The words were too huge, too horrible to comprehend. Romeo stared at Makari, and he tried to think of a response—a question—he desperately tried to convince himself that Makari was lying under orders, just like Paris.
But Makari looked like himself, as Paris never had.
“How did you cause the Ruining?” Romeo finally asked.
“Well, if you see Justiran again before I kill him, he can explain the theory. I don’t care. Do you know what it’s like, to see the girl you love open her eyes after five years of death, and immediately beg to die again?” Makari’s smile was like an open wound. “The dead want to stay dead. It’s the only thing they wish. But that first necromancy, the one that split the world open? It was too strong. She couldn’t die again. Until at last she threw herself into a furnace, and we thought that was the end of her.”
Very gently, Makari laid a hand on the top of the Little Lady’s head and stroked her hair. She didn’t move.
“Justiran and I both ended up in Viyara, because though it’s hard for us to die now, the world outside is not a pleasant place. I killed myself sometimes, but I never could find my lady in the land of the dead, so I always came back. I thought it was enough to wait for the end, and watch the Catresou slowly die. But twenty years ago, do you know what I discovered? She didn’t die, not even in the furnace. The Catresou found her and brought her with them, and kept her as an interesting artifact.”
“And that’s why you tried to open the gates of death,” said Romeo, finally understanding.
“She can’t find peace in the living world,” said Makari. “And she can’t leave it. But if I open the gates of death and make this the land of the dead as well, then perhaps she’ll finally smile again. For Juliet, would you do anything less?”
Romeo thought of Juliet, of the look in her eyes when she talked about justice, about her ferocious courage and dedication.
“I would do even more,” he said. “But not this.”
“Then you’re not as in love as you fancy yourself. Don’t worry, I’ve enough love for the whole world.”
“Makari, this is wrong,” Romeo burst out. “All those people—how could you do that? And . . . wait, if you only decided to end the world twenty years ago, why were you running the Night Game before that?”
“Well, it was really amusing,” said Makari. “Especially when the Catresou got desperate enough to defile themselves with my magic.”
Romeo thought of Vai, her grief for her family and her brother. He thought of the girl he and Paris had met in the Lower City, keeping her father as a revenant in her room because she hoped the Night Game might save him. He thought of the people he’d seen drugged and locked in cages, as they waited to be sacrifices for the Master Necromancer.
He could understand—not forgive, but he could understand wanting revenge on the whole clan that had killed his beloved. He couldn’t understand spreading that revenge to the whole world.
“Why are you even telling me this?” he asked quietly.
“Because you’re my friend,” said Makari. “And I want you there with me, after the end of all things. I told the Catresou a lot of lies when I got their help, but one part of it was true. Whoever opens the gates of death will have power afterward. We can be like a family together.”
Romeo remembered sobbing as Makari had died in his arms. He didn’t quite understand why he had no tears now, but one thing was exactly the same: this feeling that the entire universe was ripping apart, and reforming itself into something incomprehensible.
But he’d already seen his world torn to pieces several times over. He knew how to bear it.
“I’m going to stop you,” he said.
Makari sighed.
“Paris,” he said, “guard Romeo. If he tries to escape, kill him.” Then he shrugged at Romeo. “Sorry, but rest assured that I will raise you promptly.”
Romeo’s heart was pounding against his ribs. “Then why not do it already? You know I’ll be more obedient.”
“Mm, yes,” Makari allowed. “But honestly, it’s depressing when everyone in the house is a mindless slave.”
“If you won’t kill me now,” said Romeo, “it’s because you know in your heart that this is wrong. It’s because you don’t want to kill and enslave more than you must, and you don’t need to—”
Makari flicked two fingers at his forehead. “Which one of us has been through the Ruining and the collapse of a whole world, you or me? I assure you, I know what it takes to accomplish my will.”
“I can’t let you do this,” said Romeo.
“You really don’t have a choice, do you? But don’t worry. I will give you Juliet, when I’m done using her as a key and everything is over. The four of us will be together, forever.” He ruffled Romeo’s hair. “Won’t that be nice?”
17
RUNAJO WAS NOT AFRAID.
She didn’t feel much of anything, not in her heart, not since Juliet had come back from the Great Offering two days ago.
But her body didn’t seem to agree. Nauseous, fear-like waves passed through her stomach as she knelt at the table, flipping through another old Catresou book.
There’s a solution, she told herself. There has to be a way to set Juliet free.
Sunjai and Inyaan were still working on the calculations for the new walls. Between the three of them, they would surely have an answer soon. So right now, the real problem was Juliet being bound to kill Romeo the next time she saw him, and likely to die when Runajo walked into Death.
Somebody knocked on the door of the study.
“Yes?” Runajo called out.
The door opened, and a serving girl peeked in. “Lord Ineo wants to see you.”
“Of course,” said Runajo, rising. Another fear-like pang cramped her stomach, and she told herself that it might not be anything terrible. There were many reasons that Lord Ineo might want to talk to her.
But she wasn’t surprised when he handed her a cup of tea and said, “I have word from the High Priestess. The sacrifices have helped, but not enough.”
Runajo gulped a mouthful, and felt the too-hot liquid slide down her throat.
“Maybe they weren’t offered properly,” she said.
“You doubt your own Sisters?” Lord Ineo raised his eyebrows.
“They’re not my Sisters anymore,” said Runajo. “Surely by now, I have proved myself a Mahyanai?”
She could almost hear Juliet saying, Of course, because you’re a murderer.
“Your loyalty is admirable,” Lord Ineo said dryly. “What I wonder at is your effectiveness.”
Runajo’s heart thumped. “I will do whatever you command of me.”
“I commanded you to make sure the Juliet protected the sacrifice.” His voice remained gentle, but Runajo still had to repress a flinch.
“She did. All twenty prisoners died, and several of the attackers as well.” Runajo set the cup down, keeping her voice calm but determined. “And you cannot blame me for giving her no orders about Romeo. We all thought him dead.”
“He is dead,” said Lord Ineo, and Runajo couldn’t help her shoulders hunching a little as she remembered the grief twisting Juliet’s face.
Remembered, too, the earnest boy who had badgered her with poems but who had also—long ago—been the closest thing she had to a friend.
“What do you want of me?” she asked.
“An obedient Juliet,” said Lord Ineo.
“I already promised you that.” And she had never, in her whole life, regretted anything so much.
“There’s to be another sacrifice tomorrow,” said Lord Ineo. “Just two prisoners, but we’re going to keep offering as many each week. The High Priestess says that will be optimal for maintaining the strength of the walls.”
The High Priestess had a whole Cloister of Sisters to calculate the sacred mathematics for her. Runajo just had Sunjai and Inyaan and her own wits, and it wasn’t enough. She still believed they could solve the problem—but not before the next day. N
ot before she had to give Juliet the order to assist again in the slaughter of her people.
If you had ever loved me, you would have killed me.
Runajo looked up at Lord Ineo and said, “She will be obedient. I promise.”
The next morning, she found Juliet in one of the courtyards, practicing sword work alone. Runajo wondered why that other girl—Arajo, had her name been?—was not there with her, and then put the thought aside. She didn’t have the right to wonder.
Juliet lowered her sword as Runajo approached. She turned to face her, but kept her eyes meekly fixed on the floor.
She knew already why Runajo was there. The news had been flying through the clan the night before.
“Juliet, I order you to go with Subcaptain Xu, obey her orders for the length of today, and protect the sacrifice.”
The words felt like dust and ash in Runajo’s throat. But she had to say them. Lord Ineo was going to have Juliet killed if she didn’t. And she knew, she knew this was wrong. But she didn’t have anything left, except this desperate attempt to keep the girl who had once been her friend alive.
Juliet didn’t look up. She didn’t give Runajo one single glance as she walked away.
Runajo went back to her room. She took out the papers on which she had worked on her share of the equations for the new walls. She tried to check them over, but her mind felt numb and the calculations were dead on the page.
Sunjai hadn’t sent word yet. Maybe she had abandoned the project. Maybe Runajo was all alone in her quest—and she’d been like that before. She remembered when facing down the entire Sisterhood had only made her more determined.
But she couldn’t remember how to be that girl anymore. She tried to imagine being that strong and that sure, feeling anything except this dull, miserable weight inside her chest, and she couldn’t.
Runajo stared at the scribbles on the paper and thought, Why am I even fighting?
She had wanted to save Juliet, and she had only destroyed her. She had wanted to save Viyara, and she’d found it was only a charnel house of blood and guilt. She had wanted, once, to understand the secret truth of the world. And the only truth she’d found was that everything existed only by murder, and that she didn’t care as much as she thought she would.
If Viyara fell to the Ruining, if they all died now, what did it even matter? In another year they would have all killed each other anyway.
Runajo stood and walked numbly to the little garden outside her room.
It was a beautiful place; she could recognize that. Carp glittered in the murky green depths of the pond. Rushes bent in the breeze. A dragonfly hummed as it hovered near the surface of the water. The warm, humid air smelled of growing things and hot water on stone.
A long time ago—when she was just a child, before anyone she knew had died, before she’d known the world was dying—Runajo had sat in her family’s garden and watched the light and the shadows dance beneath the trees. The sky had dazzled blue above her, the cool breeze had caressed her face, and for one moment she’d felt as if the world was peeling open, and she could glimpse its secret heart.
This garden now was just as beautiful. But beauty no longer seemed to have any meaning.
Runajo knelt by the edge of the pond. Her eyes stung and her throat ached. She thought that maybe all her life, she’d been trying to catch at the beauty she’d seen on that long-ago morning: by joining the Sisterhood, by stopping the Ruining, by saving Juliet. She’d thought she was so clever and so brave every time, but all she’d ever done was ruin everything that she grasped at, and learn she was just as weak and foolish as every other person in the world.
She thought, I don’t want to do this anymore.
She thought, I don’t want to be this anymore.
But there was no way out, and nobody to help her.
The sun beat down on her hair. The air was a warm weight on her shoulders. Before her, the dragonfly droned lazily as it wove between the rushes, its dark body shimmering iridescently in the sunlight.
And the world changed.
The shapes and colors, sounds and smells, were all exactly the same. But Runajo experienced a sudden conviction that every splash of a carp’s tail, every bright-green hue of the rushes, was not itself only, but a word spoken into silence. A bell tolling the night hours, or the string of a lute plucked with urgent intent.
Sunlight drenched her, thick as honey, and the warm air in her lungs was like wine. Runajo’s eyes were watering in the brightness, or maybe she was actually crying, because she felt absurdly small and worthless of the dazzlement around her.
Worthless, yet comforted. The world had been dying for a hundred years, torn apart by deadly magic and human foolishness. The city was tearing itself apart now, festering with cruelty and pride and revenge. Runajo and Juliet tore each other to pieces at every opportunity.
And yet, and still, the dragonfly’s giant, bubble-shaped eyes glittered in the sunlight. It droned low over the water, then landed on a water violet, and the long stalk of the flower bowed under its weight. Something fathomless and inexhaustible welled up through the cracks of the world, drenching it with glory and making it more than she could ever destroy or create or even, perhaps, comprehend.
Runajo closed her eyes. Sunlight glowed red through her eyelids. For a trackless time, she was still.
Then she thought, I can’t fix this.
Later—perhaps very soon—she would despair over that again. But here, now, the thought couldn’t hurt her. She could imagine she was like Viyara, like the whole world, cracked and ruined and broken, but still able to shelter the jewel-like glitter of a dragonfly.
She could believe that any least, little thing she might do to amend that breaking was worth it.
And when she stopped thinking of everything she’d done wrong, it was very clear. There was only one thing that she could and must do.
Juliet returned in the late afternoon. She stood before Lord Ineo, her head obediently bowed, as Subcaptain Xu reported that the sacrifice had been accomplished and the fugitive Catresou hadn’t even tried to attack.
Lord Ineo smiled and said, “Well done.”
“I am pleased to serve the Exalted,” Subcaptain Xu had said with the barest and most regal of nods, and left.
Runajo was silent. But after Lord Ineo had dismissed them, she told Juliet, “Come with me.”
And silently, Juliet followed her, back to her bedroom.
Runajo realized that her heart was beating very quickly. That she was afraid. Because she had no idea what would happen next. This might be the last moment she was alive. Or that Juliet was alive.
There were a thousand things she wanted to say first. But most of them were some form of I’m sorry, and she no longer had any right to say that.
So she turned to face Juliet, who still was not meeting her eyes, and said the words that she had shamefully held back for so long.
“Juliet,” she said. “I release you from all the orders I ever gave you.”
18
FREEDOM FELT LIKE DEATH: A vast, dark emptiness all around her, and the whispering of a thousand voices. Juliet stared at Runajo. She thought murderer and traitor—and, yes, she remembered friend.
She thought, My people are dead because of her, and also, She saved my life.
“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice low and unsteady.
Runajo’s chin lifted slightly. “Setting you free,” she said. “As much as I can.”
Juliet didn’t know what this glittering, white-hot feeling was.
“Why,” she said breathlessly, and then her voice found strength and the words ripped out of her, “why didn’t you do that earlier?”
She realized that the feeling was rage, that she had seized Runajo by the shoulders and pressed her against the wall.
“Now you’re going to set me free?” she demanded. “When my people are destroyed, and I am a murderer, and Romeo must die by my hand? Now, when all the world is doomed and I’m one of you?
”
Runajo said nothing. She was very pale, her lips pressed together, and she stared over Juliet’s shoulder at nothing.
Juliet wondered, Does she expect me to kill her now?
Runajo deserved to die. It was something Juliet had thought often enough, from the first day they’d met. But this was the first time she’d had the power to do it—because while the bond still existed, she felt sure that Runajo would give no order to stop if Juliet decided to kill her.
If she chose to be the killer that everyone wanted to make her.
Juliet let go of Runajo and stepped back, trying to collect her scattered wits. She was still the Mahyanai’s Juliet. She still could never return to her people, and she was still bound to kill Romeo as soon as she saw him.
The world was still dying, and there was nothing she could do to stop it.
Her freedom meant nothing except that she might be able to kill herself before killing again, and that thought was so bitter that for a moment it threatened to swallow her whole.
Then she thought: if there is nothing I can do, then I may do as I wish.
And she wished for a thousand things, but there was one she might still possibly accomplish: to send Romeo a letter. To tell him, before one of them died, the ten thousand ways she still loved him.
She had no idea where he was hiding. But she knew of somebody who might.
“There’s an apothecary in the Lower City,” she said. “A friend of Romeo’s. I need to talk with him, which means I need your help.”
“To talk with him,” Runajo echoed. There was a dazed look on her face.
“No, I need your help getting out of here,” said Juliet. “And if I run into Romeo in the Lower City, I need you to give me orders. It won’t stop me for long, but it might give him a chance to run.”
Runajo stared at her.
“Will you help?” Juliet asked.
She didn’t say, You owe me. She didn’t say, I can make you. They both knew that. And besides—
Juliet realized that her whole body was tensed like at the start of a fight. Her heart was pounding against her ribs. She could tell herself that she only wanted this plan to work, but she knew that was a lie.
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