31 #2
But you can’t, she thought, gaze turning to the weary man beside her. You’d kill him on the spot.
“Why did you take that vow?” she asked softly.
“I took my chances that you wouldn’t kill me.”
“That’s not a reason to do it. Linking your life to the promise of a stranger—”
“Myria, if it’s any consolation, I’m already dying,” he interrupted. His dark eyes fixed upon her, full of a gentleness ill-matched to the bluntness of his words. The knife in her stomach gave another twist, and for a moment, she was speechless.
“I’ve been dying ever since I came home from the war,” he said. “You’ve felt it. All that energy, that restlessness . . . that’s arcanic power spilling loose into my body, and it’s killing me.”
“But . . . surely you could—”
“Have my faculties excised?”
“Yes.”
“I could,” he said, his gaze casting back out into the night. “And I couldn’t. I knew I couldn’t throw away my life, but in my heart, I couldn’t bear the cure. I couldn’t choose. Gambling with my future . . .”
“Took it out of your hands,” she finished. At last, those strange, disordered pieces of his nature snapped into a picture, and the sight of it wrenched her heart.
“I didn’t mind it,” Felix murmured. “Your life’s never really your own, in the wars. So long as it belonged to Carintheum, to Gloriana, to chance, I didn’t have to choose what to do with it. I didn’t have to decide to live.”
“You didn’t want to?”
Myria regretted the question the moment she spoke it, knowing the answer might be heavy enough to crush her. Still, Felix only shrugged.
“Carintheum venerates the mighty. Honors the dead. All of a sudden, I was neither, and . . . there’s no place for people like that. I turned invisible. The wine turned to water.”
Then, a slight, shrewd smile crossed his face.
“Lately, though, I met a creature with the knack of changing it back again. Emptied the Elysius Vault, cracked Haideum Castle, robbed the Lynxias, and all without a dash of arcana. Just . . . cleverness and comrades. She didn’t need more. I’d wager she still doesn’t.”
Myria dropped her gaze. She couldn’t stand to look him in the eye. After what he’d given up to save her, every further drop of kindness sank her deeper into a debt she couldn’t hope to repay.
They fell into a mutual silence. The sounds of nighttime industry took over. As she sat there, though, scuffing her heels against the slates, the wheels of her mind began to turn again.
Invisible, she thought suddenly. Perhaps that’s the key. The centurion . . . she’ll just assume he’s on her side. The loyal tin soldier.
Vixius knew that Gloriana had the box, so he’d go after her. When the unstoppable force met the immovable object, there’d be chaos. She had a way with chaos. Something began to weave inside her head.
You’ve been playing by the devil’s rules. Might’ve picked the wrong game, there, old girl.
Somewhere in her mind, a gear shifted. The devil’s rules.
She knew them well, but Vixius knew them better.
He’d been playing by them fifteen years longer.
No allies, no weaknesses. Trust no one. Spare no one.
Oh, and he’d followed them to the letter.
He hadn’t wanted to kill her. Gods below, he’d become fifth lord for her sake—but when the rules demanded, he’d murdered her without hesitation.
The rules? she thought. But you’re a criminal. Break them.
She glanced sidelong at Felix. A prefect, Gloriana’s right-hand man.
Below, she had a woman who could wear any face she chose, a therical genius, and a man who could step behind the curtains of the universe.
She’d wanted to keep them out of harm’s way, but it was too late for that now.
No more fighting with one hand tied behind her back.
You’ve got an unfair advantage. Use it. Cheat.
“Felix . . .” Myria began, then broke off as guilt and doubt together seized her by the throat.
“Still here,” he said. From the corner of her eye, she could see him watching her, like a man waiting for a magic trick. She didn’t know if she had one up her sleeve, but it was time to take the plunge.
“Will you help us?” she said. “Even if it means defying the centurion?”
“I mean to protect you from her. To protect her from herself.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Felix looked to be on the verge of speech—but then, his head flicked up, and he shot to his feet like a hound at the dog whistle.
Arcanic light blazed through the fog. A split second later, a silver griffin raced overhead. At the sight of the pair of them on the rooftop, it banked and flared its wings. Myria’s stomach plunged.
Ah. Damn.
She’d just have to make it up on the run.
“She’s found us,” said Myria, striding into the room. Leo and Cassia looked up sharply, and Lysander snapped his book shut.
“Take a silverwalk,” she ordered. A heartbeat later, something rammed against the wall so hard it shook the bricks. Leo flinched, then slashed an amber line across the air. He pressed Cassia through and vaulted in after her. Lysander paused at the threshold, seeking Myria’s eyes.
“You’re not coming. Is she tracking you?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“You have a plan?”
“I always have a plan. Go.”
With that, she shoved him through the gateway. Leo’s frightened eyes met hers for a heartbeat, before he threw up his hand and sealed the gap.
“Do you have a plan?” asked Felix.
“Ah . . . not quite,” she said, “but I’ll stand a better chance without Gloriana using them as blackmail. Now, Prefect—”
The silver magic struck again. This time, it tore straight through the bricks and spells alike.
It glanced off her and barreled onward, shattering the far wall.
The impact dashed her to the ground. She thudded down and curled into a ball against the cascade of falling bricks.
The pain of impact speared through her body.
Then, the world froze. Myria heaved for breath and looked up.
Fragments of brick hung suspended on the air, and splintered panels stood in mid-fall. The griffin pulled up hard, wings spread. Myria watched in liquid panic as it spun into the figure of a woman.
Damn, a distant voice said in her mind. Silverwalkers slipped beneath the skin of the world. The most powerful arcani just tore right through it. For a moment, she could feel that molten silver pulse, seizing the golden thread of Felix’s power and clawing toward its source.
Too late, she realized. Gloriana hadn’t been tracking her. She’d followed Felix.
Time came to a halt in her mind. The door lay behind her, knocked off its hinges. Outside were the dark and winding streets of the industrial district, a devil’s maze to any hunter. Instinct overtook her.
She was on her toes before her wits had caught up, dashing down the stairs. She was two flights away in a heartbeat, three before the cry reached her.
Felix.
The sound of pure agony broke in shards through Lysander’s shredded silencing spells. Then, at the thud of a falling body, she stopped dead.
Run, you splitwit, run . . .
The vow. That blasted vow. Run from Felix, and she’d kill him.
She hovered on the landing, weight shifting from foot to foot. Her body urged her to flight as her mind scrabbled through the threads of a half-woven plan.
She took another step, and the cries intensified. Some part of her still spurred her forward—the part that played by the devil’s rules, and always had.
Not ready, came the voice again. Not ready to break the rules, after all these years? Not ready to lead them, after all you’ve done?
The screams paused, cut by a great shuddering breath.
No. You never will be. Best close your eyes and take the leap, old girl.
Myria turned and began to climb the stairs.
She found Felix amid the rubble, the centurion kneeling at his side. The cries had stopped the moment she’d turned back, and now he lay there, breathing hard in the falling dust. She stepped over the shattered door and came to a crouch beside him.
Gloriana straightened. The centurion’s golden gaze angled down at her like a blade. She knew it without question; that woman could snap her neck with a thought.
No matter. She looked back down to Felix and offered him a hand. He took it hesitantly, and she hauled him to his feet. She sized him up with grim compassion.