Twenty-Six

No one spoke afterward. Or moved. They hardly dared to breathe.

For his part, Mars felt as if he were caught in a dream or a story, a scenario so horrid and incredible it was nearly impossible to believe.

Katrìn was the first to break the spell gripping them. She marched toward the secret compartment and pulled Henrik’s journal from its hiding place.

“What are you doing?” Fura said.

Ignoring her, Katrìn set the journal on a nearby workbench, then began shuffling the beakers and other equipment out of the way.

“Katrìn,” Fura said, “what are you doing?”

Again, Katrìn ignored her as she flipped the journal open.

Quickly reaching the end of her patience, Fura marched over to her friend and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Katrìn?”

“What?” Katrìn jerked her head over her shoulder, casting Fura an incredulous look, as if she found the interruption inconceivable. “You heard the man. I’ve work to do.”

Fura bit her lip, tears brimming in her eyes. Mars understood, feeling the same pluck of despair in his chest at the pain in Katrìn’s voice, barely hidden beneath her false determination.

“Yes, I heard what he said. All of it. About you and your mother and . . .” Fura drew a deep breath. “I need to know you’re going to be all right. And most of all, that you’re not going to do anything stupid.”

Katrìn faced Fura, arms crossed over her chest like a shield. “Like what? Slash my wrists and hurl myself into the Heart?”

Fura flinched, crossing her arms as well, the two braced for battle. “Yes, exactly that. I know you. I know that’s what you’re secretly telling yourself, that it’s an option.”

“It is an option.” Katrìn stuck out her chin. “How could it not be? I care about our people same as you. Maybe even more so, if only because of how much it means to you, Fura. I love you . . . I owe all my happiness and every good thing in my life to you. I would do anything to see your dream fulfilled. . . .” The tears she’d been trying so desperately to hold back began to fall in earnest.

“Oh, Katrìn.” Fura started to cry as well. She unfolded her arms and pulled Katrìn into a hug. Katrìn resisted at first, head down and arms tight around her chest, but moment by moment her resistance drained away, until at last she returned Fura’s embrace, her head resting on Fura’s shoulder.

A painful lump rose in Mars’s throat, and he swallowed it down as he looked away from the two friends. He felt undone by their emotions, shamed by their love, one he didn’t understand, couldn’t understand, because he’d never experienced the same himself. Not even with Orri. But then, Orri never really knew who he was, did he? The lump rose again in his throat at the thought, as tears leaked from his eyes and stole down his cheeks. He wiped them away quickly, hoping no one would see.

“I’m so sorry,” Fura said, stroking Katrìn’s back. “I don’t deserve you. Especially now, knowing what my father did to you.”

Katrìn nodded. “I can’t believe it.” She pulled back from the embrace, meeting Fura’s eyes. “And yet, does it really matter, after all that he did for me later? He took me in, Fura. He made me your sister. Surely that makes up for it.”

“Does it?” A muscle ticked in Fura’s jaw, punctuated by the sound of her teeth grinding. She motioned to the clock. “He still brought us here with the hope that you would go through with it. That you would do what he made you to do.”

Katrìn stood up straighter, chin raised at a haughty angle. “He did not make me. I am the sum of my choices. My choice, Fura. No one else’s.”

“To hell with that. I won’t allow you to—”

Katrìn silenced her with an upraised hand. “I’m not going to sacrifice myself to the Rift. There has to be another way. There always is. And I will find it. I promise. You just need to give me time.”

Fura gave a grudging nod. “All right. Time. That I can give you. As long as it takes.”

Watching this exchange from a few a feet away, little more than an outsider looking in, Mars shook his head; neither woman saw. He did it just once, sad and resigned to a truth Fura and Katrìn didn’t yet realize. Time was not on their side. Sooner or later, someone would come looking for them. This was a race, and coming in second place would mean death.

 

While Katrìn was getting started, Fura and Mars debated what to tell Askalon. It was a stroke of good fortune that he hadn’t been present for the discovery of Henrik’s Echo. He also hadn’t yet pressed much about the Primer or what Fura intended to do, but Mars suspected the truss would start to once he was feeling better. In the meantime, they agreed to stick to the original story—that they were here to make the Primer—but with the added embellishment that it would be more complicated than they’d anticipated.

To help ensure Askalon didn’t accidentally uncover the truth, Katrìn converted Henrik’s secret shelf behind the clock into a true artifact, one only the three of them could open. Whenever she wasn’t using Henrik’s journal, she would stow it safely away.

Once these decisions were made, Katrìn demanded that Fura and Mars leave her alone so she could read the journal. Fura agreed, but only, Mars suspected, because she desired some time to herself. Henrik’s revelations had struck them both hard, if in different ways. Katrìn would process her emotions through the work, Mars guessed. He wasn’t sure about Fura.

And he wasn’t sure about himself, either. He didn’t fully become aware of his own emotional turmoil until he found himself alone, with nothing to do but think. Memories of Orri pressed in, bringing with them all the doubt and pain he’d been trying so long to ignore. Henrik’s death haunted him, too—the cold, unrelenting memory of how he had killed the man, and the certain knowledge that Fura would never forgive him for it if she found out. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. He didn’t need her forgiveness. He didn’t need anything from her, aside from the help she’d promised him. Either that, or the Primer formula, which for now remained as valuable as ever. And would continue to, so long as Katrìn didn’t succeed in her attempt to modify it and heal the Rift.

But it did matter. For reasons he refused to give voice to, even inside his own head. The ache he felt, the longing, for a connection with someone else like Fura shared with Katrìn, silently ate away at him.

Before long, he decided to address it in the way he knew how—by burying himself deep in a bottle of bourbon.

 

Sometime later, with night slowly descending, Mars wandered through the keep in a daze, his thoughts and feelings deadened by the alcohol but still there, like the dull throb of pain from a fingernail cut to the quick.

The hallways he traversed were lined with busts of dead Consortium adepts, their eerie stone eyes seeming to follow him as he passed, watching him, judging him. He’d been gone for hours now, randomly walking here and there, climbing stairs, rummaging through rooms, avoiding areas strewn with rubble. All in a sorry attempt to distract his mind from the awful truths that kept cycling through it in a relentless wave. He pressed his fingers to his eyes, wishing he could pluck the memories out and cast them away.

He stumbled onward, determined to wander until his legs fell off. But then the sound of something being smashed reached him. Frowning, he headed toward it, half hoping a dangerous creature from the Mistgrave had made its way into the keep. A good fight would lighten his mood considerably.

A set of double doors stood open ahead, and more noises of commotion issued from the doorway—heavy breathing and the distinctive sound of a blade being swung through air. Mars set the bourbon bottle on the ground and pulled the sword he’d purloined free of the sheath at his hip. He stepped toward the doors and peered inside, cautiously.

It was Fura, practicing her swordplay with a starsteel blade she must’ve found in the armory. She hadn’t bothered to don any armor.

Unready to face her, Mars tried backing away unnoticed, but she spun toward him, her sword hissing through the air. She froze, and for a second, they stared at each other like enemies across a battlefield. Mars lowered his sword first, and Fura followed a moment later.

“I heard a noise.” Stepping inside the room, he could see now it was a Rivna temple, albeit one vastly different from the one on the Torvald estate. That temple had been austere and solemn as a tomb; this space was almost cheerful, the walls hung with brightly colored tapestries that depicted stories of Riven’s ancient past, tales so famous that even Mars was familiar with them. Human-size statues of the Titans stood at even intervals about the round room. The one of Vigny was missing its head—a loss that had occurred recently, Mars wryly surmised, given the fresh cloud of dust surrounding it.

Fura shrugged, stiffly. “I wanted something more than air to practice on.”

“You? Desecrate a statue in a Rivna temple?” Mars snorted, as he sheathed his sword. “I don’t believe it.”

Turning away from him, she swung at Vigny once more, this time taking off the arm that held the titaness’s famous cauldron.

Mars grinned, fully appreciating Fura’s coping mechanisms. “Do you want to talk about it?” He didn’t know what possessed him to ask such a question, which thankfully didn’t come out as sarcastically as he’d feared.

Fura rolled her eyes. “No.” She wielded the blade again, prepared to strike the statue, but then lowered the sword as if finding its weight too much to bear. “I thought I knew him.”

“Your father?” Mars guessed, knowing there wasn’t anyone else it could be.

“He murdered babies.”

Mars frowned at her choice of words. Was it murder? The intent wasn’t for the babies to die, after all. It seemed Fura was seeing the world as she always did—as a binary thing, black and white, good and evil—and disregarding the complexities that lay in between and all around.

“That’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? The adepts volunteered for the experiments, and your father didn’t intend those deaths any more than a general intends for his soldiers to die on the battlefield. They were consequences of a cause he thought worth the risk.”

Fura scowled. “That argument is a slippery slope. By such logic, any cause is worth any consequence so long as its ends are met.”

Mars couldn’t argue with that, having seen the truth of it many times before. Every patron of the Fortune’s Den told the same lie to themselves as they sought to dampen their suffering with drink and dust and sex, anything that worked, no matter the cost to themselves or others.

“At least your father did the right thing in the end,” Mars said. Katrìn was still alive and with them, after all, and Henrik had devoted his remaining years to the Primer.

“Yes, I suppose he did.”

“Because he loved you,” Mars gently pressed, remembering what Henrik’s Echo had said—becoming a father had changed him.

Fura sheathed her sword, purposefully not meeting his gaze. “So he claimed.”

Mars sighed. “Well, at the very least he stuck around. That’s more than some can say.” He turned back to the doorway to retrieve the bourbon bottle and raised it to his lips for another drink.

“I suppose you’ve got a point.” Fura held out her hand for the bottle, pulling it from his fingers. “It still seems a twisted sort of love, though.” She sat down, laying her sword on the ground next to her and keeping one hand on the bottle. “I used to think that love could transcend any challenge. Now I wonder if it’s just a curse. It seems easier not to feel anything at all.”

“I’m sure you’re not the first to think that,” Mars said, sitting down next to her. Silently, he hoped she would never manage to cast off the depth of her feelings. She wouldn’t be Fura any longer if she stopped feeling, if she became a heartless beast. Same as me.

“That only proves my point.” Fura tapped a fingernail against the bottle. “Look where my father’s love has taken us.” She gestured to the room, as if the desecrated statue of Vigny represented all her sins. “I risked our lives crossing the Mistgrave, got Ivar killed, and for what? The off chance Katrìn succeeds?”

“You don’t think she will?” For some reason, Fura’s doubt made Mars uneasy, like watching thunderclouds form on the horizon. Belief and conviction came so easily to her. Her doubt made him feel as if a stranger wore her face.

“How can she? My father was brilliant, with years of experience, and he failed to do it.”

“Well, yes, but did he even try?” Mars shifted his weight from one hip to the other, vaguely recalling that he’d bumped into a table earlier in his mindless wanderings. “The way it sounded to me is that he only recently considered the possibility of modifying the Primer. And I might not know much about scientific experiments, but surely he would need samples of Katrìn’s blood to test anything.”

Fura opened her mouth to protest, then hesitated. “I suppose you might have a point.” She drew her knees to her chest. “Very well. Maybe there is a small chance.”

Relieved at this small concession, Mars patted her arm. “There now. That’s the spirit.”

Fura nodded, but she didn’t smile at his patronizing joke. “What about your stake in this? If Katrìn fails, there’s still the Primer itself. It hasn’t lost its value.” As if to emphasize the point, she picked up the compass rose pendant at her neck and began to turn it round in her fingers.

“That’s true.” Mars contemplated taking it once more, but only for a fleeting second. As before, he stood no chance of escaping this place without Katrìn. Only, it was more than that. So much more. That longing for connection struck him again. “But I think I’d rather take my chances with you and Katrìn.”

Fura’s fingers stilled around the pendant. “Do you really mean that?”

He shrugged, trying to downplay his feelings before they got the best of him. His throat felt wrapped in twine. “Unlike my employer, you mean what you say and do what you promise. That’s pretty special.”

A sigh escaped Fura’s lips, and she reached out and took his hand in hers. “That means a lot.” She stroked the top of his hand with her thumb. “I’m sorry I misjudged you so badly when we first met, simply for being a mercenary. You’re a good man underneath.”

The apology caught him by surprise, robbing him of thought for a moment. It would’ve been so easy to simply accept it. To forget the things he’d done and carry on, Fura none the wiser. Only, he couldn’t. Something deep inside him refused to let him do so. “No, I’m not. I’ve never been good. You’ve no idea the things I’ve done.”

Fura twined her fingers through his. “You’re right. I don’t know. But you’re no different from my father. You can be good through the things you’re trying to do now no matter what you once did.”

Mars pulled away from her, standing up. For a moment, all he could see was Henrik standing there—with Orri waiting just behind. He remembered them playing at the Den, each game a race to see who was fastest, strongest, most agile. So many times Mars had let the other boy win, resisting the temptation to use his magic to his advantage, if only to see the grin on Orri’s face when he succeeded.

“It’s not so simple. It’s—” Mars broke off, words failing him.

“What is it, Mars?” Fura rose as well, standing close to him. She touched his arm gently, as if he were a statue made of sand. “You can tell me.”

He opened his mouth, the truth pressing against his teeth, longing to be spoken, to be set free. He forced his lips together, refusing.

“Please, Mars. You can trust me with anything.”

Not this. Fear wouldn’t let him, fear of breaking her, of breaking this relationship he had with her and Katrìn, whatever it was. They would both turn him away. See him as a monster. Just like Orri had, even if for different reasons.

You are a monster.

“I killed . . . my best friend.” They weren’t the words he’d intended to say, but they were nevertheless a truth he’d never shared with anyone. He felt something crack open inside him, a release so powerful, he had to swallow a gasp.

“What?” Fura stilled, but didn’t retreat from him. “What happened?”

“His name was Orri. We were working a contract together. He was supposed to be my lookout, while I . . . while I finished the job. Only, things went wrong. I had to use my magic, and Orri saw.”

“Oh, Mars,” Fura said, beginning to understand.

Mars nodded, feeling his eyes starting to burn. “I was afraid he would expose the truth about me. He looked at me with such hate . . . so I . . . stopped him. I killed him to save myself.”

Fura said nothing, but she didn’t retreat, either.

With the confession now made, Mars felt bitterness stinging the back of his throat. “And for the longest time, I thought I was justified in killing him. That I’d done what I’d had to do. But then I met you and Katrìn. You’ve always been her friend, despite what she is. Maybe . . . maybe Orri would’ve been, too. If I’d given him a chance.”

Again, Fura said nothing, and her silence felt like a vise closing around him.

He forced a laugh. “So you see. Not a good man. Not at all.”

Finally, the terrible stillness that had fallen over Fura broke as she shook her head. “You’re wrong. The fact that you can regret and question what you did is proof.” Then she surprised him by taking a step toward him, eliminating the space between them. She wrapped her arms around his sides, pulling him into an embrace. His arms closed around her in answer.

“You did what you had to in the moment. It’s not your fault. Our world is broken, Mars. It makes us all broken people.”

Although he didn’t believe her, couldn’t believe her, some of the weight on his shoulders drifted away at her acceptance.

Fura held him tighter. “And I swear to protect you, Mars, just as I protect Katrìn. No matter what happens. We’ll find a way to keep your secret safe, and to get you free from your employer. If I can’t save Riven, saving you and Katrìn will be enough.”

Again, Mars didn’t fully believe her, but it didn’t matter. Just her wanting to was enough for him. Unable to speak, he drew her into a kiss instead. She melted into it. It was unlike either of their two kisses before. Not feigned like at the Felling, nor reckless like at the ball. This was deeper somehow, truer. It touched some deep part of him beyond his physical body. He clung to her like a man hanging from a precipice, her mouth on his the only thing keeping him from plummeting.

This was what he wished could last forever. For a moment, all the ugly truths he’d grappled with were gone. Henrik, Orri, Una’s control over him, the Primer, everything they promised, or threatened. None of it mattered.

But like all moments, it passed. Far, far too soon.

The sound of a throat clearing broke them apart. They both looked toward the doorway, where Askalon stood watching them with a hooded gaze, his arms folded stiffly over his chest.

“What is it, Askalon?” Fura said, her voice breathless. Crimson climbed her neck into her cheeks.

“Katrìn is asking for you.”

“Oh, of course. Thanks for telling me.” Fura stepped away from Mars, heading for the door.

“Not you, Fura. Him.” Askalon pointed at Mars.

“Me?” He couldn’t imagine what Katrìn could possibly want from him.

But as he left the temple and made his way back to the laboratory, he found out quickly enough. It was something he’d been asked to give only once before in his life, by Una.

A vial of his blood.