“We will begin.” The High Priest’s smooth voice was at odds with his prickling magic. Zavier turned to face me, holding out his hands. For the first time, the empty expression cracked, and he gave me a tight smile. Well, at least he wasn’t laughing. I wiped my clammy palms on my skirt before I placed them in his, one bandaged in a cloth like mine. Then I met his moss-green eyes. They were alert and assessing. He studied me as if he could read every thought racing through my mind. Maybe he could pluck out a few of my questions and give me some hints. “Odessa Cross.” As the High Priest spoke, I
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