38. The Unwanted Truce
The Unwanted Truce
There’s a silence in The Bridge I don’t think will ever break. Should ever be broken. Because breaking it would mean what happened – what we all just witnessed – was real. And not some awful, terrible nightmare I need to wake up from.
I thought I was done with crying. But tears are not done with me. They leak out of me as I stagger backwards, sort of dazed.
I don’t know what went wrong. The magic worked. It still wasn’t enough to save her. If I’d released my magic a couple of seconds faster, or known how to free her, and her alone, so she had a chance. Wasn’t just frozen, like a sitting duck…
Magic can’t fix everything.
Vaguely, I’m aware Drake is stepping towards me.
“No,” I snap. “Don’t come any closer.”
“It’s all right,” he says. Muted.
“It’s not.”
It will never be all right.
“Let’s try not to lose our heads,” Dezeeves says, in an odd, jumpy tone. “Now, Meg, help me get us on course for Rhavna. It will be difficult to know how long we have before the magic dissolves.”
There’s a spring in his step as he shuffles over to something tall, covered by a sheet further up the windowed wall. He pulls the sheet off – it’s a large helm – while Meg turns dials and flips levers.
And I’m furious. Because it’s clicked. Dezeeves is happy about all of this.
Elated.
And, why not? He has no love for Riss. Or anyone else, who isn’t the Queen.
As far as he’s concerned, his plan has worked perfectly. We can set sail with the magic in place. He has me and Drake. He has his FIs.
I clutch my arms to me like they might keep me together. Stop my ribs from shattering.
Riss.
Her death is my fault.
It’s his fault, most of all.
Dezeeves has so much to account for. There will be a special place in the hell of the Sisters for him. I hope they won’t let him ever live another lifetime. I hope they will force him to live among all of the ghosts he brought to them. Let them terrorise him for eternity.
I glare at him like I could wish him dead.
Because I can.
I want you to go down to the Osimidite Chamber, I say, in my mind.
But I stop.
Because I already know it won’t work. I can feel my magic being extinguished out of me at the rate I’m summoning it.
I find Drake behind me, looking at me exactly how I thought he would be. With those eyes that seem to say so much but never tell me anything.
It’s infuriating.
I speak to him like I have the power to order him. I will be his queen, soon, after all.
“Stop that.”
“No,” he says, coming closer.
“Let me.”
“No.”
“He deserves it,” I whisper, now that he’s in front of me.
“Like Ephraine?”
“You let me that time.”
“I won’t this time.”
“Great,” Meg says, slamming down another lever. “They’re going to break their magic before we’ve even left.”
I panic. Glance outside. The ships are hovering, still stationary but for their slight rise and fall. It’s a strange sight. I crane my neck, half expecting to see strings pulling them up from above.
“How long will the pilots stay like that?”
“Not long at all, if you keep bickering.”
“Will they start falling?”
“No,” Meg says. “You’re letting them keep their ships afloat. Just nothing else.”
I quell the rage I feel.
Because Meg is right. I need to keep calm. Or all of this – and Riss’ death – will have been for nothing.
I look back up at Drake. “Why?” I croak, knowing he will understand my meaning.
He bends to me. Whispers, “You will get what you want. But we need to get to Rhavna right now.”
I get it. Only Dezeeves can get us there.
But if he lets me down, and keeps Dezeeves alive for any longer than he needs to be –
“I won’t let you down.”
His words ripple over me. Had he…?
“Excellent,” Dezeeves rings out from across the room. “I think we’re just about ready to set sail. How are the controls?”
“Ship shape,” Meg replies.
“Let’s get her moving, then.”
Dezeeves turns the helm, and Meg pulls up one of the levers, her nails long and sharp around it. A familiar whirring starts up from all around us.
I decide it’s a miserable sound. Must be what spirits sound like moving across distances, or what unhappy memories sound like, resurfacing through time.
And then we’re sailing. Pushing away from the frozen ships. The hive is so smooth compared to the smaller ships. Just floats along like hot air.
Once we reach a certain speed, we don’t go any faster. I suppose it’s much harder to pick up speed when we’re so large.
Our pilots, and Hevalla’s pilots, are left behind.
Cosmer is left behind.
I crane my head for a final glimpse of his ship.
The ship I should be on right now.
“Will our pilots be okay?” I ask. “When the magic ends?”
“I am quite sure they will,” Dezeeves says, disgustingly cheerily. “Now that Hevalla has seen our weapon in action, our little ceasefire will likely become quite permanent.” His steering softens as he adds, “Why not take a seat? This won’t be the shortest of flights.”
I drop into the chair right at the end of the table, by an older woman and a younger girl. They look like a mother and daughter. They smile at me, weakly. I don’t think I manage to smile back.
I sit for a while.
My thoughts turn to Cosmer. Who I may never see again.
Old Mother. Her last words to me. She wants to bring about peace. I can do that. I’m sure I can do that.
Eric, my baby brother. Always so anxious the world was out to get to him – and it did. I haven’t even begun to process his loss yet. He was so young. So good. It’s not fair.
Cosmer’s mother. A thoughtful, hardworking woman.
And Riss.
My reluctant friend.
Looking out at the blue sky, whisked with the occasional wispy cloud, it’s like I can hear her.
I hope you’re not going to start mourning me, Girl in Love.
At some point, I’m aware of Drake’s presence beside me. It hits me he’s the only person I don’t completely hate in this room. And that is a feat, considering I hate him, to an extent, too.
“I really don’t want a conversation,” I warn.
“Neither do I,” he counters. “I just wanted to offer you condolences. For your losses today.”
I wait for him to smirk. Turn this into a secret joke of some kind only he understands.
He doesn’t.
Gradually, I realise the truth.
I cast a glance along the table. Meg is grappling with the radio bands, trying to get them attached to the ship again. The others are engrossed in their own conversations, or concentrating on the controls or the sky.
I get to my feet, holding his gaze.
“You’re sad, too?” I ask, quietly. The gentle whirring of the ship swallows my words.
“I did not know your grandmother, or your brother, or the people in your village. And I’m sure it does not come as a surprise that I did not sympathise with Cosmer, or really understand your relationship.
But Riss had kindness and humour,” he states, matter-of-fact.
“And a quiet strength. She deserved a better death than what she received.”
She did. She absolutely did. And we will get vengeance for her.
I stare at him. The morning light is flooding in now. Pooling us in a dewy yellow. I find myself taking all of his face in, the way I don’t let myself do usually. His lips are thin, but look soft. It’s a bizarre, and probably inappropriate thing, to be noticing right now, but I do.
“Thank you,” I say, stilted, and forcing myself to look into his eyes again. “For your condolences.”
“Always,” he replies at once. “Your losses are mine. I feel them deeply.”
He’s being sincere.
How much can he feel through the bond?
“It’s been the worst day of my life,” I say, deciding I need to be honest right now. “I don’t even know how time is still going. How I’m still going.”
My face threatens to crumple. I can’t start crying again. Not in front of these people I don’t trust.
I stay strong.
He steps closer. Our noses almost touch. I resist the urge to pull away from him.
I’d forgotten how speaking to him was like trying not to fall down a hill.
“I can ease the pain you are feeling,” he whispers, turning his palm over, as though inviting me into it. “Erase it, even. If you wanted.”
“No,” I say quickly. “My feelings are…” I struggle to find the right word. So I just say, “Mine. I want to feel them.”
“But they’re—” He winces. “Overwhelming.”
“They’re mine,” I repeat.
Then I really do step away from him.
“Ara,” he says, tightly.
“What?”
“I came over here because I also want to renew our alliance. Our friendship.”
“It’s too soon for that,” I state.
“Then I call for a truce.”
I feel blinded. He’s dizzying. “A truce,” I echo dumbly.
“I lost my patience. In the baths. I know I made a mistake. I have been trying to rectify it.”
I let something like a scoff leave my lips. “Rectify it how?”
He says, patiently, “In many ways, Ara. Helping you, being one of them—”
“Are you talking about Cosmer’s trial? Because it doesn’t count as helping someone if you only do it because Dezeeves made a deal with you—”
“I made no deal.”
I’m silent for a second.
Coming to my senses, the sun from the window warming my face, I choke, “Then, Dezeeves asked you to—”
“I made no deal,” he repeats, “And Dezeeves did not ask me. I approached him. And offered.”
“No,” I spit. “No. There must have been something in it for you.”
His body seems to loosen as he says, simply, “You. Your life, which the IR charge put at risk.” He looks away. “That’s all that was in it for me.”
I sway on the spot, stunned.
“Do you agree to it? Peace between us?”
I’m still gaping. My lip trembles. “I’m…”
The sound of crackling static kills the sentence I didn’t really know how to form. Meg must have reconnected the radios.
And then the ship is alive with noise. I jump as every radio band in the room, at the same time, blasts Cosmer’s voice. It’s loud enough to shatter the sky.
“Dezeeves. Dezeeves. Dezeeves. Are you receiving, Dezeeves. I could do this all day, Dezeeves—”
“Shut him up!” Dezeeves yells.
“I’m trying,” Meg insists, struggling with multiple dials.
I rush over to them, searching the sky.
“How can he be radioing us? I thought he was frozen—”
“Must have worn off.”
“But then… he should be going home.”
He should be going home.
“He’s in range. So, doesn’t seem like he is.”
“He is like a child,” Dezeeves wheezes. “An idiotic child!”
At last, Cosmer’s voice – still repeating Dezeeves – is at a normal volume. Meg thrusts a band over her head.
“Cosmer,” she snaps. “I mean this with respect. But you are really becoming a thorn in our side—”
“Finally!” he yells over her. “Thought I was following a ghost ship—”
“You’re following us?”
“Yes!” I can hear the smirk in his mouth. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice. Hope none of you were considering careers in reconnaissance.”
“Turn back. Now.”
“I’m guessing, by that attitude, you’re still not going to open a pod for me?”
“No!”
“I thought so. Okay,” he says, as if steeling himself. “Then one of you is just going to have to let me in through the airlock.”
Her composure cracks. “Cosmer. That would be madness—”
“I’m going to depressurise now. Start slowing yourself down, too, Meg. Don’t hit my ship. Bumble is a tank. I honestly think The Emperor would come off worse.”
The frequency dies just as I finally get a band over my own head. My hands were shaking too much. I throw it back off.
“What is he doing?” I shout at them all.
Dezeeves turns the helm rapidly, his face an ugly grimace. Meg is already forcing down a lever, making us grind towards a stop. The whole ship keels to one side, cannisters and crates sliding across the floor.
Everyone seems to be understanding something I don’t yet. It’s making me panic more. The palpitations in my chest are physically hurting me.
And then my hands fly to my mouth. I’m unravelling.
Because directly in front of us, the ship I know is Cosmer’s is falling out of the sky.
I bend right over the table. Watch it plummeting, right until the slivers of glowing clouds below us consume it.
“He was supposed to go h-home,” I stammer, gripping the table. “He was supposed—”
“He is not dead,” Drake says decisively, from right behind me. “Yet.”
“No one can say he isn’t persistent,” Meg states, flatly. “Who’s going to get him, then?”
“No one,” Dezeeves says. “If this is how he wishes to die.”
No, I think. Cosmer is not going to die today.
I repeat the conversation I just heard back in my head to understand what I need to do.
He crashed his ship deliberately.
He’s going to climb up to the airlock.
It sounds ridiculous. Reckless.
Brave.
Wonderful.
Just like Cosmer.
“Take an oxygen mask,” Drake says. And maybe he uses blood magic on me, because I walk right over to where one is, by the door, and grab it. Then I crash out of the room before anyone can stop me, my heart wedging so deep in my throat I can taste it.
It’s like fresh paper.