CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

How Long Nothing Lasts

UNSURPRISINGLY—ALTHOUGH HER ARRIVAL STARTLED THEM both half to death—Neptune came looking for Horace and Chloe. She popped into the orange bird cloister with a crabby groan, yanked through in the instant Horace spotted her. She fell back onto her cloak, clutching her head, and said, “This is the real me, of course. Right?”

“Of course,” said Horace. “Who else would you be?”

“Fallen angel,” Neptune said dreamily. “I’ve been falling a lot lately. It’s not optimal.”

The three of them sat in the cloister and talked, slowly finding themselves, finding their faith in the now. Eventually they would have to start back through the falkretes toward the Warren, but none of them was ready, least of all Neptune and Chloe. They’d made the journey three times already. Strangely, despite the fact that Neptune was far more experienced with falkrete travel than Horace and Chloe, she seemed the loopiest of the three. They kept her talking for a while, discussing the deeds of the night and the fates of the other Wardens—Mr. Meister, Gabriel, April. Not to mention Beck. Neptune seemed not at all concerned, convinced that Gabriel had gotten them all away safely.

“Why do they try so hard?” Chloe said.

“Who?” asked Horace.

“The Riven. Why can’t they just leave us be? Is it really so awful if a few humans here and there are Tan’ji?”

“You’ve got it all wrong,” said Neptune. “All wrong.” She took a great breath and let it out slow. “How much do you even know about the Riven?”

Chloe shrugged. “The basics. They were the Makers. They want the Tanu because they think they’re the rightful owners.”

“And do you think they are? Rightful, I mean?”

The question startled Horace. “Do you?” he asked.

“Not totally,” Neptune replied. “I can’t—I’m a legacy. My mom was the Keeper of the Devlin tourminda before me, and her dad before her, and so on. If anything, I’m proof the Tanu don’t all belong only to the Riven. Not totally.”

The way Neptune talked, it sounded as if she felt the Riven had a rightful claim to at least some of the Tanu. “What do you mean, not totally?” Chloe demanded.

“It’s not a simple matter of the Riven possessing the Tanu, you know,” Neptune explained. “Humans and the Riven—and the Altari, for that matter—have lived side by side for centuries without the kinds of conflicts we have now.” She shrugged. “Or so I’m told.”

Horace was confused. “That’s not exactly how Mr. Meister described it.”

“Yeah, well.”

“Yeah, well, what?” Chloe said.

“There are secrets you haven’t earned yet.” She pointed her horrid pinkie at Horace. “Especially you.”

“Me? Why me?”

Neptune propped herself up on one arm, looking straight at Horace. Her normally blank eyes were full of dark mischief. “Have you heard of the Mothergates?”

Horace’s breath caught in his chest. “They’re the source of the Medium,” he said. “That’s where the power for our Tan’ji comes from.”

“Close enough,” Neptune replied. “There are three of them, spread out around the world. But one of them is practically in our backyard. Would you be surprised if I told you I’d seen it? Up close and in person?”

Horace remembered his mom saying that one of the Mothergates was only a couple hundred miles away. “What did it look like?” he asked.

“I couldn’t tell you. Not one thing. You can’t see through the Veil.”

The Veil. Horace’s mother had mentioned that too.

And so had Dr. Jericho.

“What is the Veil, exactly?” Chloe asked.

“The Veil of Lura,” Neptune breathed. “It keeps the Mothergates hidden. It’s so beautiful, you guys. You have no idea.” She slid her hand through the air, wiggling her fingers. “It’s so beautiful that if you didn’t know better you’d never suspect—” Neptune stopped midgesture, staring at her hand. She balled it into a fist over and over again, watching her crooked pinkie carefully. “Hey. A few cloisters back, I was sure my finger had fallen off. It’s sort of a surprise to see it here now.” She paused and furrowed her brow. “It is here, isn’t it?”

Chloe looked over at Horace. He refused to meet her gaze. What was Neptune saying? “You’d never suspect” . . . what? Had Dr. Jericho been telling the truth about the Mothergates? If the Mothergates were dying, surely that meant the Tanu would die too. But that couldn’t be. The thought was impossible. Not even Mr. Meister would keep a secret like that.

“I’m sorry,” Neptune said. “I shouldn’t be saying these things. I haven’t found my head yet. Seventeen jumps in one night! It’s funny though—I suppose that means that there’s a different path upon which I told you everything.” She looked Horace firmly in the eye again and smiled disconcertingly. “Everything.”

Horace held up his hands. Were they shaking? “I think you’ve said plenty for now. I don’t really want to hear any more. If Mr. Meister hasn’t told us, then . . .” He trailed off, unable find the right excuses. Again he felt Chloe’s eyes on him. The Alvalaithen gleamed at her throat. So pure and white and bursting with power.

“You don’t want to hear more,” Neptune said. “That’s fine. Also dandy, of course. But you know how it goes, Keeper—tick tock, tick tock. And if Mr. Meister has a flaw, it’s an excess of patience. He practices patience on a geological scale.”

“Okay, so don’t tell Horace,” Chloe said suddenly. “Tell me.”

“Chloe—” Horace began, but Neptune interrupted him with a laugh.

“You’re kidding, right?” she said. “You guys are like two halves of the same bun. I’d be willing to take a kick to the face for every secret you two keep from each other.”

“You might be surprised by how much you get kicked, then,” Chloe said stubbornly.

“I tell you what,” Neptune said. She grasped her tourminda in her good hand and began to hover a few inches in the air. She paddled at the ground and drifted toward them, crossing her legs while airborne, a wide-eyed genie. “No secrets, just a riddle. Surely Mr. Meister wouldn’t object to that. Everyone likes riddles. Don’t you?”

“We like riddles, yes,” said Chloe, before Horace could stop her. “Heck, Horace eats riddles for breakfast.”

Horace held his breath.

“Okay then, here goes,” Neptune said, still floating. She leaned over them conspiratorially. “Do you know how long nothing lasts?”

Chloe shook her head, transfixed. “How long?”

Neptune spread herself wide—her arms, her eyes, her smile. Her tourminda glinted darkly between the fingers of her fist. “Forever,” she whispered gleefully. And then she dropped to the ground, fell back laughing, and promptly—shockingly—went to sleep.

Horace still couldn’t take a breath. Chloe whirled around to glare at him, the dragonfly swinging wide on its cord as if it were alive. “Nothing lasts forever,” she said. “What kind of riddle is that?”

Horace shook his head to say he didn’t know—but he did know. He knew it with a certainty he could scarcely stomach. He reached down and cradled the Fel’Daera in his hand as if it were his own racing heart, his own drowning hope.

There were no riddles here. Only secrets buried deep underground, miserable truths hidden beneath lie upon lie.

The Mothergates were dying.

And Mr. Meister knew it.