Twice Born

Chapter 22

“Get up,” Ashin says when he returns.

I rise from my corner, hesitating. Hunger wins out. The prospect of finding food beyond these walls is greater than reservations about Ashin’s intentions. What could he possibly do to me out there that he can’t here? I’m already in his hands.

There’s another Tracker in the corridor when I walk past Ashin. They escort me up a long wooden stairway. We go through another door and arrive in another corridor, this one long and marble-floored, its ceiling twice my height. We walk under an archway and pass twin staircases winding on either side of a room, their railings the color of gold.

I try not to stare at the opulence around me: at the portraits of wealthy old men, the ornate mirrors, the expensive, fragile-looking vases on pedestals, the tall candles glowing from atop crystal chandeliers—even though plenty of light streams in through the wide windows.

My dirty shoes squeak on the floor every so often. The noise cuts through the silence. It increases in frequency as I begin to drag my feet, the paralysis of fear creeping down my limbs. Ashin shoves me from behind when I nearly come to a stop.

“Hurry up or I’ll drag you there by the hair.”

We finally come to huge mahogany double doors. The big Tracker ahead of me swings them open to reveal a long stretch of a dining room. I take in the wood-paneled walls and the white-clothed dining table covered with flower vases, polished silverware, and bronze candlesticks, before my eyes find and freeze on Maxwell Ellis.

He sits at the head of the table, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt folded back to his forearms. His black hair is brushed back, drawing attention to the cruel lines of his face in a way I hadn’t noticed before. Or maybe I’m seeing him this way now because I know what sort of vile man he is.

I look at his two companions and freeze. Daniel and Tobin sit together on the left. The little boy is looking at me curiously, his eyes wide. I can’t imagine what he must think of my presence—or my haggard, beaten-up appearance.

Daniel doesn’t look up.

Maxwell indicates to the chair opposite his. “Sit down, my dear.”

“Daniel?” I ask quietly. He’s not dead.

He glances up for the barest of moments. Shock ripples through me. I’ve seen a number of things in his eyes over the past few weeks—warmth, anger, disappointment, happiness—but not this. Not this blankness, this lack of recognition. He shows no emotion toward me, and not because he’s holding it in. There’s nothing there.

“What have you done to him?” I ask. He’s acting worse than these mindless Trackers.

Maxwell’s tone hardens. “I said sit.”

“Obey your master, witch.” Ashin shoves me toward the chair. I stumble into it.

“No need for that, Ashin. You may go now. Don’t you have other important matters take care of? I can think of two gentlemen who require your attention.”

“They’re being uncooperative,” Ashin says.

“Be more persuasive.” His tone hardens. “Get to it now, Ashin. You are wasting my time.”

I glance back at Ashin’s face, noting the displeasure tightening his lips. But he doesn’t protest. Even he knows his place. “I will take care of it now, Master Ellis.” He marches out of the room with brusque clicks of his shoes on the marble. The other Tracker waits until he’s gone before closing the doors. He stands guard behind me.

“Ashin and my men described you as quite the menace.” Maxwell lifts a fork to his mouth and chews food, his gray eyes never leaving mine. “I’m beginning to think the credit is entirely due to the other one. Eve, is it?”