“Never mind,” he says.
The chocolate has become a little sour in my mouth.
“When the person who makes the water dies, you mean?” I say.
The fact that he refuses to answer is answer enough.
“I can imagine, actually,” I say. “People must have panicked. They must have been terrified. And at first… you and your sister had no idea how to save them. How helpless you must have felt.”
He’s not looking at me.
“You’re right,” I say. “A city is a fragile thing. It all depends on one person, and no one ever expects that person to disappear.”
He’s eyeing his bonds like he’s desperately calculating a way out of them. I consider him. I consider his painstakingly drawn map of the catacombs and the path connecting each of the underground wells. I consider the puddles of water on the cobblestone between us and the elaborate fountain system all over Iris.
“Are you trying to build something in the catacombs?” I say. “Something that will let you get water from city to city? Why? You have the vide.”
“Yes, we do,” he says noncommittally.
“But anyone can control the vide.” I push away from the wall and pace. “You and Verene share the vide. But Verene doesn’t know about this other scheme of yours. Why don’t you want her to know?”
“I like having contingency plans,” he says. “Is that so wrong?”
“No,” I say. “If it was just a contingency plan, you wouldn’t go out of your way to keep it from her—”
He tries to leap to his feet and make a daring escape. I dive for my iron pan, but it turns out that my earlier whack is still doing its job. He’s so dizzy that all he does is trip over his own feet and fall on his face with a very undignified thump.
I stand over him, the pan in my hands.
“Why do you want to make a way to get water that only you control?” I say.
“You…” He squirms. “You’re misinterpreting everything. It’s not that I want another way. It’s just in case. In case we need it.”
“But why would you need it, specifically?” I say.
“Look, you tiny—miscreant—” He finally manages to get back into a sitting position. There’s dirt in his curly hair and stuck to his wet clothes. “I just want the city to survive. Is that so hard to understand?”
“Doesn’t Verene want the city to survive, too?” I say.
For a long moment, he’s quiet.
“Verene wants… more,” he says. “It doesn’t matter how much she has. She always wants more.”
I think I know what Verene would say to that. She would say that she’s a good person and that striving to do the most good—more than anyone else has ever done—is exactly what she should be doing.
“How did your maman die?” I say. “Did she really get sick?”
The question catches Theo off guard, and I see something in his eyes that I’m certain he doesn’t want me to see. Fear.
That’s all I needed to see.
“I’m—” He’s stammering, suddenly. “I’m not talking to you any—”
At last, he gets to his feet. I hit him in the head with the pan again.
He staggers but somehow stays upright. I shove him in the direction of the cathedral and herd him quickly through the streets. When he tries to run, I push my knife into his side.
“I know where your sister is,” I remind him, urging him along. “I’ll tell her everything.”
The fire is getting worse. The double doors are open, spewing smoke. People have stopped approaching with their buckets. They’re just gathered around the mess, so frantic that I manage to push Theo to the front of the crowd without really being noticed. He’s just barely staying on his feet.
“Wait! Don’t get any closer!” someone says as I start forward.
I don’t listen to them. Slowly, as I advance out of the throng, I feel the people start to recognize me. I feel their confusion. I feel their fear. Things have gone so wrong in this city, so quickly, and they know that it involves me.
I stop halfway up the cathedral steps, which is as close as I dare get. I can feel the heat on my back and the sting of smoke in my eyes. With a little shove, Theo collapses at my feet. I reach down to tie his handkerchief over his mouth. If he stays conscious, I don’t want him interfering.
There’s a flash of movement at the bottom of the steps. A man in the crowd is running for me. I pull out my knife and point it at him.
“The Heart is in the gardens,” I say. “Find her. And bring her to me.”
SIXTEEN
IT DOESN’T TAKE LONG.
I see the crowd near the gardens rippling and parting, and then I see Verene walking my way. Her steps are slow and deliberate as she glides out of the crowd and approaches the base of the cathedral stairs alone.
She’s still wearing the same rumpled, bloody clothes. Her face is dirty and exhausted, and her hair is hopelessly disheveled. Even though she’s standing with her head held high, I can tell from here how much effort it’s costing her.
Her people are uneasy. It’s obvious they’ve never seen their leader like this.
First, Verene looks at her brother, who’s barely awake. Then she looks at me. She regards me like I’m the foulest thing she’s ever seen.
“Have you not done enough yet?” she says. Her voice carries over the crackling of the flames.
“Why don’t you want them to know?” I say.
“We don’t want to listen to any more of your lies,” she says.
“Why don’t you want them to know what you’ve done for them?” I say. “What you’ve really done for them?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says, stubborn as usual.
“I’m talking about the ritual, of course,” I say.
Verene goes very still.
“There’s a ritual to get magic,” I say. “It’s not something you’re born with. It’s something you choose to do. Your maman chose to do it, long ago. And she wanted you to be
