3
I fidget on the plush leather couch of my private audience chamber, my tail tapping a nervous rhythm on my kneecap. Beside me, Lincoln sifts through a pile of parchments. I’ve my own print-outs from Purgatory that I could read, as well—Ghost Tower statistics, that kind of thing—but I can’t get my head into it. The cries of my igni keep echoing through my brain, louder and louder with each passing minute. Nefer’s warning mixes in with their screams.
Armageddon. Aldred. Royal abduction. Maxon.
I hop to my feet and start walking the stretch of carpet in front of the couch. Movement always helps me relax.
Lincoln looks up from his latest scroll. “You’re pacing again.”
“Well, I’m worried again.”
“I get that, but we’ve all been threatened many times. Maxon included.”
“But my igni have n
