The girl bows her head, a warning in the glance she throws my way before she slips past the tall, thin woman—who is now glaring at me—and hurries over to an empty workstation across the kitchen.

“Alesi.” There’s a snarl in the way she says my name, the woman’s purple-painted lips twitching at each syllable. She stares down her pointed nose at me, yellow eyes boring into mine. “What are the odds that two rodents show up on the same day?”

I can’t for the life of me figure out what she’s talking about, but I don’t think Alesi would be bold enough to ask, so I don’t.

The woman—the Umbra—snorts, and despite the noisy kitchen, I hear the sharp click of her heels as she closes the distance between us. She bends, coming eye level, and a strand of her silver hair slips out of its clip at the movement.

“Where have you been?” she bites out, slitted eyes narrowing on mine.

“Sick,” I tell her, and she scoffs.

“Yeah, sure.” The Umbra steps closer, the chill of her skin cooling the air between us. “If you were truly sick, Alesi, then what the hell would possess you to come back into my kitchen?”

I press my lips together, pouring most of my focus into holding the illusion. She’s close enough now that any slip in its strength would be too noticeable to pass off.

When I remain silent, her tone becomes deadlier, her voice a venomous hiss. “Have you been seen by a vitalist?”

I swallow. “No.”

The Umbra snaps her arm out, her open palm connecting with my cheek in a hit so hard the sting travels down my body.

I funnel all my focus into my illusion, ignoring the throb of my cheek, fisting my hands at my sides to keep from reaching up to soothe it.

Slowly, I turn my head back to face her.

“Don’t come back until you’ve been cleared!” the Umbra snarls, disgust twisting her features as she straightens, giving me a pitiful once-over before spinning on her heel and moving back through the chaos of the kitchen.

Servants practically dive out of her way, doing their best to avoid eye contact.

Apparently, that’s what I should have done.

Those who witnessed our interaction are staring, white teeth bared in amused smiles. Slitted, feline eyes, hungry as they watch me try to hold myself together. Snickering under their breath when I finally get the courage to leave.

Before I make it to the door, I catch a glimpse of Greer.

She’s staring at me, something curious in her gaze. Gently setting down a stack of plates, her brows furrow, and her head tilts to the side.

I turn and slip out of the kitchens, hurrying through the dining room, and out through the first door I see. It opens up to a much wider corridor, dark and thankfully empty.

Pressing myself up against a nearby marble column, I take a few deep breaths, needing much more than that to steady my heartbeat. I flip through all the information I’ve gathered so far—the Umbra, the Baron, the Captures—gods, and I’ve only been here a few minutes.

My next full inhale is cut short when an eerie silence swells around me. It’s a quiet settling that feels…unnatural.

Catching movement in my peripheral, I snap my attention to the far end of the hall, but without any candles lit and with all the curtains pulled closed, I can’t see the end of the corridor. I can see only to where the marble floors disappear into a deep black void of nothing.

A slimy, slithering feeling crawls across my skin. Like I’m being seen by someone that I can’t see.