Chapter 62 Romie
I FORGIVE YOU. WE ALL forgive you. There is nothing to forgive.
The words reached into the depths of Romie’s subconscious, the dark hole she’d been thrown in by Atheia. For a second, the death Atheia was so close to unleashing on Baz, just like she had the Tidal Council, paused.
But they’d been here before, the two of them.
Romie had fought and fought against Atheia only to be pushed deeper in the dark after she did.
And this—Baz waiting with his eyes closed for her to strike him down—it was inexcusable.
There was no coming back from this. She’d failed at wresting power from Atheia when it mattered most and knew there could never be such a thing as forgiveness for her.
She was alone, as Atheia had said. And it was her own damn fault. The dreamer who’d reached too far, who’d been seduced by the call of a destiny she had believed to be pure and only saw how corrupt it was when it was literally invading her body.
Alone, alone, alone.
But she wasn’t, not entirely.
If you let her win, that’s when you become truly alone. That’s when you go beyond forgiveness.
The voices of Aspen and Tol and Orfeyi—these voices she had so far only heard in dreams—called out to her in the dark. Romie felt them right there with her, holding her fraying mind together as her hands shook around the dagger she held in one and the power still accumulating in the other.
So fight, their voices urged. Fight for yourself, and for them, and for us.
And they were right: Romie wouldn’t, couldn’t, let Atheia win. She wouldn’t let anyone else guide her actions but her own heart. Never again.
So with Aspen, Tol, and Orfeyi lending her strength, Romie pulled herself up to the surface and felt herself expand within her own mind.
You are the one who’s alone, she told Atheia as she pushed the deity down and down and down.
So desperate to achieve perfection with your creations, you forgot the beauty in sharing, in collaboration, in friendship and love and accepting all the flaws that make things beautiful and unique.
You chose to stand alone. I would rather die for those I love than to follow in your footsteps for one more second.
Atheia raged and fought back, but Romie fought harder.
Because that was Baz she was standing in front of.
Romie was face-to-face with her brother for the first time in nearly a year, and she wanted so badly to run into his arms. She wanted to hear all his stories, see how much he’d changed over the past year—Tides, he even looked different, so much more assured of himself.
She wanted to tell him all the things she’d seen as well, the stuff pulled from the very book that had shaped his childhood.
More than anything, she wanted to say sorry.
Sorry for all the secrets she’d kept from him.
For the grief and heartache he must have felt after she’d first disappeared.
She wanted to apologize for pulling away from him after the incident at the printing press, because she knew now that, while she told herself she was above everyone else’s fear of Eclipse magic, that hadn’t been true.
She’d been just as scared as anyone, if not more.
She’d resented their father for what his Collapsing put their family through, and she’d feared Baz for his susceptibility to do the same.
Her gaze landed on Emory, who was fighting so hard to stop Clover, her power chipping so slowly at him, at this god she couldn’t possibly defeat, yet here she was still trying.
Enough. Romie was done being a puppet for Atheia, this deity she’d put her trust in and who’d ended up being vile and hateful and ugly. She was done following the whims of fate, of a destiny that made her into a murderer.
She was done sharing her body.
She thought of Nisha. Of her father and mother. Of Emory and Baz and Kai, all these people she’d let down and who had fought for her anyway. Now it was her turn to fight for them.
You’re not in control anymore, she told Atheia, pushing her consciousness to the same depths she had been imprisoned in.
With one last shove, Atheia’s screaming subsided—and in a sudden, dizzying breath, Romie was free.
The magic Atheia had been about to unleash faded just as quickly, the dagger slipped from her hand, and all the fight left Romie as she fell to her knees. “I’m so sorry,” she breathed.
Baz gaped at her. From the look in his eyes, she knew he saw her. Not Atheia, not the cruel deity, but his sister. He swallowed her up in a hug, and she broke down against him. A sob escaped her lips. “I’m sorry for everything.”
“I’m sorry too,” Baz said.
“You? For what?”
“For Collapsing that day at the printing press. Sending Dad to the Institute. Breaking our family apart.”
“That wasn’t your fault. I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you that.”
They clung to each other. There was nothing to forgive for either of them. They were family—and that meant they would love each other no matter what.
Romie drew away from Baz to look at Emory. Her friend appeared utterly spent, but she was still trying. Clover barely spared a glance at her, too caught up in his efforts to kill what was left of the gods.
Until Emory erupted in brilliant light that made Clover falter.