“I was young.” My tone was clipped. He seemed determined to keep prodding my most sensitive spot.

“You are still young.” He wasn’t letting this go. “I have not seen all your memories. Something is missing.”

“There’s no point dwelling on things.”

“I disagree.”

“Everyone has bad memories. Why are you interested in mine?”

“Memory is my lifeline. My route to the æther, just as dreamscapes are yours.” He touched a gloved finger to my forehead. “You asked to know me through my dreamscape. In return, I ask for your memories.”

His touch chilled me. I drew back. Warden looked at me for a while, assessing my reaction, before he stood and tugged on the bellpull. “What are you doing?” I said.

“You need to eat.”

He turned on the gramophone and stared out into the street.

Michael was there before you could say dumbwaiter. He listened to the orders Warden gave him. Ten minutes later he was back with a tray, which he set across my lap. There was just enough to boost my strength: a milky cup of tea, a pot of sugar, tomato soup, and warm bread. “Thank you,” I said.

He gave me a quick smile before he made a complicated series of signs at Warden, who nodded. He bowed and left. Warden looked at me, watching to see if I would eat without coercion. I took a sip of tea. I remembered my grandmother giving me tea when I was very little, whenever I fell ill—she was a great believer in tea. I took a few bites of bread. Was he reading me now, reading my emotions? Could he feel the memory calming me down? I tried to focus on him, to use the golden cord, but there was nothing.

When I was finished, he took the tray and deposited it on the coffee table before he came to sit beside me again. I cleared my throat.

“What did Michael say?”

“That Nashira has summoned the remaining Sargas to her residence. He is quite the eavesdropper,” he added, his tone slightly amused. “He brings me a great deal of information from her halls. His supposed amaurosis keeps her blind to his comings and goings.”

So Michael was willing to sneak around. I would remember that. “She’s telling them about Kraz.” I framed my temples with my fingers. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I just—”

“He would have killed you. Kraz harbored a terrible hatred for humans. He planned, when the day of our exposure came, to lure human children into our control cities. He had a penchant for their small, fine bones. For cleromancy.”