THEY’RE TORTURING HIM,” FARIDEH SAID QUIETLY. SHE TURNED HER head. “That’s what I dream about. Devils cutting up Lorcan. And I can’t stop it, and when I try to, they capture you too.”
“That does sound more like something you’d vomit about,” Havilar said after a moment. “You’re right, though, it’s just a dream. Why would a devil want me anyhow?”
Farideh shut her eyes. Tell her, she thought. Tell her, tell her now.
“Havi … what would you do if a devil offered you a pact?”
“What, like Lorcan?”
“Another devil,” she said. “One you didn’t know. One who offered you anything you wanted. What would you do?”
Havilar’s eyes flicked over Farideh’s face, as if she were gauging the seriousness of the question. As if she were trying to decide what her answer ought to be and not what it truly was, Farideh noted.
“Tell them to heave off,” Havilar said finally. “I don’t want to be a warlock, and I don’t want to be indebted to a devil.” She slipped an arm around Farideh and hugged her tightly. “I don’t want you to be either. Do you think he’s making you dream that? Like if he wanted you back?”
“Not his style.” Lorcan’s attention made the lines of her brand ache—but no matter how shaken or ill she felt whenever she awoke, her arm and shoulder were fine. If he wanted to lure her back, he would have started by needling at the brand. If he wanted to get her back, he would have let her know he was alive.