CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE #3
I take in the contours of his lovely face, feel the steady support of his hands around mine, forever keeping me warm, safe, whole.
I don’t know what to say, but I’m overwhelmed by a wretched need to try.
Bravely, I reach for his face, where a delicate eyelash has fallen to the bone of his cheek.
My ice-cold thumb is burning hot when I sweep it from his skin, then place it on the back of his hand.
“Wish on a fallen eyelash,” I tell him.
He hesitates for a moment, then obliges.
His eyes close, and I study the part of his mouth, letting out wisps of condensed air.
He leans forward, then blows on his hand, sending the wish on its way.
When he looks up, I can count the crystals on his hair, I can trace the endless lattice of his irises.
One movement. It would take one of us leaning in just an inch to close the gap between us. I can’t tell him, but I could show him.
Everest’s eyes drop to my mouth, and desire softens his face.
“When we got back from the court, when you were angry with me. You said I had everything I’ve ever wanted,” he says.
His gaze darts to and from the corners of my face like I’m a constellation he’s tracing.
“You were wrong about that. And if you had given me a chance to talk to you after that first eclipse, what I was going to tell you had nothing to do with pity. I’ve thought about that night every day since. ”
The fire in my stomach surges, setting me alight. “Everest–”
He lifts a finger to my lips, and the lightning that sparks from that point of contact sets my every nerve on fire.
“Please, let me finish. I lied when I told you that no one has ever been able to go back. Or well, I thought I was telling you the truth back then, but I had vastly underestimated your will.”
I can barely stand the sad smile that parts his lips.
I want to wipe away his sorrow, but I don’t trust myself to be able to touch him and pull away.
I think of our kiss as a historical anomaly, so long ago that the world has since seen countless star-crossed lovers burn with such ferocity that their names have left their marks on the sky.
But I’ve thought of that first eclipse night every day too.
I remember kissing him like it was yesterday.
It’s not fair that one instance of recklessness possesses such a hold on me, but that’s what makes Everest so terrifying.
And he knows it.
“I know why you can’t,” he says, as the snow swirls around us. “I know this place will never be what you pictured for yourself, will never be enough.”
His words pull the rug out from under me.
“I’m where people stop by,” he had told Valentin the other day. He had meant to offer her comfort, but there was something else there that I’d been foolish enough to miss.
“That’s not what it is,” I say, searching for the right words to tell him what’s in my heart. “It’s never been about this place being enough; it’s always been more than enough. I just…”
And as I say it, I know that it’s true. It’s been true forever.
I think of Beam’s raucous laughter, of Ender’s endearing soliloquies, of Keshav’s erudite warmth and Geneva’s wit.
None of this has changed over these last few days, but something about Valentin’s appearance has made it all sharpen into focus.
Geneva was right. Maybe my dreams have changed, and maybe I’ve been too afraid to seize them.
A small smile tugs at my lips, but Everest looks uneasy.
“I have to tell you something,” he says quietly, then pulls away.
“What?” It’s a miracle my voice doesn’t come out brittle with betrayal. I don’t understand what just happened, but Everest shifts his body away, looking out into the flurries.
“I know Quill told you that you can’t take Valentin back and stay there,” he says, slipping his hands into his pockets.
Valentin. My return to my timeline. It had all slipped from my mind, but it re-emerges as a glaring reminder of why I can’t do exactly what I was thinking about doing two seconds ago. But it isn’t a factor anymore, not when I’ve searched high and low for a path home and been denied at every turn.
“That’s okay,” I say, although I’m not convinced. “I’ve made my peace with it.”
Everest bites down on his lip. “Despite your mom?”
I blink slowly.
“Val told me while you were out on time trips. She sounds really sick. You haven’t talked about that much,” he continues.
“I’m not sure what good it would do.” I shrug, but tears well, despite my best efforts.
My next words are barely a gasp, ripped from my aching core.
“It’s excruciating to think about my mother.
It wrecks every bit of me to know that she’s by herself, without dad, without me.
We’re all each other had, and they weren’t supposed to be the last ones left. I should have been there.”
I love you more than the whole world, Ryka. My lungs threaten to collapse.
“And you wouldn’t be with her if you had the chance?” he asks.
“Of course I would,” I say, growing angry. Why is he bringing up a situation that is causing me so much pain? “But it’s not an option. I’m going to see her when I drop Valentin off, but that’s the most I can do.”
Torture concealed as a merciful goodbye. A small part of me almost wishes I didn’t have the option at all. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to look at her and walk away.
Everest taps his knee. “What if I tell you there’s another way?”
My body snaps towards him. I couldn’t have heard him right.
He continues, “I’ve been thinking about this, and we’ve been looking at your problem through one lens. We’ve been trying to see if you could go back as you are, to your timeline. Or as close to it as possible. But what if instead of looking at the present or future, we go back?”
“To my past?” I ask him.
“Well, not you,” he clarifies. “But I could go back while you’re in your timeline, returning Valentin. I could go back far enough to alter the tapestry of threading, make sure Novalie doesn’t fall ill, so you don’t have to come here.”
A flurry falls slowly through the air, landing in my lap. “I would never come to the fair?” I ask, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. This level of tampering is unheard of, and it can’t possibly be allowed.
“I’ve done my research,” Everest says, giving me a broken smile. “I can pull it off. That is, if you want.”
If you want.
My life’s dreams and ambitions handed to me on a silver platter, but when I look under the cloche, the meal looks entirely different than what I’d anticipated.
“I wouldn’t remember this place,” I say quietly. I wouldn’t remember you.
“No,” Everest says. “But you would have everything you’ve been talking about. Your family, your friends, the bar down the street with karaoke nights, the house with the greenhouse library. You would have time with your parents, with Novalie. All yours.”
He’s not looking at me. I will him to look at me, but I don’t know what I want him to say.
To tell me he doesn’t actually mean this, to convince me that I don’t actually want this.
To show me that one of the reasons I’d consider staying wants me to stay too.
But I don’t know what I want. The possibilities that I’d thought were closed off are open in front of me, and it’s not fair to ask him to make the decision for me.
Everest gets to his feet, then stretches out a hand towards me.
“The snow’s slowed down enough,” he says lightly. “You don’t need to decide now. Let’s head back.”