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destiny,
though the Directorate frowned on destiny. True omens were reserved
for the Diretcorate and the farms. This was simple fortune-telling,
a little truth to make a larger truth more palatable.
    As long as she
concentrated on the omens, the pain in her head was a low burn,
barely noticeable.
    Again and again
the questions came, how will I feed my children if the rains don’t
stop, how will I feed them if the hot months follow, will I find
love, will I ever see my son again? Where was my daughter taken?
Jane swallowed misery and nausea, and answered as she was ordered:
No one is truly lost. The Directorate knows best.
    She felt
Cartimandua’s pale eyes on her, felt Asher’s fist in her face.
    The last
Elysian hesitated in front of her. He had black hair and a katana
he’d been forced to surrender in order to approach her. He looked
uncomfortable but determined. She smiled encouragingly. “What do
you want to know?”
    He just
half-smiled and waited. He didn’t speak. “Whatever I see then?” She
asked after a long moment. He nodded.
    Droplets
splattered inside the gold curve of the pressed leaves. Teeth for
hunger, and knives for violence, both fairly common omens for a
City boy. She should have said something about the hunger he was
feeling: how he could find a meal in the Rings, how hunger made you
stronger. But there was also a swan in a circle. “Your secret is
safe,” Jane said.
    He jerked as if
she’d slapped him. When backed up, she caught his wrist, holding on
tightly. There was more to see, more he needed to know. “Wait.”
    Sometimes there
were messages within the messages, and sometimes she had her own
language to decipher.
    An oak
leaf .
    Jane sucked in
a breath. Oak leaves were always for her; a warning to pay
attention.
    He looked
alarmed, staring more intently at the red drops, random as bullet
spatter. It wouldn’t tell him anything. The oak leaf was speaking
to her. It meant she could trust him. But the swan meant something
different for him. “Don’t trust anyone,” she warned him, glancing
over to make sure the soldier hadn’t heard her. “Your
secret---.”
    “Killian, what
the hell?” A girl with black braids darted up the Cella steps and
shoved Jane away. Jane staggered and everything went white, just
for a moment. She saw the fat pink moon, a church spire,
rooftops covered in red dust, the road leading away from the
City. She saw a red fox in a field of crocus flowers, she
saw guns, she saw fire, she saw leaves.
    The soldier
tasered the girl before she could make sense of the images. Numen
shot white fire up the back of Jane’s head like lightning. She was
surprised she didn’t smell her own singed hair. She held onto the
column beside her, knuckles popping under her skin. She couldn’t
fall over, couldn’t faint or react. They’d know something had
happened with her numen. She couldn’t explain it, not now, not
ever.
    The girl
sprawled on the ground, simmering with fury. Even forced to lay on
the wet pavement, she showed more bravery than Jane had ever felt.
This wasn’t someone who hid, though judging by the images Jane had
seen, she ought to consider it. She was a like one of those tiny
puffball mushrooms in the woods, ready to explode with poison. It
was innocuous until someone fed it to you.
    Killian’s hands
were up in surrender but he was standing over her, trying to shield
her. The soldier traded the Taser for a gun, the black merciless
eye swinging between them both. His hand trembled slightly.
“Please, don’t,” Jane said to him quietly. “She didn’t hurt
me.”
    “She could
have, Numina. The next one might. There are rules. We have
orders.”
    “I know,” she
agreed. “And I’m grateful you were so quick. But she’s
nothing.”
    The girl’s
black eyes flashed. Jane might have winced at her choice of words,
but they were effective. The soldier lowered his gun. “You’re both
banned from the Blessings for six months,” he said. He aimed