Dante takes in my disheveled appearance and my fallen face, but he doesn’t comment. He’s too tense. Excited, maybe. He looks like Benn right down to the crease forming between his thick eyebrows.
No. Anxious.
“Come on,” he says, pulling me into the hallway.
I clutch my robe together. “I’m not dressed.”
“There’s not time,” he says, dragging me along.
I wrench my arm free. “Okay.”
I retie my robe as modestly as possible while trying to keep pace with him. I’m more than a little surprised when we run through the grand marble entrance and right out the front door. We pound down the side staircase so quickly that I grip its long carved railing to keep from falling down the brick steps. Dante leads me past the drive to the outer road, where a group of crawlers wait. These ones are armored. Their roofs are made of thick metal, but looking closer I see there are holes in the tops. A Sunrunner pops up through one and I realize what they’re for: scouting. Dozens of men are loading up crates and weaponry.
“What’s going on?” I ask, suddenly fearful. We were in Guild territory yesterday; did they track us back here? Is Cormac coming after me?
Kincaid appears over Dante’s shoulder. He’s wearing a thick black vest, not unlike the ones the guards at the Coventry wear. I know they are worn for protection there, but Kincaid doesn’t seem like the type to put himself in harm’s way. Not unless something important drives him to it.
Kincaid slithers up to me and watches the men. His eyes glint in the false daylight of the artificial lighting system.
“We’re going on a mission,” he tells me. The omnipresent glee is in his voice. All around us men test rifles and pull on vests, but you’d think Kincaid was going camping.
“What?” I put my question to Dante this time, unsure I’ll get real information from Kincaid. A Sunrunner dashes past us, knocking against me slightly and pushing me into Kincaid.
His gloved hands catch me, but he releases me as soon as I’m steady. His eyes flick to the offending man, and I wonder what punishment is in store for him.
“We have info on the Whorl,” Dante says. “One of our scouts found some information in the Heart.”
“The heart?”
“Heartland, middle of former America. It’s in the dead center of the Interface’s cover.”
“I thought it was mostly abandoned,” I say.
“It is. There are a few outposts though,” Dante says. “Kincaid’s intel indicates the Whorl may be hidden in one of them. They’re heading to check it out.”
“I want to go, too,” I say.
“Impossible,” Kincaid says, his focus remaining on the flurry of activity surrounding us. “I want you to stay safely on the estate.”
“Not a good idea,” Dante says to me. “It’s several days of travel and rough company. I’m staying behind with you—”
“I’m not a child,” I say, feeling a bit petulant despite my claim. But as soon as the words escape my lips, I spot Jost loading a bag into one of the crawlers. “He’s going?”
I don’t know how the question comes out because I feel the familiar paralysis of last night in my chest.
“Yes, he was the first to volunteer. He’s very single-minded,” Dante says. “They’re leaving quickly, and I didn’t want you to miss saying goodbye. I know you want to go with him, but—”
I hold up my hand to stop him. “You win. I’ll stay here. Bye.”
“I knew you would see reason. Which is why I’m sure you won’t mind staying on the estate during our absence. Under no circumstances are you to leave. I’ve informed security,” Kincaid says.
“What?” I ask, my voice breaking. I clamp my mouth shut to stay the tears rising in my throat. I won’t let them see me cry. The Guild knows we’re here, and the answers I’ve been searching for aren’t here on the estate. Kincaid is putting me in a purported net of safety, but I feel trapped, like bait dangling from a snare.
“It’s for your own security,” Kincaid assures me. “I would hate to see you fall into the wrong hands. Dante is staying as well. It will give you a chance to get to know each other.”
The prospect of growing closer to a man who doesn’t hide his disapproval of me is small comfort.
“Valery will be traveling with me, but I’m leaving Jax behind. He should be able to maintain grid operations in an emergency,” Kincaid says to Dante.
While they are distracted, I dash off. Dante calls out after me but he’s swept back into the conversation before he can stop me. I don’t stay to watch the preparations. I gather up the hem of my robe so I don’t trip over it and flee back to my room.
Sensation is creeping through the blessed numbness—a horrible clawing that rips at my chest. But before I can shut the door behind me and figure how to feel about this, a hand pushes it open and Jost ducks in. His eyes are flat and cold, but the trance melts as we stare at each other. I’m glad we’re not immune to each other’s presence.
“I’m leaving,” he says. His tone is clipped. Formal.
“I heard … saw…” My words stumble out of me, and I want to sink into a puddle on the floor from embarrassment. Where is the girl who sat in her room, not crying, not feeling now? Why has she abandoned me at this precise moment?
“They have info on the Whorl. If they find it, I need to know,” he says.
“Why? You can’t do anything with it,” I point out.
“We could control Arras and if we do, I won’t rely on anyone else to help me get to Sebrina. Every second we waste here, I lose minutes with her! I don’t trust any of them to care about that,” he says. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“I do understand.” The words explode from my mouth.
“I thought you did, but I can’t expect you to care about Sebrina the way you care about Amie or your agenda. If you want to get caught up in their war, so be it. I’m going after my daughter.”
He’s drawn a line down the room, the edge from our argument last night creeping into his voice. It’s a line I’m not welcome to cross.
“Leaving doesn’t change anything,” I say.
“I know,” Jost says coolly. “I don’t want it to.”
Okay, that hurt.
“To be clear, I want you to rescue Sebrina, too,” I say.
“I know that, Ad,” Jost says, “but you aren’t willing to fight to help me.”
That hurt, too.
“I’ve never stopped fighting,” I claim.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “You aren’t responsible for her.”
“Sooner or later, you’ll have to let someone else in, Jost Bell,” I say.
“Why?” he asks.
I hesitate.
“I never wanted it to be like this—” he begins.
“You should go,” I say, cutting him off. “I guess this is goodbye.”
Jost reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear, and I shatter, falling piece by piece back to the dome of safety in Arras. Back to stolen kisses. The memories mix together, muddling into something black and viscous, and the words I should say die on my lips.
“No, I’m not saying goodbye.” He walks out, sending my world spinning.
TWENTY-TWO
I STARE BLANKLY AT THE DOOR. THE only light streams in from the opened curtains, and everything around me is washed out and colorless. It feels false, even though this is reality. This is the real world. My real world, and I don’t want any part of it.
I’m still sitting there when Erik pushes the door open and peeks into my room. “Hey, you.”
I can’t manage a reply.
“I heard,” Erik says, the blue of his eyes deep and concerned, “about Jost.”
“I’m so tired of this,” I say through gritted teeth. “I’m so tired of fighting with him.”
“But he’s gone now.”
I swallow, trying to digest the bitter truth of his words. “Yes. He is.”
“Which means you don
’t have to fight anymore.” Erik moves beside me, hovering next to my vanity and waiting for me to speak.
I glance up at him. His expression is hard, but there’s something beneath it. Conflict.
“Erik—” I start to say.
“Don’t,” he says, putting a finger on my lips. I close my eyes and a tear falls, cold against my heated skin.
“You’re crying,” he says, and his hands drop from my face.
“It’s … it’s not you,” I say, because it isn’t.
It isn’t him. I know how he feels. And part of me wants to crash into him and forget. Forget Jost. Forget everything that’s happened since we left Arras. But Erik deserves more than I can give him. He deserves more than I can give anyone.
“For once let yourself feel something, Ad!” Erik yells, losing his composed attitude. “You can’t push everything down and make it disappear.”
“I feel alone,” I mumble.
“You aren’t.” Erik stands over me shaking his head. “You have me.”
“You deserve better,” I say to him, standing so that he can’t peer down at me like he’s looking into my soul.
“You’re the closest thing to a friend I’ve had for a long time.” He fingers the tear in my sleeve, and I pull my arm back. “So you can’t push me away, because I’m not giving up on you.”
“I feel like a lost cause. I’m tired of running and fighting, Erik. I don’t know what I’m doing anymore. They didn’t even take me on the mission because I’m so useless. I guess I’m ready for this to be over,” I admit.
“This isn’t you,” he says. “Adelice Lewys rips the world apart. She attacks Remnants. She’s a little stupid but not helpless.”
“Do you really know me, Erik?” I ask, and the words taste sour. They build in my throat, unleashing themselves with an anger that pushes me forward to stare at my reflection screaming in the vanity mirror. “About him—about anything. I don’t even know why I’m doing this. I don’t know who I am anymore!”
I lash out at the image in front of me, flinging brushes and cosmetics across the room. They clatter to the floor, bottles shattering. The destruction calms me enough for me to break the hold of the mirror.
Erik’s shoulders drop, but his hands curl into fists. “I do.”
I stare at Erik as he bends to gather the scattered glass from the floor, wondering how he can be so certain. Of me. Of what we’re doing here. Isn’t he the boy who was angry for being ripped to Earth? How has he grown so much?
“Look, Ad,” he says, dropping to kneel next to me. “You are extraordinary.”
“I don’t want to be extraordinary,” I say softly, not meeting his eyes.
“I don’t mean your skills. You’re not extraordinary because you can weave, you are extraordinary because you have a good soul. Much better than mine. Or Jost’s. Or pretty much everyone I’ve ever known,” he says.
“A good soul who let her father die, who lets her mom sit in a prison cell. You know why Jost left, because he doesn’t think I can handle Sebrina.”
“Handle Sebrina?”
“Like be her mom or whatever.”
“That’s a lot to ask anyone,” Erik says.
“But if I loved him wouldn’t I have said I could, wouldn’t I have fought for it?” I ask.
I want him to answer me, because this is the question pressing at my chest, bearing down on my lungs. An answer would be my oxygen.
“You mean you can’t fathom how you would respond to someone you’ve never met in a situation you’ve never been in?”
I know the point Erik is trying to make, but it falls flat.
“Ad, he’s scared. Not just of not getting to Sebrina,” he says, “but of losing you.”
“Of losing me?” I repeat.
“You’re in more danger now than Rozenn ever was. People are chasing you. People who want to kill you or use you. He knows that.”
“So he’s protecting me?” I don’t buy it. The pain in Jost’s eyes wasn’t from loss, it was from betrayal. I know that. I betrayed him, and the worst part is that I’m not even sure how.
“He’s protecting himself.”
“I’m not even sure we ever loved each other. I mean, not like my parents,” I say.
“It’s not that simple,” Erik points out. “Your parents loved each other, but your mother also loved Dante.”
“I know. That makes it even harder to understand. I know she loved Benn, my father, but why didn’t she ever mention Dante?”
“She was protecting you, but she was also protecting herself, like Jost. Some things are too painful to bear. Jost can’t stand even thinking about losing you, and he almost has several times. He thinks if he shuts you out he won’t lose you.” Erik pauses and puts his hand on my knee. “But some people have too large an impact on our lives for us to imagine we can forget them. I know if I’d known you a week and lost you, I’d miss you the rest of my life.”
“I’d miss you, too.”
I see something hidden behind his friendly demeanor and the burning force of it frightens me. But he’s slipping back into our safe relationship now. The one where he doesn’t betray his brother. The one where I don’t have to choose.
“You going to be all right?”
“Yes,” I say. And somehow, despite the empty echo in my chest, I know I will be. “I’m going to wake up tomorrow and it will be a new day. Promise me something?”
“Anything,” he says.
“That you’ll drag me out of bed if I don’t get up tomorrow,” I say, stumbling a bit over the sadness creeping into my words.
Erik sighs, but agrees. “I promise. And what are your plans after you manage that?”
“I’m going to have Dante teach me how to alter.”
“You know how to have a good time,” Erik says.
“I’m quite the party girl,” I agree.
“Can I come?” Erik asks.
“Sure,” I say.
“I wasn’t invited on their little hunting trip,” he says. “And I’m getting a bit bored around here.”
“You could swim,” I suggest. “There are about ten pools.”
“No trunks,” Erik says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. “I’d have to skinny-dip.”
I know my face is on fire right now, but I grin despite myself and push him out of my room. I have plenty to do today. Like cry away this ache so I can start tomorrow in a new world.
TWENTY-THREE
THERE ARE THOUSANDS OF STRANDS WEAVING IN brilliant discord through the greenhouse once I focus in on them. It’s taken me nearly a week to get to the point where I can see the strands on Earth without adrenaline pumping through me, and it’s now over two weeks since the mission left, making me feel like an empty well drained of every resource. Without the organized weave of Arras, it’s been harder to command my skill—both in manipulating the natural strands of the universe and in seeing them.
Now as I stare at them, I try to home in on one. I could grab any number of the overlarge room’s strands; the space around me is full to bursting. A low hum fills the air from the backup generator Dante has turned on to give us more light. The old halogen bulbs illuminate the room but their constant flickering seems to warn of their impending demise. Between that and the buzzing of the generator, it’s harder to feel the strands’ vibrance. The problem isn’t that I can’t see the strands, it’s that Dante wants me to find one specific thread—the time strand located within a petite orchid.
I’m trying to slip my fingers into the weave of the flower. I hold the strand at an angle, keeping a finger on the particular one Dante has asked me to find. I’m sure it’s easier for him to point one out than for me to find and grip the precise strand he’s referring to, which is exactly what he’s trying to show me. I gingerly grasp the golden thread and tug to pull it into a warp. My touch is gentle but the thread cracks through the air, splitting a petal in two. The pieces fall bruised to the ground. My eyes meet Erik’s; he’s watching from a nearby stool
. He came for moral support, but I know we’re thinking the same thing: we’re going to be here forever.
“No,” Dante says. His tone is patient, which has the strange effect of making me feel very impatient.
“It’s occurred to you that this is hopeless, right?” I ask, dropping the strand in defeat and settling back against a table full of pots and plants. It creaks under my weight. I know how it feels.
“Only if you tell yourself it is,” Dante says simply, but he cracks his left knuckles as he speaks.
Never mind. The Zen master is getting a bit tired.
“If you are in a fight, your skill has to be controlled. What would happen if you grabbed the wrong strand?” It’s not a question. We’ve both seen what happens, but I’m getting tired of him constantly bringing up the ammunition factory as an example.
“We’d get out alive. That’s what matters.”
“Is it?” he demands. “And how can you be certain you would, with such a cavalier attitude?”
“I haven’t killed any of us yet.” I stop fingering the strands around me and plant my hands on my hips.
“You nearly did at the factory. You weren’t in control,” he says. “I’d call that dangerous.”
“I’d call that lucky. It bought us time.”
Dante shrugs, rubbing the frond of a tall potted fern. “We view things with a different perspective, Adelice. Your escape from Arras was brave but too risky. When you wield your power like that, you put everyone in your path at risk.”
“No one was hurt,” I argue, but this time my argument sounds small and weak, because I know he has a point.
“Perhaps not, if that makes you feel better, but how would you feel if someone was caught in the tear? If Jost, for instance—”
“I don’t need a lecture. I need you to teach me.”
“You’re missing the point,” he says. “You already know what to do. You have to learn to control your skill.”
So I’ve been told. Repeatedly.
“I’m trying!” I explode.
Dante sighs but his face softens. The crease in his forehead vanishes. “Close your eyes.”
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