Then it’s my turn to swallow my tongue. Before I can recover enough to ask, he answers for me again, and it feels like a cold stab to the belly. “No, I cannot read your thoughts, but I do see what is to come. For instance, what you say next. I figure I’d save us some time.”

“Efficient,” Farley grinds out. She’s the only one of us not transfixed by this man. “Why don’t you just tell us what you came to say and be done with it? Better yet, just tell us what’s going to happen.”

“Your instincts serve you well, Diana,” he replies, bowing his gray head. “Your friends, the shifter and the flyer, will return soon. They met resistance at the Pitarus Security Center, and will need medical attention. Nothing Diana cannot accomplish on your jet.”

Shade moves to stand from his chair, but Jon waves him back down. “Easy, you have some time yet. The king has no intention to pursue.”

“Why not?” Farley raises an eyebrow.

The crimson eyes meet mine, waiting for me to answer. “Gareth can fly, something no known Silver can do. Maven won’t want anyone to see that, even his sworn soldiers.” Cal nods next to me, knowing his brother as much—or as little—as I do. “He told the kingdom newbloods didn’t exist, and he intends to keep it that way.”

“One of his many mistakes,” Jon muses, his voice dreamy and faraway. He probably is, looking into a future none of us can comprehend. “But you’ll find that out soon enough.”

I expect Farley to be the one to snarl at more riddles, but Shade beats her to it. He leans forward on his hands, so that he towers over Jon. “Did you come here to show off? Or just to waste our time?”

I can’t help but wonder the same thing.

The gray man doesn’t flinch, even in the face of my brother’s restrained anger. “Indeed I did, Shade. A few more miles and Maven’s eyes would see you coming. Or would you have liked to walk into his trap? I confess, I can see action, but not thought, and perhaps you wanted to be imprisoned and executed?” He looks around at us, his tone shockingly cheerful. One side of his mouth lifts, curving his lips into a half smile. “Pitarus would have ended in death, and even worse fates.”

Worse fates. Under the table, Cal’s hand closes over my own, as if he feels the tremble of dread coiling in my stomach. Without thought, I open my palm to him, letting his fingers find mine. What worse fates were planned for us, I don’t even want to ask. “Thank you, Jon.” My voice is thick with fear. “For saving us.”

“You saved nothing,” Cal says quickly, and his grip tightens. “Any decision could have changed what you saw. A misstep in the woods, the beating of a bird’s wings. I know how people like you see, and how wrong your predictions can become.”

Jon’s smile deepens, until it splits his face. That rankles Cal more than anything else, even more than his birth name. “I see farther and clearer than any of the Silver eyes you’ve ever met. But it will be your choice to hear what I must say. Although, you do come to believe me,” he adds, almost winking. “Sometime around your discovery of the jail. Julian Jacos is a friend, is he not?”

Now both our hands are shaking.

“He is,” I murmur, eyes wide and hopeful. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”

Again, Jon’s eyes gloss over. He mutters to himself, words inaudible, and nods occasionally. On the table, his fingers twitch, moving back and forth like a rake through tilled earth. Pushing and pulling, but at what?

“Yes, he is alive. But he is scheduled for execution, as is . . .” He pauses, thinking. “Sara Skonos.”

The next moments pass strangely, with Jon answering all our questions before we can get them past our lips. “Maven plans to announce their executions, to set another trap for you and yours. They are being held at Corros Prison. It’s not abandoned, Tiberias, but rebuilt for Silver imprisonment. Silent Stone in the walls, diamondglass reinforcements, and military guards. No, that’s not all for Julian and Sara. There are other dissenters within the cells, imprisoned for questioning the new king or crossing his mother. House Lerolan has been particularly difficult, as well as House Iral. And the newblood prisoners are proving to be just as dangerous as the Silvers.”

“Newbloods?” explodes from me, cutting off Jon as he continues, rapid-fire.

“The ones you never found, the ones you assumed to be dead. They were taken to observe, to examine, but Lord Jacos refused to study them. Even after . . . persuasion.”

Bile rises in my mouth. Persuasion can only mean torture.

“There are worse things than pain, Miss Barrow,” Jon says softly. “The newbloods are now at the mercy of Queen Elara. She intends on using them—with precision.” His eyes stray to Cal and they share a glance filled with painful understanding. “They will be weapons against their own, controlled by the queen and her kin, if given enough time. And that is a very, very dark road. You must not allow this to happen.” His cracked and dirty nails dig into the table, carving deep grooves into the blackened wood. “You must not.”

“What happens if we free Julian and the others?” I lean forward in my chair. “Can you see that?”

If he’s lying, I can’t tell. “No. I see only the current path, and however far it leads. For example, I see you now, surviving the Pitarus trap, only to die four days on. You wait too long to assault Corros. Oh wait, it’s changed now that I’ve told you.” Another strange, sad smile. “Hmm.”