But though Xu’s hand dropped to her sword, she did not draw and cut him down. After a moment she looked at Vai and said, “Still you find ways to surprise me. This is your idea of persuasion?”
“It’s about to be your idea, because you’re going to realize I’m right and do what I say.” Vai paused. “Probably.”
“You are insane,” said Paris. He looked at Vai. “It’s true. I was killed and raised by a necromancer. His plan was to destroy the walls and open the gates of death.”
“Popular plan,” Vai muttered.
“He nearly succeeded. We killed him, but he got too far first. The Ruining has changed, I can feel it. If you don’t start an evacuation, a lot of people will die.”
“Also,” Vai put in, “quite possibly anyone who dies will rise instantly now.”
Xu’s eyebrows went up. “‘Possibly’?”
“Saw it happen with a crowd of living dead we slaughtered. Did not choose to test it on a crowd of innocent living folk.” Vai shrugged. “But I would call it very likely.”
Xu pinched her nose. “It’s a terrible night for this.”
“There’s a good night for this kind of thing?” Paris asked in disbelief.
“No,” said Xu. “But this night, there are a lot of things afoot. You’re lucky you caught me now. I was about to leave my post.”
“You’re here until dawn,” said Vai.
“That’s what’s in the schedule,” said Xu. She sighed. “Get on with talking to your friends who won’t talk to me because I’m the City Guard. I will spread the word.”
“Please,” Romeo yelled at the door, “you have to listen to me. The city is going to fall.”
No one answered. No one had, for the last few hours.
Once more, he struggled against the ropes tying him to the chair. But it was useless. They were too secure.
Romeo was going to die in this little room, and he wouldn’t even die because the Catresou executed him. He was going to die because they hadn’t listened, they had tied him up and locked him away to deal with later while they examined the dead bodies left in the Master Necromancer’s lair, and before they came back to deal with him the Ruining would kill them all.
Maybe he should have asked Paris to come. They might have listened to him.
But Romeo knew, as soon as he had the thought, that Meros would never have let anyone listen to Paris. He would have rather killed him a second time.
He would never have listened to Romeo, either. This had always been a fool’s errand.
Gavarin might have listened, but he hadn’t been there when Romeo had arrived back at the main Catresou safe house. Probably he was still locked away in disgrace somewhere, if he had been allowed to live at all.
Juliet, I’m sorry, he thought. Emera, I’m sorry.
They had both wanted him to save their people, and he had failed both of them.
The door opened. Romeo caught his breath, looking up with wild hope—
It was Ilurio.
For a moment they stared at each other in silence. Romeo couldn’t imagine that Ilurio had been sent there, which meant he was probably . . . here to mock him. Because Ilurio wasn’t a murderer, Romeo was sure of that; he hadn’t come here to kill him.
“They said you’d come back.” Ilurio looked down his nose.
“Yes,” said Romeo.
“They said you killed the Master Necromancer.”
And despite everything Romeo had learned, despite everything Makari had done, Romeo’s heart still clenched in grief.
“No,” he said. “Someone else did that. But I did choose to fight him. Because he was against zoura, and he was going to destroy us all. He tried to open the gates of death, and we managed to stop him, but he weakened the walls of the city. Very soon, nowhere outside the city spire will be safe. You have to get your people inside before that happens.”
Ilurio stared at him another moment. Then he darted forward and started tugging at the ropes.
“You . . . believe me?” Romeo said slowly.
“No!” Ilurio blurted out, before he looked away and muttered, “Yes. It doesn’t matter.”
“Why?”
“You saved my life,” Ilurio mumbled, the words so low that Romeo could barely make them out.
“I did?” said Romeo. He couldn’t remember anything like that on the raid, unless Ilurio was just thinking of when Romeo had dueled Juliet, but that hardly seemed—
“Weeks ago! Before you came to inflict yourself on us! I wouldn’t expect an ingrate like you to remember.” Ilurio gave the ropes another useless tug, made a noise of disgust in the back of his throat, then pulled out a knife. “Catresou pay their debts.”
He cut through the ropes quickly, then hauled Romeo out of the chair. “Come on. There’s a meeting going on now. They’re questioning Gavarin. They think he conspired with you.”
“Take me to them,” said Romeo.
Ilurio made a noise deep in his throat. “If you had any honor, you’d ask to be punished in his place,” he said, but there was worry in his eyes.
You don’t really want me dead, Romeo thought, but didn’t say it out loud.
Ilurio led him quickly through the corridors, back to the same room where Romeo had first been questioned by Meros. “In here,” he said, and turned away.
“Ilurio,” said Romeo, catching at his arm.
Ilurio looked back over his shoulder, his expression poisonous and reluctant.
“Thank you,” said Romeo, and meant it. “I am in your debt. And please, please get yourself and as many people as you can to the Upper City. There isn’t much time left.”
He saw Ilurio’s mouth tighten, and saw him nod once.
Then he turned and threw open the door.
It was like he remembered: the Catresou lords gathered together, Meros at the center. This time, the one who knelt before them under guard was Gavarin. His head was held high, his back straight, but his face was ragged with unshaven stubble, and there were shadows under his eyes.
Romeo knew this because Gavarin had turned to look at him, along with everyone else in the room.
“You have to listen to me,” he said.
“You,” Meros began.
“The Master Necromancer is dead. You can stay here and die in the ruins of his folly, or you can get your people to safety in the Upper City,” said Romeo. “There’s not much time left. Please, for the sake of your people, evacuate now.”
Meros scoffed. “You want us to walk through the gates of our enemies and give ourselves up? Better for us to die down here.”
“Half the Lower City is making their way through those gates already,” said Romeo, desperately hoping it was true. “Haven’t you looked out your windows?”
He saw uneasy glances exchanged between some of the Catresou lords, and felt a flicker of relief. Maybe they had seen the evacuation start. Maybe he could still convince them.
“You can lose yourselves in the crowd if you go now,” he said. “It’s a risk, but it’s the only way your people live.”
“I know I’m under sentence of death and all,” said Gavarin, “but I’d advise you to trust him. The boy’s a fool, but he’s not stupid.”
Meros’s face was pinched and white with anger. “I will not be given orders by the son of Lord Ineo.”
He won’t listen, thought Romeo with a wave of despair. But in the same moment, he realized something: nobody had seized him yet.
There were guards in the room. Some of the Catresou lords were not so old and weak. Yet none of them had laid a hand on him.
They were not all determined to destroy him yet. Some of them were listening.
“You’ll be advised by the husband of the Juliet, if you want to live,” said Romeo. “Anyone who wants to live—who wants his family to live—needs to follow me now.”
He turned and strode out of the room.
And after several heart-stopping moments, some of them followed him.
They brought Gavarin with th
em, and he fell into step beside Romeo. “You know the Juliet will kill you if she sees you.”
“Yes,” said Romeo. “She’ll kill you too.”
Gavarin chuckled. “Nobody should take up sword for the Catresou without being prepared to die for them.”
“I tried to die for you,” Romeo said bleakly, thinking, If only I had succeeded.
Gavarin’s hand dropped to his shoulder. “You haven’t done so badly, boy.”
The Ruining began with the dawn.
Probably.
Paris didn’t know exactly, because he was still with Vai, pounding on doors, telling people to leave, to grab what they could and start the trek toward the Upper City.
But he heard the screaming start. The wild, helpless screams of people who saw the white fog creeping through the alleyways and knew that the Ruining was here, it was happening, there was no more safety.
The streets were suddenly crowded then with people screaming, shouting, trying to escape.
He still didn’t see the Little Lady.
But when he saw a narrow tendril of white fog winding between the houses near them—Paris grabbed Vai by the shoulder and hauled her back around the corner.
“You have to get inside,” he said.
Vai shook her head. “There are still people to get out. And we still have to find the Little Lady. Didn’t you hear the Mahyanai girl?”
“Yes,” said Paris. “But you’re not going to help anyone if you’re dead.” He took a shaky breath. “You should go back. I’ll keep looking, because I’m . . . I think the fog might not kill me.”
“You don’t know that,” said Vai.
“No,” said Paris. “But it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
Vai looked at him silently, then said, “I’ve always liked your courage.”
She seized his shoulders and pressed her lips to his in a swift, warm kiss.
It lasted only a moment, but when their lips parted, she didn’t let go of his shoulders. She held on to him and gave him a smile like sunlight on swords.
“Come back alive,” she said, “and I’ll be a woman for you.”
Paris stared at her. He didn’t know how anyone could be so fearless, so alive. He didn’t know how she could stand to touch him.
“Vai,” he said. “I’m already dead.”
“And I’m already a man, but you don’t see me giving up.”
There were a thousand things he could say about how hopeless it was, how the blood was still cold and black inside his veins, how his dead heart still ached for death.
But he wasn’t entirely dead yet. And the whole world was dying around them. And in this moment, perhaps the last he’d ever speak with her, he only wanted—
He kissed her.
He kissed her and didn’t stop, because this was the only time he’d be able to touch her, the only chance he would have to learn the shape of her mouth when it was smiling into his. To feel this warmth, so bright and beautiful that it hurt.
Vai kissed him, and kissed him, and laughed as she stumbled back until she was pressed against the wall. Paris kept kissing her, but slower now, less desperately, as her body relaxed against his.
When they finally stopped, they were molded to each other, forehead to forehead, hip to hip. He could feel her swift heartbeat, her breath in his ear, and it felt like she was living and breathing for both of them.
She would have to.
He thought, I love you, but he didn’t want to say it when he had nothing to offer, nothing he could promise.
So he let go.
23
“YOUR EQUATIONS LOOK CORRECT,” SAID Runajo, peering at the paper—she hadn’t known that Sunjai had such terrible handwriting—“but why did you resolve this part that way?”
“Because I assumed we’d be in the Cloister,” said Sunjai. “Really, did you think the walls were going to come out of anything except the sacred stone?”
Runajo thought of the wide, round room at the heart of the Cloister, and the dark, lumpy stone that some said had fallen from the sky, some said had been thrust up out of the land of the dead. She remembered the column of bubbling light that flowed up from the stone, the raw material that she had once daily woven into the walls around Viyara.
“But they won’t let us in,” she said.
The High Priestess had never once believed anything that Runajo said, and in the Cloister, her word was law.
“They won’t let you in,” said Sunjai. “They’ll obey the sister of the Exalted.”
Runajo looked at Inyaan. The girl had been standing quietly in the corner of the room, her arms crossed, her face blank.
“The High Priestess—” she started.
“I am no longer a novice,” said Inyaan. Her voice was quiet, but steady. “I am the one who outranks her, now.”
Inyaan had always been silent and biddable. Runajo wondered whether now she would have the will to make the High Priestess comply . . . but she didn’t think she still had the right to question her.
And Sunjai’s calculations were correct. Their only hope of remaking the walls was inside the Cloister, and Inyaan was their only hope of getting in there. Runajo had no choice but to trust her.
Instead, she turned to Juliet, who waited silently by her side.
“I wouldn’t advise you to go back there,” she said.
“I wouldn’t consent,” said Juliet. “And I’m not free to go, anyway. The world is ending. I must be with my people.”
Runajo’s heart lurched with dread. “But the Catresou will kill you—”
“I mean the Mahyanai,” said Juliet. “Don’t you remember writing their name on my back?”
Her mouth curved. For once the smile wasn’t bitter, but guilt still seeped through Runajo’s body like acid.
“You do not owe us anything,” she said quietly.
“No. I do not. But I am the Juliet. I was born to protect my people.”
Juliet was serene, like a marble statue carved for duty and acceptance, and Runajo almost choked on her own rage. “We are not your people.”
For a moment Juliet stared at her, unreadable. Then—gently—she took Runajo’s hand.
“You were right about one thing,” she said. “My family wronged me. They made me a slave. But you never understood this: I chose to love them. I choose to love your people now.”
Runajo’s throat ached, and she couldn’t speak. She wasn’t sure she could ever find words.
But she remembered what she had seen Paris do, and she did the same: she sank to one knee and pressed her lips to Juliet’s knuckles in a kiss of wordless repentance and loyalty.
Juliet pulled her hand free and laid it on Runajo’s forehead. “I made a vow,” she said. “So I cannot forgive you. But I wish that I could.”
The heart of the Cloister was almost the same as as Runajo remembered: a huge, round room where glyphs and patterns shimmered as they swirled ceaselessly across the stone walls. At the center lay the sacred stone, a dark hulk of rock. The raw material of the walls still rushed up from it in a pillar of bubbling light that disappeared into a round shaft in the ceiling.
But the light was no longer a glowing white-blue. It had become dimmer, yellowed; there were gaps in the pillar as it rushed up into the ceiling.
The High Priestess stood before them, her aristocratic face a mask.
“Is this the will of the Exalted?” she said.
And Inyaan—who had always, for all the time that Runajo had known her, mumbled and refused to look anyone in the eye—raised her chin to stare down the High Priestess.
“By the blood of the gods that runs in my veins,” she said, “I claim the ancient right to offer at the stone.”
The High Priestess let out an angry breath, her nostrils flaring. For one moment, Runajo’s heart jumped in fear, even though they had already been let so far into the Cloister: there was no one except the High Priestess to stop them, but that meant there was no one to see if she refused.
But the High Pries
tess bowed her head and said, “As the blood of the gods wills it.”
She bowed gracefully and walked away with her head held high, equally graceful. And reluctantly, Runajo understood: the High Priestess might have longed to have her killed—she might think now that the three of them were no more than foolish children—but she believed in her duty to the gods and the royal house.
Against her will, she would allow them to save Viyara.
“You know your part?” asked Sunjai, circling the stone.
“Yes,” said Runajo. She trailed a finger across the surface of the light, felt it fizz hot-cold against her skin. “We can’t start till the last moment.” It had taken them hours to get from the Exalted’s palace to the heart of the Cloister—it must be dawn or later in the world outside—but that was still hardly enough time for the Lower City to be evacuated.
“That might be now,” said Sunjai. “Taste it. You tested the wall the most, didn’t you?”
That was true. Runajo leaned forward; she took a breath through her nose, then gently opened her mouth and touched her lips to the stream of light.
She felt the bubbling light swirl into her mouth, and for a moment she could imagine she was standing on the peak of the Cloister again, tasting the walls in the morning sunlight, planning how to save Viyara and never imagining how terribly wrong her plans could go.
Then the light curled around her tongue, and it wasn’t anything like the bright, mineral taste she remembered. It was sour, buzzing against her teeth, a taste of cracks and shards and ending. She coughed and spat out the light; it spiraled away from her mouth and slid back into the column.
Runajo ran her tongue over her teeth. The taste still lingered in her mouth, dissonant and wrong.
“How long do we have?” asked Sunjai.
Runajo grimaced. “Not long. We’d better start.”
Then she heard footsteps echoing through the doorway: many footsteps, a whole crowd of people. Runajo whirled, heart thudding with the fearful thought: The High Priestess changed her mind. She’s going to stop us.
It was indeed the High Priestess who strode into the room, all the high-ranking Sisters of the order behind her. But there was no anger on her face; she did not call out for them to stop, and the women behind her did not rush forward to seize them.
Endless Water, Starless Sky Page 18
