Damon strict on your errand time?”
She made to leave, and Macarius sat forward.
“Very well. Sit down and I will tell you everything I know.”
Evadne stared at him, her dislike for him evident in the crinkling of her nose. But she sat back down on her cushion and waited.
“I spoke with Halcyon,” Macarius said, swirling the wine in his cup.
“When? Where?” Evadne sounded desperate. She struggled to rein in her emotion, knowing Macarius would only use it against her.
“At the common quarry.”
“How? You are a mage. You are not allowed there.”
“I was granted entrance the other night by the quarry lord,” Macarius said. “There is a former mage among the convicts, and he was causing some trouble, planning to escape. I was invited into the quarry to speak sense back into him. Turns out he has convinced your sister to escape the quarry with him.”
Former mage? Did that mean a mage could lose their magic? Evadne had never heard of this, but her curiosity was overshadowed by her dread. “Escape?”
“Yes. And while in any other case, I would be against it . . . I am not this time.”
“Why?”
“Because your sister is very sick. I do not think she will survive another moon in that quarry.”
Evadne was trembling. She laced her fingers together, trying to hide it. “What is she sick with?”
“She has quarry lung. Some of the convicts procure it from breathing in so much dust. It is almost always fatal.”
“What did she say to you, then?”
“She asked me to help her and her friend escape the quarry. I have agreed to do it, but I will need your assistance, Evadne.”
Anything, Evadne nearly said. But she caught the word on the tip of her tongue. Her thoughts unspooled. Why would Macarius, who had brought her only harm, want to help her now?
“I do not believe you,” she said.
Macarius blinked. “You do not believe me? Although I should not find this surprising—Halcyon did say you would doubt me. So here. This is my proof, since you are slow to trust.” He reached into his chiton and procured a fold of papyrus. Evadne watched, impassive, as he set it down on the table between them. When she made no movement to retrieve it, Macarius whispered, “Go on, Evadne. You will want to know what it says.”
She took the papyrus in her hands and let it unfold.
She recognized the inked symbols as if she were looking at a reflection of herself. Her heart leapt, her blood sang, and she nearly cried as she read the Haleva message:
Evadne, my prayers follow you, little sister. I hope you are well. I have fallen ill at the quarry—I do not think I will survive much longer here, but Macarius has agreed to help me escape. Please, Sister. Help me escape this place.
Evadne read it twice, her eyes blurring with tears. She felt speared, imagining Halcyon’s distress. She folded the papyrus and tucked it into her leather pouch.
“What is your plan?” she whispered, and Macarius drained his wine, as if revitalized by her interest.
“I cannot speak of it yet. There are still parts I need to coordinate. But meet me here again at midnight. I will be ready for you then, as will Halcyon. Do not be late, Evadne.”
He departed, so hastily that Evadne was momentarily stunned. She continued to sit, staring at the wine pitcher, her world seeming to crack beneath her.
Until her mind cleared and she realized something. Slowly, she retrieved Halcyon’s Haleva message. She read it again carefully, scrutinizing the symbols. Ones that she and Halcyon had carefully chosen and memorized.
Evadne knew her older sister’s handwriting well, almost as intimately as her own. She had traced Halcyon’s letters, over and over, when she had been learning to read and write.
This was not Halcyon’s handwriting.
One of the Haleva symbols was crooked. The sparrow wing. It was drawn in the wrong direction.
Halcyon had not written this message.
But someone had. Someone who would have had to sift through her memories to know it.
Evadne lurched up from the table, stuffing the parchment into her leather pouch. The rain had passed, the sun had broken through the storm, and the streets were steaming like a bath. Evadne rushed back to the commander’s villa.
She saw Straton’s horse, tacked and ready, waiting for him before the colonnade. He was about to leave Mithra, she recalled, to return to Abacus, and for some reason that filled her with alarm.
It galled her that the one man she had vowed to despise was now