Ilsa, Cassia, and Hester were the furthest from him; three remote points on the fringes of his influence. He was trying to concentrate on one immediate problem at a time, but his hazel eyes kept returning to each of them; Ilsa the most.
It wasn’t Gedeon she was maintaining distance from, but the whole scene. All mysteries had been solved, but something was still tickling the hairs on the back of her neck, and it was putting her out.
Those who had heard Oren’s confession put together an explanation of what he’d done at the orphanage. Ilsa did not contribute. She had said her piece in the attic. No one brought up Hester’s command that the amulet be brought back to the Zoo, but Ilsa didn’t doubt Gedeon would find out later. What he would make of it, she hadn’t figured him out well enough to guess.
A long, pressing silence lingered when the story was told. Ilsa never thought she would miss wrapping up a conversation with a thousand pedantic questions and criticisms, but a lump caught in her throat. She could tell everyone else was thinking it too.
At last, Gedeon stood. He was nearly as tall as Fyfe, but broad and muscular. If there was a finite ration of brawn to be passed from parents to offspring, Gedeon had gotten it all. He drew a breath the whole room was waiting for.
“If he wasn’t dead I’d be furious,” he said, his tone betraying how hard it was to joke.
“Speaking of furious,” he added louder, flashing the room a cold, humourless smile. Then he turned to the wolf hovering at the door, waiting to collect his charge and bring him forward. “Let’s get this over with.”
39
Ilsa’s nagging sense of unease grew and grew. A small part of her still believed Eliot was innocent. She tried to catch his eye as he was led into the room, tried to see a glimpse of some unlikely truth, but his attention was on Hester.
Her cousin stared back at him from the edge of the room, and even Ilsa cowered from her look of stoic disappointment. But Eliot didn’t flinch. Every apology he had been unable to give was etched onto his face.
Gedeon fixed him with a long, unreadable stare. Then he turned to Ilsa. It jolted her. She couldn’t get used to him. His eyes were just like Hester’s, just like hers, but gentler. Curious, instead of probing. “How did you know?”
She hesitated. Would he be asking her if he knew what she would expose? It didn’t matter; the others deserved to know what he had done. She had the diagram tucked in her sleeve, and she unfolded it and handed it to him. Gedeon stared at her, incredulous.
“You worked it out from this alone?”
Ilsa shook her head. “It started with Aelius. He had his suspicions ’bout a spy at the Zoo, but truthfully, I don’t think he was all that serious. I din’t think much of it at first, but then Cassia told me what you said when you argued ’bout Millwater.” Gedeon flushed, and his mouth moved like he would argue, but no sound came out. Cassia watched him squirm. The upward tilt of her chin was stubbornly fixed. Her arms remained crossed. “And I realised you thought it too. ’Bout the spy, I mean. It weren’t until this afternoon, when I talked with Oren, that I understood you din’t think it was Cassia who was spying, not in particular. You were suspicious of everyone.
“And Eliot—” She dared to look at him. He met her gaze, but warily, like he wasn’t sure how badly she was about to hurt him. Everything he had done to deceive her; everything she could tell them all now. “He said you din’t see Hester when she was hurt. But it weren’t her you were avoiding. It was because Eliot was always with her, and I knew. I knew it the second before I worked that diagram out.”
“Knew what?” said Cassia, though she looked like she didn’t want the answer.
Ilsa glanced at Gedeon, but his eyes were on the floor. He folded the diagram away protectively.
“There was never no trip to Millwater,” Ilsa told the assembly. “It was a test, to see if one of you’d pass the information along to the Sorcerer rebels, to give them a window to attack.”
Cassia’s stoniness faltered. Fyfe blinked stupidly at Gedeon, hurt in his eyes.
“Eliot,” he said, like a question. “For how long?”
A muscle fluttered in Eliot’s jaw, and he swallowed. “For three years.” Ilsa didn’t realise she was clenching her fists until they weakened in a rush, and she felt the sting of her nails come free from the cuts they'd made in her palms. It was true; Eliot had betrayed the Zoo. “They weren’t rebelling at the time. They were merely unhappy with Fisk. And I had no idea, I swear, that they had ties to the Fortunatae.”
“Well that’s much better,” muttered Cassia, and the wolves growled.
“Ten wolves have died at the hands of the rebels,” said Gedeon, silencing the muttering. His rage was white hot, but theirs was just as searing. “You’re complicit in those deaths. You risked us all.”
Eliot was silent. His gaze drifted to Hester again. The weight of remorse seemed to press on his shoulders, and he grew smaller.
“It was an exchange,” he told Gedeon limply. “A backchannel. It just got out of hand.” The wolves hissed and scoffed. “Last year I warned you someone was trying to obstruct our bakers from the sale of a whole season’s crop of wheat. We made an early bid and bought up what we needed. Our people would have starved that year without that tip. I got it from my contacts. And when I told you sixteen of Lucius’s people were vying
