And yet, when he reached the end of the tunnel, he realized he was looking back. And he hated himself for it.
The way forward was blocked with rubble and concrete. In the early days of building the Guild, they’d collapsed this part of the tunnel to keep the West End safe. Well, safer. Right before the collapsed wall of dirt was Kelvinbridge Station. Aidan hopped up onto the platform and stared down at the water rushing through the tunnel, draining out to who-knew-where. Technically, the entrance to Kelvinbridge Station was supposed to be caved in as well, but he’d fought hard against it, saying that if they ever needed a fast escape, the tunnels were their best bet. Besides, a single point of entry and exit was easy enough to guard.
He’d won the argument. As per usual.
He made his way up the steps toward the exit. Halfway there, he let go of Fire and let darkness fall back around him, just a faint light and the sound of rain guiding him toward the outer world. The entrance might not be guarded, but anyone within the Guild would sense someone using magic close to the wall.
The scent of mold and dead earth shifted to something alive and verdant the closer he got to the surface. When he finally exited, he stood beside a park that stretched along the River Kelvin, everything lush and green and wet. Ruined tenement flats lined the street behind him, their red-and-ochre facades spots of color in the otherwise gray-and-green landscape. He’d spent a few days here in the West End in the beginning. This was where the University of Glasgow rested, reaching up past the tenement flats like the towers of Hogwarts. This was where art and history jostled with foreign uni students and hipster locals. He and his mum visited tea houses and cafés and museums, staring at Rennie Mackintosh sketches or just wandering the streets, looking up at the tops of buildings, as that’s where they were told all the history and art were displayed.
It was almost possible to still see that past in the landscape. The destruction here was random, like a tornado had torn through. And maybe one had. Some of the flats stood tall—large windows intact and revealing shadowed living rooms—while others were reduced to rubble. She would have hated to see the city like this—to his mum, art was all that mattered. He pushed the thought away. He’d done what he could.
Glasgow had seen hundreds of years of life and battle and despair. He’d managed to keep at least a part of it safe and thriving after the Resurrection. And maybe, when he destroyed Calum, the city would be reborn.
Above him arched an old stone bridge—Kelvinbridge, to be exact—and on the other side of the river was the wall that kept the remaining humans of Scotland safe. The wall rose four stories tall and looked like a plateau rather than a man-made construct. All worn stone and rubble and dirt. It sliced straight up and ran along the opposite bank of the Kelvin, making a half canyon that stretched for miles in each direction.
He stared at it for a moment, an odd pang in his chest.
The sight of that wall had been the closest thing he’d had to homecoming since he came to this country. The number of missions he’d returned from, bloody and beaten yet alive. The number of times he’d stood atop that very wall, Fire burning in his chest and hellfire raining down on a distant approaching army. He’d defended this place with his life dozens if not hundreds of times. A city that wasn’t even his. A country he couldn’t leave. He’d given this place everything.
Fat lot of good that had done.
He crept up the covered escalator leading to the top of the bridge and leaned against the wall, just inside the entrance, staring out across the bridge and the wall beyond.
He considered walking out there. Standing at the edge of the thirty-foot gap between the wall and the bridge. Just to see what the guards would do. Just to tempt fate. Instead, he listened to the rain and the rushing river and contemplated what it would take to get this city—his city—back. Without Fire burning away the doubt and the weakness, the memories of this place boiled to the surface. Walking through the gardens with Trevor. Plotting their next attack or defense. Lying in bed together, exploring each other’s bodies. Or, more often than not, screaming at each other when Aidan flared hot and Trevor turned cold.
Some days, they had been partners. Some days, they were at each other’s throats. Fire and Water didn’t mix, and when they tried, it was chaos. But it had been a beautiful sort of chaos. Just as the Guild had been a beautiful sort of home.
A home he’d lost.
Just like he’d lost America.
Just like he’d lost his mum.
“Someday soon,” Aidan whispered, maybe to her and maybe to Trevor, “this will be mine again.”
“What are you doing here, Aidan?”
Trevor’s voice echoed up the stairs behind him. On impulse, Aidan opened to Fire and whirled around, but he managed to stop himself before immolating his former co-commander.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Aidan asked. Instantly, whatever sadness he’d harbored evaporated.
Trevor stepped slowly up the stairs, a mace in one hand and the other hand shoved in his coat. Water boiled in his stomach. His eyes were sunken and there was a stoop to his shoulders. Maybe Aidan’s exile had cost him some sleep. Or maybe Trevor was realizing that organizing an army wasn’t as easy as he’d thought. Either way, there was a large part of Aidan that was pleased to see Trevor suffering. Even if only emotionally.
Granted, that tended to be one way Trevor was always suffering.
As always, Aidan was grateful he hadn’t attuned to Water.
“I thought you’d be back,” Trevor said. Now that he wasn’t angry, his brogue had softened, though his words were still rounded and rolling. “Which I guess answers my first question. You never were good at letting things go. Especially if you didn’t get the last laugh.”
Trevor stopped a foot away. So close, Aidan could practically feel the warmth of him. Though, with Fire in his veins, everything felt blissfully warm. And he felt blissfully impervious.
“Is that why you stayed around?” Aidan asked. “To rub it in my face?” He shook his head and crossed his arms, turning to stare out at the wall. “If you think I came back to grovel, think again.”
“I think you came back because you’re scared.”
Sparks raced beneath Aidan’s skin, and a soft voice whispered within that he never had need to be afraid. Not with Fire in his control.
“Then you know me even less than I thought,” Aidan replied. He swallowed. “How did my army take my...leaving?”
“Better than I expected,” Trevor said. He almost sounded like he regretted the words. “A few questions, but no one was too surprised. You have a...reputation...among the troops.”
Despite everything, Aidan smirked. “Good.” Admittedly, he was pissed that no one had revolted. But there was something endearing at the thought of his troops expecting him to be exiled. It was sort of badass. “I hear you’ve started marching.”
Trevor didn’t reply right away. The rain hissing down around them quivered at Trevor’s agitation.
“Aye,” he finally admitted. “The first ranks left this morning.” He stepped up beside Aidan. “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re not out there trying to beat them to the castle.”
“The day’s young,” Aidan said. “Besides, I need someone to distract Calum so I can sneak in.”
“You’re really doing it then? You’re going against orders and trying to take the Kin by yourself?”
Aidan shrugged. “You never ordered me to stay away from Edinburgh, and now I’m no longer under your jurisdiction, so it’s too late to try. I’m a free agent. I can do whatever I please.” He glanced to Trevor. “I trained my guys well—they’ll have that castle down in minutes. We just better hope they don’t get in my way when I go to kill Calum. I can’t promise there won’t be a repeat of yesterday morning.”
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Trevor said with a sigh. “Maybe if you stay back, we can talk after Calum is killed—”
Instantly, Fire flared in Aidan’s chest.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he roared. “You are the one who just took everything I’ve worked for away. Do you really think I’m just going to wait around for you to kill Calum? Do you really think I want your pity? Your bloody forgiveness?”
In his mind’s eye, Aidan saw the burning castle, the throne of skulls. And he heard the words of Tomás, the faintest memory: Why do you serve, when you should rule?
“Calum is mine. This country will bow to me. Nobody is going to stop that. Because you know what? I don’t feel bad about Vincent’s death. He was nothing. And me? I am everything. Soon, I’ll make sure the whole world sees it.” Aidan looked Trevor in the eyes. “Get in my way, and I swear I’ll kill you, too.”
Trevor regarded him for a long while. Aidan said nothing, but he kept the fires within stoked as he turned back to the Guild wall. He refused to sink down to Trevor’s melancholy level. He refused to let himself feel bad over what he’d done, and what Trevor had done in return.
Fire only moved forward. Fire only burned, and burned through anyone in its path.
It was about time Aidan did the same.
“I don’t know who you are anymore,” Trevor finally said.
“Who I’ve always been,” Aidan said. “And who you’ve always been too scared to see. At least now we know the truth about each other.”
He began walking down the street, not caring if anyone else noticed his use of magic. Water hissed and steamed from his skin. He thought it was an apt metaphor. Trevor had drawn the line in the sand, and Aidan had chosen his side. There was no looking back.
No rain or sadness would ever touch him again.
“Just remember,” Aidan said. “You did this. You did all of this.” He snapped his fingers, and the abandoned shops on the street corners burst into flame, haloing him in harsh light. Trevor stepped back into the safety of the escalator tunnel. Aidan made sure to raise his voice, so Trevor could hear him through the blaze. “You made me choose. And I choose myself.”
With that, he brought the fires raging down behind him, blocking himself from Trevor’s view.
Trevor wanted to make Aidan out to be a monster?
Aidan would happily comply.