The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,67
bed fit for a queen. Possuelo had let it slip that Rowan was also here, although he probably wasn’t being given quite the same royal treatment.
“How is he?” she asked Possuelo, trying to sound less concerned than she was. Possuelo visited her daily and spent considerable time with her, continuing to brief her on the state of the world, informing her bit by bit of the many things that had changed since Endura.
“Rowan is being suitably cared for,” Possuelo told her. “I have seen to it personally.”
“But he’s not here with us—which means you still see him as a criminal.”
“The world sees him as a criminal,” Possuelo said. “How I see him doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
Possuelo took his time in answering. “Your assessment of Rowan Damisch is clearly blurred by love, meu anjo, and therefore not entirely reliable. However, it is not entirely unreliable, either.”
She was given free run of the fortress, as long as she had an escort everywhere she went. She explored with the pretext of curiosity, but really she was just looking for Rowan. One of her escorts was an annoying junior scythe by the name of Peixoto, who was so starstruck by her, she feared he might just burst into flames if he as much touched her robe. As she moved through a dank space that must have been an ancient communal hall, she had to say something, because he just stood there by the stone steps, gawking at every move she made.
“You can put your eyes back in your head now,” she told him.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor—it’s just still hard to believe that I’m laying eyes on the actual Scythe Anastasia,” Peixoto said.
“Well, laying eyes on me doesn’t necessarily mean popping them out of their sockets first.”
“I’m sorry, Your Honor, it won’t happen again.”
“It’s still happening.”
“I’m sorry.”
Now Peixoto cast his eyes down as if looking at her was like gazing at the sun. It was almost as bad as the staring. Was this the kind of ridiculous treatment she’d have to deal with? It was bad enough when she was just a scythe. Now she was also a living legend, which apparently came with a brand-new bag of nauseating veneration.
“If you don’t mind me asking…,” Peixoto said as they spiraled up a narrow stairwell that led, like so many others, nowhere, “what was it like?”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“To be there for the sinking of Endura,” he said. “To watch it go down.”
“Sorry, but I was too busy trying to survive to take pictures,” she said, more than a little annoyed by the question.
“Forgive me,” he said. “I was only an apprentice when it happened. Since then Endura has fascinated me. I have spoken with several survivors—ones who made it out by boat or plane in those last minutes. They say it was spectacular.”
“Endura was a very impressive place,” Anastasia had to admit.
“No—I meant the sinking. I hear the sinking was spectacular.”
Anastasia didn’t even know what to say to that, so she answered with silence. And when she next saw Possuelo, she asked if Peixoto could be assigned elsewhere.
* * *
After a week at the old fortress, things took a sudden and unexpected turn. In the middle of the night, Possuelo came into Anastasia’s chambers with several BladeGuards to wake her out of yet another dreamless sleep.
“Dress quickly—we must leave in extreme haste,” he said.
“I’ll be hasty in the morning,” she told him, annoyed at having been woken, and too bleary to grasp the seriousness of the situation.
“We’ve been compromised!” Possuelo told her. “A delegation of scythes has arrived from North Merica, and I assure you, they are not here to welcome you back to the world.”
It was more than enough to get her out of bed. “Who would have told—” But even before she formed the question, she knew the answer. “Scythe Peixoto!”
“You were far more intuitive than I when it came to that desgraçado. I should have seen his intentions.”
“You’re a trusting man.”
“I am a fool.”
After she slipped on her robe, she noticed someone in the room she hadn’t seen upon waking. At first she thought the individual was a man, but as the figure stepped into the light, Anastasia realized that the visitor was a woman. Or not. Each moment, each shift of the light, changed the impression.
“Anastasia, this is Jerico Soberanis—the captain of the salvage ship that found you. Jerico will get you to safety.”