Chaos (Lanie Bross) - Lanie Bross Page 0,69

enough to reach out and touch.

The dark-haired girl gasped. A hand flew to cover her mouth and her light-colored eyes went wide. “You can’t be here.” She took a step away from him. “You’re not supposed to be here. No one is supposed to be here.”

The other girl, the one with long blond hair, looked up.

Luc’s breath whooshed from his lungs as he looked into familiar gray eyes.

“Corinthe?” he whispered.

She looked at him without curiosity. “How do you know my name?”

Luc stared. The eyes were the same but there was no feeling in them, no life. Like two of the marbles she told him she used to fetch from the river. Luc suddenly remembered Jasmine at that age—face always smeared with dirt, mouth wide from either laughing or crying, depending on her mood. Corinthe looked like she had never laughed, never cried.

This was Corinthe as a girl then, before she was sent to Humana. Despair opened in his chest. He had gone back. Too far back.

The dark-haired girl grabbed Corinthe’s arm and tugged. “We’re not meant to be curious. Come on.”

Corinthe shrugged the girl’s touch away. “I know, Alessandra. It’s just a question.”

“We’re not meant to ask questions.”

Corinthe frowned in annoyance, and for a second, Luc caught a glimpse of the Corinthe he knew, the Corinthe who would someday be. But then it was gone. Corinthe continued staring at him blankly, as if he were a puzzle she couldn’t quite complete and didn’t have the energy for.

The other girl, Alessandra, looked terrified. She hesitated, looking from Corinthe to Luc and back to Corinthe, as though for guidance. Then she turned and bolted back the way the girls had come.

“Who are you?” Corinthe asked idly, as if she were asking What’s your favorite color? “How did you get here? Only Fates are allowed in Pyralis.”

Luc’s throat was dry. “I’m Luc. I came through the Crossroad. I was … looking for someone.”

At the mention of the Crossroad Corinthe’s eyes changed again, and the wariness was gone. Again Luc saw a spark of the Corinthe he knew. She rose up on her toes and bounced slightly. “You’ve been through the Crossroad? What’s it like? Was it dangerous? Were you scared? I’ve heard that if you don’t know what you’re doing, you can get sucked to the very edges of the universe where there’s nothing but dry red desert.”

“You’ve never been through the Crossroad?” Luc asked, though he knew the answer.

Her lips turned down. “We’re not allowed. Our job is to sort the marbles and send them on to the Messengers. The Messengers travel between the worlds, carrying the marbles.” She said it quickly, as if it was a line she had memorized and repeated often.

“To the Executors, right?” Luc prompted.

Corinthe’s frown deepened and she took a step back, watching him carefully. “You know about the Executors, too?” Her gaze flicked toward the trees, and for a second, Luc thought Corinthe would run away.

“I’ve only heard of them,” Luc said, trying to reassure her. His pulse was throbbing in his neck. Corinthe was safe here. Alive. She was home in Pyralis, a place she loved. Should he warn her about what would come? She had once told him that she’d been exiled from Pyralis because she’d been too curious, and lost a fate marble as a result. Should he tell her she must never, ever ask questions?

Then they would never meet. She would never, ever grow up and become Corinthe—wild and free and passionate and good. They would never fall in love.

“Oh. That’s all right, then,” Corinthe said.

Luc took a deep breath. “I’ve heard stories about the Flower of Life, too,” he said carefully. “Have you seen it?”

Her face brightened. “It’s in the Great Gardens. I love the Gardens. We’re only allowed in the outer gardens, though.” Her face darkened momentarily. “The inner garden isn’t allowed. There are lots of things that aren’t allowed.”

“What happens if someone picks the flower?” he asked, though this, too, was a question whose answer he knew.

“Whoever picks the flower dies.” Her tone was matter-of-fact, unemotional.

He was gripped by the irrational urge to make her see how wrong it was, to try to make her see before it was too late. “Doesn’t that seem a little unfair to you?”

“Unfair?” Corinthe tilted her head to the side and looked at him curiously, as if she’d never heard the word before. “It’s perfectly fair. The nectar of the flower gives life. But the blood of the receiver is what makes the