When she dropped her hand, he pressed his palms against his forehead and rocked on his feet. She caught him by the arm, but he kept his balance and straightened.
“I’m fine,” he said after a few seconds. “I’m fine. Thank you, Vesper.”
He was himself again, stoic and canny. She felt a wistful pang for the Ansel of all those years ago, but she didn’t let herself dwell on the memories.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I know I was supposed to wait until Solan was dead, but everything is going wrong. I didn’t know what else to do.”
As they made their way down the corridor, she told him everything in hushed tones, about Crispin’s failed interrogation of her and how she’d helped Cassa escape into the crypts. Then, after a second’s hesitation, she told him everything she’d seen in Cassa’s memories too. She trusted Cassa. She wanted to trust Cassa. But she wasn’t sure about anything anymore.
“Would a bloodbond really cure Solan from needing the elixir?” Vesper asked, keeping her voice low.
Her uncle shook his head.
“I don’t know. I’m no alchemist. He must truly believe it can, or he would never risk the process.”
“I should have stopped Cassa somehow.” She tried not to think about how a surefire way to stop Cassa would have been to never help her escape in the first place—or how she’d seriously considered it before deciding to help. Maybe Cassa was right not to trust her. Sometimes even Vesper didn’t know where her loyalties lay. She’d joined with Cassa and the others because she didn’t think the council deserved its power. Then she’d joined with her uncle because she’d seen how much more dangerous Solan was to Eldra. Then she’d betrayed her friends to save their lives. She couldn’t be like Cassa, with unquestioning tenacity for a single cause. She could only do what she thought was right, even when it felt like shifting sand.
“From what I know about Cassa, I don’t think you could have stopped her if you’d tried,” her uncle said dryly. He cast a glance around them, but they were still alone. “You did the best you could. The council wouldn’t have wasted any time executing her.”
“What are we going to do now?”
“Do you think they’ll try to go to the Blacksmith tonight?”
Vesper bit her lip, trying to work out how long it might take Cassa to reach the others and what they would decide to do now that they were compromised. If Cassa was worried that Gaz Ritter had seen too much, she’d want to accelerate the plan. Anyone else would decide to lie low, but not Cassa.
“I think they might.”
Her uncle frowned in thought.
“Some rook from the lower ward who calls himself the Dream Merchant has been with one of the council’s sentients all day,” he said at last. “He claims he saw some memories regarding a planned revolt, and the council is trying to ascertain exactly what he saw.”
“They’re Cassa’s memories,” Vesper said. “He’s the reason she got caught in the first place. He might have seen everything.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Her uncle hesitated at a corner for a few seconds, then nodded to himself. “Come on.”
He started in the direction of the keep’s eastern exit, and Vesper followed.
“Before you came,” he went on, “I had just gotten word that the council was sending guards to the Blacksmith’s cottage to investigate a possible threat. I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time, but now that I’m in full possession of my faculties, it makes more sense.”
“If Cassa and the others bring Solan there, they’ll be arrested,” Vesper said. She hadn’t known much about the Blacksmith, and his daughter, Mira, was even more of an enigma. Vesper had no idea how loyal she was to the council. She might even help the guards.
The council would execute her friends and put Solan back in his prison, where he’d be more carefully guarded than ever. The council would be free to keep pumping him for prophecies and turning a blind eye as he ripped memories from unsuspecting citizens for boredom or pleasure or whatever his twisted motive was.
“It will take a while to assemble the guards,” her uncle said, as they reached the doors leading into the eastern courtyard, where the stables were. “I think we can get there first.”
THIRTY-ONE
NEWT
Aurelia Valley was beautiful at night. The expanse of tall grass was a dark, rippling ocean. The star-speckled sky felt infinite. In the distance, the tops of Eldrin Wood’s towering pines swayed with a rising wind. As Newt and Evander crept across the open field, Newt’s mind drifted back to a night only a few months ago. It had been cooler than tonight, and they’d both shivered in their jackets as they sat at the top of the riverbank. The shimmering water flowed below them, catching the bright moonlight in its ripples.
Since well before sunset, Evander had been trying to teach Newt how to roll a coin over his knuckles, which he assured Newt was still possible without a bloodbond to silver. Newt could rely on his fingers to find purchase on brick and stone walls and to slip willingly out of joint when the occasion called for it, but he couldn’t coax them into the same fluid motion that Evander had mastered years ago. He probably could have tried harder, but he liked watching Evander demonstrate, his long fingers graceful and sure. He liked those fingers sliding across his as Evander tried to show him the right movement. Every touch was as thrilling and confusing as the first day they’d met, not so far from this very spot.
Evander and Cassa had been broken up for a few months at that point. Evander had claimed it was mutual, but the two of them had been carefully avoiding each other ever since, like they weren’t sure how to exist as just friends. Newt didn’t like the fissure in their little group, but he also didn’t mind how often Evander spent his new free time with him. He wondered if there was a reason for that, or if Evander just found Newt’s explorations of the valley and woods more interesting than Alys’s work in the apothecary shop. He didn’t think now was an appropriate time to ask as they made their way to the edge of the wood, eyes sharp for lantern light, ears straining for any strange sound.
He couldn’t help but steal a glance though, just before they passed into the shadows of the trees, while the silvery moon still cast some light. Evander’s jaw was clenched, his shoulders tense. His hair was plastered across his forehead. Newt wondered what it said about his own survival instinct that in that moment, when any number of dangers could be lurking just out of sight, all he could think about was that night and the occasional thrill of Evander’s touch. He’d never dared hope for anything more than that. Sometimes he could even convince himself that it was enough.
They slipped together into the relative safety of the wood. Out of the open, they took a few minutes to recover and get their bearings. Evander leaned his back against a tree and rested his hands on his knees, though he didn’t sound like he was out of breath.
“What’s wrong?” Newt asked, keeping his voice just loud enough to be heard over the wind that whistled through the trees. There was a cold bite to it, as if the remnants of winter were chasing its heels.
Evander lifted his head and pushed his hair out of his face.
“I’m worried about Alys.”
“Did you talk to her before we left?”
Evander nodded.
“She said she wanted to do it alone—that she was fine.” He sighed, a gentle sound almost entirely lost in the breeze. “She was lying.”
Newt watched him for a few seconds, unsure what he was supposed to say. Surely he was supposed to say something.
“You could go back.”
Evander snorted in what might have been a laugh.
“She’d never forgive me if I did that.”
“Then we have to keep going.”
Evander was quiet for a while. Newt couldn’t see his eyes, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Evander was studying him. Finally, he straightened.
“Right as usual,” he said, patting Newt on the back as he passed.
He didn’t say anything els
e for a long time, and Newt found the old deer path that would lead them through the heart of the wood. Even though they hadn’t seen signs of any pursuers, it was too dangerous to take the road to the Blacksmith’s house. They had to circle through the forest to approach from the south. Newt took the lead on the narrow path, with Evander trailing behind. The wind was less forceful in the thick of the wood, but they could still hear it howling through the treetops overhead. Even though it had been a clear night, there was obviously a storm blowing in.
“Just our luck,” Newt said over his shoulder, mostly because he wanted Evander to say something—anything. His uncharacteristic silence made Newt uncomfortable in a strange, nervous, gut-wringing way.
At first there was no reply, and Newt had to convince himself not to stop and turn around. Maybe he hadn’t heard. Maybe Newt had said something wrong before. Maybe—
“Funny, I don’t remember us ever having any luck to speak of,” Evander said, sounding so nonchalant, so much like himself, that Newt had to smile.
“I don’t know. I think we’ve eluded death too often to be considered unlucky.”
“The unluckiest lucky bastards alive,” Evander said a little wistfully.
A laugh escaped Newt before he could stop it. They needed to be quieter for caution’s sake, but he couldn’t help himself. If he didn’t let himself think about it too hard, the night almost felt like any other night before that first fateful foray into the citadel. It almost felt like their lives weren’t balanced on a knife’s edge, like Solan in his dungeon of crypts was just an old, fading nightmare.
In the clearing around the Blacksmith’s cottage, Newt could see that the wind had pushed a blanket of clouds across the sky, all but hiding the stars, though the moonlight still poured through. He’d never been to the cottage before, but Evander didn’t hesitate to knock on the door of the central brick section of the house. For a long time there was no answer, even though Newt could see a stream of smoke from the chimney. Evander kept knocking.
When Mira opened the door, her features were set into a scowl. She cracked the door just enough for the light to spill over their faces. She was barefoot, dressed in rough-spun trousers and an overlarge shirt.
“You told me you’d be here tomorrow.” She peered past them into the night. “Is he here?”
“No,” Evander said. “We’ve hit a snag.”
“A snag?” she echoed dryly. The scowl had faded, though her expression still wasn’t exactly welcoming. She eyed Newt suspiciously.
“I’m Newt Dalton,” he said.
“I don’t really care,” she said, though not harshly.
“May we come in?” Evander asked.
“No. Just tell me what you want.”
“It’s kind of a long story.”
“Shorten it.”
She reminded Newt so much of Cassa that he had to purse his lips to keep from smiling. They’d either be fast friends or bitter enemies—assuming Evander could talk Mira into coming with them. He spilled the whole story of Gaz Ritter and Cassa’s capture with a brevity that Newt had to admire. Mira listened with a bare frown. Every once in a while she would glance over her shoulder into the house, and Newt wondered if she had a kettle boiling.
Then came the hard part. Evander told her the truth—or at least most of it—about the executioner below the citadel, about who he really was, and why he needed the bloodbond with mirasma.
She was frowning deeply by the time Evander finished.
“You want to help the executioner—this rook or seer or whatever he is—escape?”
“He’s been the council’s prisoner for years,” Evander said. “He’s been forced to give them prophecies. If we free him, we’ll be hitting them where it hurts.”
He left out the infallible prophecy and Solan’s immortality. Some secrets were better kept close to the chest. Newt wondered at how easily Evander spun the words. He thought about the boy he had been all those years ago, reading false futures in coins, charming the nobility with exactly what they wanted to hear. Evander had learned a few lessons of his own.
Mira didn’t look charmed.
“You expect me to follow you into the crypts below the citadel to attempt a bloodbond that is probably impossible to begin with?”
“We can’t bring Solan here anymore,” Newt said. “If Gaz saw anything about you in Cassa’s memories, then you can bet the citadel guards will be here by morning.”
“All the more reason for you to come with us,” Evander said.
Mira’s expression remained flat.
“The council can’t hurt me,” she said. “They need me.”
“The council likes to keep their commodities close at hand,” Evander said. “Do you think if they suspect you of anything, they’ll let you stay out here to live your life in peace?”
He slipped so easily from charm into bitter truth that Newt couldn’t help but think of the boy behind all those false smiles. Sharp and starving and ready to risk everything for a chance to save his family.
“They can’t make me do anything,” Mira said. “I haven’t done anything wrong, at least not yet.”
“Do you really think that would stop them?” Newt asked quietly.
She eyed him for a moment, her expression more of contemplation than fear.
“You’re going to take me directly to him?” she asked. “And all I have to do is try to bond him with mirasma?”
Newt and Evander both nodded.
“I can’t be responsible if he dies,” she said. “I have no way of knowing if he’s strong enough to survive.”
“He knows the risks,” Evander said. “This is his only chance to be free from that prison.”
Mira was quiet for a long time, her eyes cast down toward the ground. She was leaning against the doorframe, her brown hair falling in long, messy curls over her left shoulder. She looked behind her again, at whatever was distracting her inside, then back at them.
“You really think he’ll bring down the council?” Her voice was soft now, different.
“He foretold their fall,” Evander said. “He might be the only one who can.”
Mira regarded them both. Her lips had settled into a firm line.
“I’ll go with you,” she said finally, “but first you have to tell me something, and you have to tell me the truth.”
“Deal,” Evander said.
Newt didn’t respond. He wasn’t about to promise honesty to a question he didn’t know yet. Mira didn’t notice.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you hate the council so much? You may have been alive during the last days of the rebellion, but it’s not your war. It never was. You’ve just inherited the aftermath.”
Evander didn’t have a ready response for that. Mira made no attempt to fill the quiet. She crossed her arms and eyed them expectantly. Newt dropped his gaze.
All I want is for you to make something of yourself. His father’s words. He tried not to think about them, but they were his first answer. Maybe the only one. His father couldn’t be the man he wanted to be, but maybe Newt could. One day. Or maybe he could die trying and become a legend that would live on like the firebrands who came before him.
“Why does it matter?” Newt asked into the lengthening silence. “Obviously we’re committed to this. Why do you care about our reasons?”
“A deal’s a deal,” she said lightly. Her gaze was on Evander, who stared back at her. Judging from his expression, his thoughts were miles away. A few more seconds passed, then he blinked.
“When I was eight years old, my parents gave medicine to a dying man.” His voice was thin and strained. “The man happened to be a rebel, and the council branded them as traitors for it. They took everything from us. Our home, our hope, our future. No one should have that kind of power.”
His jaw was quivering, and he clenched it tightly. Newt’s chest ached at the sight of him. Slowly, he moved his hand, just enou
gh that his knuckles brushed Evander’s. It was the only comfort he could think to give. Evander didn’t react, but Newt could have sworn the tension in the corded muscles of his neck loosened barely.
Mira still watched Evander, her features betraying nothing.
“I don’t suppose we’re very different, you and I,” she said at last, but she didn’t elaborate. “I need a few minutes to get ready.”
“Is there anything we can help with?” Newt asked. Mostly he just wanted out of the dark and the rising wind, if only for a short while. He could smell rain in the air.
“No, wait out here.” Mira shut the door. Newt thought he heard a lock slide into place, but he couldn’t be sure.
Evander let out a long breath that he must have been holding and took a few steps back. Newt leaned his back against the wall of the house and watched as Evander began to pace. Though clouds were rapidly blocking out the moon, he still saw a glimmer of the silver coins that had begun to circle Evander in wide, opposing arcs.
“All things considered, I think it went well,” Newt said.
Evander shot a lingering glance in his direction but didn’t slow his pacing. It was the second time tonight that Newt couldn’t get a read on his mood. He circled one fingertip absently on the rough brick, keeping his eyes on Evander.
After a minute or two, Evander stopped a few feet away and looked in his direction.
“I wasn’t lying,” he said abruptly.
“About what?”
“About the reason why I started helping Cassa in the first place. That’s really why.” He rubbed the back of his neck and dropped his gaze. “I—I don’t think I’ve ever told you before.”
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