“Hmm.” He looks at the paper
again. It's so small, I can't imagine there is much there to read,
but maybe he's just using it as an excuse to let another handful of
minutes pass. Finally he tucks it into his pocket. “Are you
nervous?”
“Nervous?”
“You're shaking.”
I rub my palms across my trousers
but it doesn't help. “I don't like being in chains.”
His eyes get narrow, as though
this is a sign of some sort of guilt. “And why is that?”
“Because I associate it with
bad things.”
A shake of his head. “What
things?”
I hold up my hands, fingers
spread wide so he can clearly see the scar on my palm.
“Auschwensier.”
“I see.” He's quiet again for
a moment. “Tell me what's in the satchel.” Some of the suspicion
has left his voice.
“Brandon Ipcriss' right hand
and the remains of a magic Siphon.”
He's well trained; there's only
the slightest flicker of surprise around his mouth. “The remains of
a Siphon?”
“And Brandon Ipcriss' hand.”
“And how did they come to be in
your possession?”
“Ipcriss made an arrangement
with me. I would help him reclaim his hand and he would help me
locate my family. I carried the broken Siphon because I was in better
condition to keep it from falling into other hands.”
“Other hands.”
“There was a small army of
simulacra attempting to regain possession of it. And possibly to kill
or kidnap Ipcriss.”
“And you helped him avoid
them?”
I smile, hard. “I put them
down.”
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