Chapter Thirty-Six
Felix sat in the high-backed chair, his leg stretched across a stool stacked with folded linen. The bandage was already blotched through. His shirt clung damp to his chest; his curls stuck to his temple. He looked steady, but only because he forced himself to.
Maisie hovered close. She hadn’t changed from Westminster—the same torn gown, the same streak of dust at her jaw, her hair fallen loose in curls she hadn’t noticed. Her eyes kept darting: his leg, his face, Andre’s hands, back to his leg. As if she could hold him together by watching hard enough.
Andre leaned against the wall, arms crossed, expression flat. “He stays awake,” he said again, to no one in particular. “Awake means alive and fighting an infection.”
On a blanket near the hearth, the little mongrel pup had her head on her paws. She didn’t whimper. Just watched him.
Felix’s gaze slid to Maisie. Her lips parted, soundless. Then: “I thought—” She broke off, shook her head. Started again. “I thought I’d lost you today.” A confession now that they were not terrifying John.
He rasped something like a laugh. “You nearly did.” He swallowed. “But this house… these people…” His eyes steadied on hers. “And you. You always drag me back.”
The door pushed open. Rachel entered first, her shawl clutched, Deena behind her. Then Raphi and Gideon with coats slung over their arms, and finally John, his satchel left behind, his hands empty for once. He lingered by the door, shoulders square, eyes too old.
No one said anything. The silence itself was heavy enough.
Felix looked at them all—Raphi, Gideon, Rachel, Alfie with lips pressed into a line, Andre grim and waiting as Wendy changed the basin of water for new compresses. They had risked everything. Not for him. For her. Because she had chosen him, and so they had, too.
His throat felt tight. “Miracles,” he muttered, half to himself.
Alfie’s brow furrowed. “What?”
“Is he hallucinating? Feverish?” Nick asked, stepping forward to feel Felix’s forehead.
“No,” Felix’s mouth tugged faintly. “Still here. All of you. Me. That’s a miracle.”
Wendy made a wet sound and pressed her sleeve to her eyes once she’d set the basin of cold water down.
Maisie caught his hand before he could slip further down the chair. Her fingers twined with his, firm. “Don’t make me laugh,” she whispered, though her chin shook.
His lips twitched. “Not laugh. Feel. I’ve been stitched together by everyone here even beyond Andre’s apt hands… but you, Maisie—” his grip tightened, surprising even himself—“you’re the one who makes me whole.”
Her breath shuddered out.
With effort, Felix fumbled at his side, fingers closing on the folded cloth Raphi had given him earlier. He drew it out, slow, every motion costing him.
He reached for her hand, clean and cold again. Then he kissed the finger with the diamond ring.
“For every name you carried,” he said, his voice rough, “every danger you shouldered—” He stopped, swallowed, forced the words out. “I want you to have one name that’s yours. I want you to have mine. Maisie Leafley.”
She made a sound between a sob and a laugh and dropped to her knees so she could see him level. “Yes,” she said at once, breathless. “Yes. Always yes. Faivish—always my Faivish.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger with shaking hands.
No one cheered but everyone shifted. Rachel let out a long breath she seemed to have held for years. Alfie touched Felix’s shoulder gently. Andre, still severe, inclined his head.
And John—John stepped forward. He looked at Maisie, then Felix. “So… you’re really my family now?” His voice cracked on the word.
Maisie’s hand went to his cheek. Felix lifted his own trembling hand and laid it on the boy’s shoulder.
“Family,” he said simply.
John leaned awkwardly into both of them, fierce like he meant to hold them there by force.
Felix let his head tip back against the chair, breath catching. For the first time since leaving Vienna, he didn’t feel exiled. He felt home.