Can you use a high note for yes and a low note for no? I ask it, feeling utterly ridiculous.

But a note, so high I feel the need to cover my ears, reverberates through me.

A resounding yes.

Okay, well, maybe you don’t have to go so high, I think, though I’m pleased. My Gift is still buzzing, and this might be naïve of me, but it seems it’s eager to communicate with me. Part of me has been nervous I might be infested with a magic more akin to Blaise’s parasite. But no, that fear is silly. There’s nothing hostile about the Gift inside me.

Can you speak with words?

A buzz, not low and not high.

Okay, so obviously that isn’t the right question.

Was there a time when you used to speak?

A high note, like the smallest chime on a bell.

Were you cursed to be unable to speak?

Again, the answer is a more medium pitch. Noncommittal.

Is there a way I can help you speak?

The ambiguous noise again.

It appears my Gift doesn’t know.

I groan in frustration, at which point a dirge begins playing in my ears.

I’m not frustrated at you, I quickly think, seeking to soothe the poor being trapped inside me, its voice stolen by magic or time or a curse, or something else altogether.

“Care to impart any of this conversation to me?” asks Blaise. She’s staring at me as I conduct the inaudible exchange.

“Right. Sorry. It’s not so much a dialogue. My Gift can communicate with me, but she uses music to do it, not words. It makes getting information a little complicated. We’re trying to work out a system.”

Blaise glances skyward for the first time. “Well, maybe you could work out that system while walking. I’d rather not be caught out here at sunrise.”

That seems fair.

CHAPTER 80

ZORA

I stumble around the cave, holding onto the walls for support. My limbs still need practice, but it’s progress.

The one time I fall, Farin is there to catch me, his sturdy arms firm but gentle around my torso.

“I’m going to have to start being careful,” he says, his blue eyes assessing me, his face a mask I can’t read. “One of these days, you’re going to be strong enough to get away.”

His tone is teasing, but a layer of ice settles over my stomach.

Because I’d already realized I could walk. Earlier today. When Farin was out hunting for our dinner.

And I’d convinced myself not to run. That I should wait until I regain my full strength.

There’s a reason I’m not eager to do what it will take to get off this island. Out of this world. I’d been hoping I could avoid that eventuality by using the eyelet with Nox. Now that the eyelet has closed up, it’s likely the location at which it’s reopened isn’t on the island.

What’s also not likely is that we’ll find a way to escape.

Which leaves me with only one option.

Hero or villain?

“What turned you into a monster?” I ask, not wishing to ponder the true reason I didn’t run today when I had the chance.

Farin chokes, crossing the cave. “Direct, aren’t we?”

I shrug.

“If you must know, I believe my father had the most to do with it, though I’m sure it’s not worth blaming him over. There was a point at which I accepted my role as oppressor. I found it easier than fighting my father on the matter. Than being accused of being a weak dreamer unfit for ruling.”

“And your mother?” I ask.

Farin scoffs, tossing a handful of seeds across the ground. “My mother’s the worst monster of all.”

I crane my neck.

“What?” he asks.

“Was she always that way? The way she was with Nox? With me?” It’s odd to think that Farin’s mother is partially responsible for how my many lives have turned out.

Farin shrugs. “Are any of us always that way?” There’s a moroseness about his tone, a sadness I can’t quite grasp.

“No, I suppose not.”

“My mother was rather innocent when she was young.” Farin sighs. “At least, that’s how I prefer to think of her. She married my father, the leader of our tribe, thinking she could get around the tribal ordinance that prohibited members from having children.”

“That’s a strange ordinance.”

“Babies have a tendency to scream, and the Others have excellent hearing.”

I frown, imagining a society built around being quiet. Around silence. No singing or dancing or laughing.

In all my lives, I’ve never experienced a world like that.

“Anyway, she married my father, and though I get the impression he was kind to her for a while, all that ended when I came around. I would cry, putting the tribe in danger. He had ways of silencing me, of course, even from a young age.”

A chill sneaks up my spine.