Forty
Medical care on Hod might be better than what we have down in the Heap, but as doctors close in around me I find myself missing Ameliana’s familiar touch.
I lie on the table, close my eyes, and try not to think.
Thoughts from Star hover at the edge of my consciousness, but I shut them out, push him away.
Maybe the doctors will make a mistake, puncture a lung, stab me through the heart. If I could just die, that would solve everything, wouldn’t it?
I don’t die. They patch me up, pump me full of medicine—injections, stabbing someone to heal them, what a bizarre concept—and leave me in a strange twilight of dulled pain and muzzy thoughts.
Bradley tells me that Ky has retreated to her room and suggests I might call on her, but I push him aside and stumble to the workshop instead.
Tomorrow. Alzimyth has given me until tomorrow. I’ve lost most of the day already, and I haven’t even started. Star sits in his stall, sulking, and I open my mind to him again.
Get up on the table. We’ve got work to do.
He doesn’t move. [Unhappiness: you blocked me out.]
I’ve never done that before. I didn’t know I could do it, honestly.
Sorry. I was in a lot of pain.
[Irritation: I am aware of that. I was attempting to help.]
I— My hands curl on the edge of the table. I know. I just—
[Reminder: I care about them, too.]
I know! But you’re not…
[Query: not what?]
Not responsible, I carefully don’t send. It’s not your fault.
It’s my fault.
I’m sorry, I send again, after a few moments. Get on the table, please? If we’re going to do this, I want you in the best shape we can manage.
With a slowness that emphasizes his wounded pride, Star unfolds and climbs up on the worktable. I undo the bolts that secure his carapace and lever it open with an ugly screech. Talk to me about the damage.
Star runs through his functionality while I poke at his innards.
It’s not a pretty sight; his systems are multiply redundant, but sigils have popped all over.
The sight of the cracked oranges and yellows gives me a nasty feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Some of the wire is torn up as well, and of course two legs need replacing.
“Fucking stars,” I mutter. “This is going to take all night.”
[Apologies: I will endeavor to take less damage the next time I save your life.]
You know that’s not what I meant. I take a deep breath. Let’s get started.
Time blurs. If working on Star normally feels like a dream, this is a nightmare, with exhaustion and pain and the impossible deadline bearing down on me like crushing weights.
I move as fast as I can, tearing my fingers on jagged bolts and feeling the strain on my busted rib.
The back of my head starts to hurt, an insistent itch that grows into a dull, throbbing agony.
When I explore it with my fingers, I find two twisted lines of stitching running from the nape of my neck up to my scalp.
The urge to dig in my nails and scratch is almost overwhelming.
Sometime later—minutes, hours—I hear the workshop door. Bradley, maybe, or one of the other servants. I don’t look up.
“Taj?” Ky’s voice, very small.
“Busy,” I mutter, coiling threading wire around my finger.
“You need to eat.” She sets something down on the edge of the worktable, a covered bowl of soup and a tureen of something mashed and steaming. “And you should rest.”
“I don’t have time. I’m not even going to be able to get Star back up to baseline, and I’ve got to think about what Alzimyth is going to put me up against. There are too many—”
“Taj.” Her arms fold around my shoulders from behind, her head next to mine. Her voice drops to a whisper. “It’s not your fault.”
I freeze, my throat working. I can feel tears pricking at my eyes.
“How can you possibly say that?” I whisper back. “Of course it’s my fault.”
She squeezes me a little tighter.
“I haven’t even thought about them for days,” I say. “I’m supposed to be doing all this for their sake, but I couldn’t spare a minute to wonder if they were okay.”
“Worrying about it wouldn’t have helped anything,” Ky says. “You couldn’t know that Alzimyth would do this.”
“I should have known.” I almost don’t recognize my own voice, the anger there. “I should have known all of this was…”
“Was what?”
“Too good. A chance to save everyone, to leave the Heap? Coming here, living like this, living with you? It’s not—” I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow desperately.
“I don’t get to have this. I don’t. It’s not the way life works.
It was always going to end badly.” I had reached too high, asked for too much, and the price for my hubris could be everything I love.
“I should never have gone back to Yesod.”
“If you hadn’t, I’d be dead,” Ky says softly.
An image flashes through my mind, Ky’s face as Pader’s meaty hand squeezes the life out of her. The resignation there. I shake my head, and tears patter on the table.
“I can’t save everyone,” I say. “I can’t.”
“Listen.” She holds me tighter. “There are powers in the world no one can stand up against. That no one even understands. You can’t blame yourself for them or take responsibility. You can only pick up the pieces.”
Anger rises in my chest. “That sounds like something your father told you.”
“It is, actually. How did you—”
“Because it’s bullshit.” I struggle free of her arms and get to my feet, my bruised legs screaming. “It’s the kind of thing the people at the top say to make themselves feel better, because they know it’ll never happen to them.”
“Fuck you,” Ky shoots back. “It happened to me!”
“And you didn’t just lie back and accept it, did you? You knew who was responsible, and you risked everything to get your hands on him.”
“Because I knew it was just Gestian!” she says hotly. “He’s not from Above, he’s just… just some guy who’s good with a sword. I don’t have to accept him.”
“But he told you his orders came from Above, so now you’re giving up?” I snort. “You’re not as strong as I thought you were.”
“I…” She blinks rapidly. “We’re not talking about me. And I’m not telling you to give up, just to forgive yourself. Whatever happens—”
“It’s the will of Above. Not ours to question.” I snort. “Leave me alone. I’ve got work to do.”
I eat the soup and the buttery mashed potatoes. They’re so good I want to cry all over again.
[Observation: Ky is correct.]
Don’t you start. I feel his offense and sigh. Fine. About what?
[Analysis: you need to rest.]
You’re not finished. I’ve got the worst of the structural damage banged out and the two legs replaced, but there are still dozens of popped sigils to swap out, not to mention the BLASTs to rebuild.
[Projection: if you collapse from exhaustion, my state will not matter. My sigils are redundant. I will be able to function like this.]
Shit. He’s not wrong. The tools keep going fuzzy in front of my eyes. I need to at least rebuild a BLAST if we’re going to have a chance.
[Analysis: in the morning. You will be faster after some sleep.]
I lean back in my chair, letting my heavy eyes slip shut.
What if it’s not enough?
[Projection: then we will lose. He swore he would release your family regardless.]
And he’ll take you away. Forever.
[Discomfort: I would be unhappy. You would be unhappy. But, as you said, we will have fought.]
Yeah. I force myself to my feet. You’re right. I’m going to bed.
[Instruction: you must speak to Ky.]
What? Why?
[Repetition: because she was right, and she was trying to help. You need to forgive yourself.]
She… doesn’t think I can win. That’s what all that stuff about irresistible powers boils down to. She thinks this is suicide, even if she won’t say it.
[Falsehood: she has faith in you. But she is scared. It is a failing of you meat creatures. Talk to her.]
I grunt noncommittally and stumble to the door.
Having lived here for a week now, I only take two wrong turns on the way back to my room.
Outside the sunlamps are completely dark, and the hall lanterns are turned down to glow only faintly.
When I reach my room, warm light still spills from the crack under Ky’s door.
I knock before I can think twice about it.
“Go away, Bradley,” Ky says.
“It’s me.”
There’s a pause.
“What do you want?” she says.
“To apologize. I know you were trying to help. I shouldn’t have… said that, about your father.”
Another pause. The door lock clicks, and the door swings open. Ky stands there in her nightgown, face smudged with tears, hair loose like a silver torrent tumbling down her back.
“I want to find out who killed him,” she says quietly. “Of course I do. But it’s Above. Even if I wanted to, how could I?”
“How could you get back to Hod with no money and everyone trying to kill you?” I smile at her. “You’ll find a way.”
“And you’ll put the blame for all this where it belongs?”
“Where’s that?”
“On Alzimyth, obviously.” She smiles slightly. “He’s not some irresistible force. He’s just a guy with a lot of sigils, right?”
“Right.” The crushing band of iron around my heart eases, but only by a fraction. “All we have to do is win, right?”
“One more fight.” She holds up a hand, and I reach out to match it, our fingers interlacing.
“One more fight.”
The moment stretches. I fight the yawn, but I can’t help it; something in my jaw pops.
“First step: Get some sleep.” I pull my hand away. “Star’s already on my case.”
“Star usually knows what he’s talking about,” Ky says. “You should listen to him more often.”
“Probably.”
[Interjection: definitely.]