Chapter 54. We Like Your Songs

Selena’s POV

The mills crouch along the south bend like stubborn animals that learned to chew.

Four buildings, fat-bellied and timbered, wheels taller than my father, slats dripping. Men and women in work leathers hold the railings with white knuckles and pretend they weren’t one step from stepping off. The foreman, a barrel called Hobb, bows to Alpha Matthew and then to Desmond because some people learn quickly.

“Wheels stopped dead,” he says, spitting river from his teeth without losing a syllable. “No jam. No gear-snap. Water went heavy. Like hands.”

Aunt Amanda’s hands spread. The air changes, warm to sharp, soft to taut. Wards find their places the way birds find home. Sienna kisses two rings, blows a line of sound along the lip of the nearest wheel; a counter-melody from the right, not the left this time, so the lirael can’t pretend she owns both.

I step onto the platform and don’t lean over the water. I learned something from last night. I