THE RIVER

The River Room is a quiet place.

Sitting on a pier, just above the waterline under the stewardship of the Bone Hollows, it is made of three windowless marble walls. There is no wall facing the water: that is the point of the River House.

There is a breeze today, and every wave is tipped in white foam. Outside the building, in the open, rows of angled benches fan out. No one sits precisely next to each other, and there is little talking, even among friends and loved ones. Each is alone in their thoughts, thinking what they will say when it is their turn to walk into the building and speak to the River.

Inside the River Room it is an old custom to speak of secrets shared and secrets unshared. Some of the island’s deepest magics protect the sanctity of those final conversations between two souls and the water’s tide.

At the head of the seating arrangement outside the building is a single, ornate chair. It is reserved for the Empress, and make no mistake, people will glance at it more than once. If anything would bring her back to the island, surely it would be this—the wake of the Tower of Atlantis.

Inside the River House, Corinne Dawncreek paces along the marble lip that divides the edge of the room from the waves that slap against the pier. She shakes her head and begins to laugh.

I thought I would have trouble with this. What secrets do I have with you? And now I’m trying to decide what not to say.

I am . . . There is this . . . guilt. There is so much guilt. I think of you, and I feel guilt.

I held Mayan at arm’s length after Kevan died. I accepted only the barest minimum of help, though he offered more, because Mayan is a good man and one of my oldest friends. But I refused. Because of you. Because I saw you as another Hanged Man. I didn’t want my children near your court, and now I’m not sure I can forgive myself for that.

You finished raising Rune, and he is good and protective. You were capable of that. And if I’d accepted help sooner, my kids wouldn’t have lived in poverty. Layne may never have fallen into the Hanged Man’s path. Layne might not have nightmares, and I know they do, I know they still do, and it breaks me.

Corinne stops. Gives a small smile.

Hey. I said they.

Max sits on the edge of the drop, dangling his feet toward the water.

So . . . Okay. The thing is, Rune and Brand aren’t exactly secretive about passwords. I mean, they fight all the time about Rune writing new passwords on yellow Post-Its that he sticks right on the monitor. So, sure, I read their emails. I know that’s bad, but it’s sort of court stuff too, and I help where I can.

Anyway, that’s how I know they’re looking for my uncle.

They’ve been working with private investigators for months and months. If they send someone to Antarctica, they’ll literally have hired investigators on every continent—and I read one email where they’re trying to find contacts at the international bases there.

And I also know it was your people that provided that report. You were helping Rune. I haven’t said anything, because they don’t want me to know, and I’m still getting used to how that makes me feel. Not many people have ever looked after me like that. I want to do the right thing for them, even if it’s keeping my mouth shut and letting them take care of things.

Max pauses. He puts a hand over his heart, where his first sigil rests. He amends what he said by adding:

For now.

* * *

Quinn finishes reciting twenty-three important secrets he’d jotted down on a page of lined notebook paper. He will destroy it later, once he adds a few notes to his new Prophecy Journal.

I know it’s a lot to take in. Maybe none of it will happen, but . . . but so many times, there’s the Devil and the Moon, and Juror Waylan, and Lord Wheel, and . . . and gods, the Storm. And Tavis! Tavis almost always happens, and I miss him so much. There are so many different ways this all can happen, but it does happen most of the time, in one color shirt or another.

I haven’t told Addam yet what happened underground. With Lady Time. Well, we told him a lot, but not about . . . what she did. What Lady Time did to me. How she took my Sight away.

I can’t see futures anymore. I can barely see my future a few seconds before it’s even about to happen. That’s why I’ve been taking so many notes lately—because I think some of this stuff needs to be remembered.

But in the meantime? I guess I’m . . . normal?

I never can remember what that’s supposed to be like, though. I never saw it happen before.

And I know this whole talking thing is supposed to be about secrets, but I want to say that I love you. I really love you, Lord Tower. You were the first person Addam took me to visit. He bundled me in a backpack and took me to see you, and asked if you wanted to be my godparent. Addam loved you, and I do, too, because you always made me feel important. You told me I had a rare gift, and that the city was stronger because of it. I’ll never forget that.

I hope wherever you are right now, it’s warm, and you can hear what we’re saying.

I will look after him.

Lady Death speaks finally, after a long pause.

Of course I will. Even more so now that I know him. I’ll finish what you started. I’ll step into your very, very large shoes.

But that’s not a secret, is it.

I suppose I never mentioned that Amelia and I were . . . close. For a certain period of time. Your daughter made very clear that her business is not your business, and yet . . . It’s too bad that you and she did not speak more. You are more alike than you ever admitted to each other.

Lady Death closes her eyes. Smiles.

Who am I kidding? Of course you knew about us. That would be just like you. And if so, I’d like to think you must have approved, given our ongoing friendship.

Sleep well, my friend. Until the current brings us back together.

Lord Magician—the one with blue hair—floats cross-legged above the marble floor.

Pay attention, Anton. There was never quite time to share this truth with you before.

You wore too much black silk. Olive and taupe would have been beautiful against your complexion. Also, since you insisted on going everywhere barefoot, you needed a better pedicurist.

Ciaran pauses as a weary expression settles on his face.

Oh, you bastard. You magnificent bastard. I was just starting to have fun with you.

Brand stays inside the River House longer than anyone. He needs it, to still the noise in his head, finding the one secret to share.

Okay. So, look. I’m grateful you never told Rune what I said. About being in love with you. Which I’m not anymore—let’s be clear about that? I don’t doodle your fucking name in my diary or anything.

But things were confusing back then. Rune and I were almost done with that ten-year deal. We were planning on moving out on our own. It was scary, and you were safe, and . . . and whatever. I was young and stupid and said what I said.

You let me down gently, but . . . but you could be really petty sometimes. It drove me nuts, thinking you’d say something someday. I could see you dropping what I said like a bomb to make a point to Rune.

But you didn’t, did you? I worried about that, and now I don’t have to. And that’s the sort of weird and complicated feeling that I’d stab if I could.

And, hey, since we’re sharing secrets, I can tell you where Addam is right now.

Brand points behind him, to his four o’clock position, without hesitation.

I feel him. It was the same way it felt with Rune, back when our bond was still growing. I don’t know what the fuck that’s about. This is the sort of weird shit that always happens around Rune. It’s like he puts personal ads in Weird Shit magazine.

Brand trails off and needs another few minutes to speak again.

I’m seeing that time differently now. All the time, I mean, since I lived at the Pac Bell. You always let me snap at you like an equal. You let me say shit to your face that no one else got away with. And that’s not a tiny thing. I know that. I know that. And maybe sometimes, when I thought you were testing me, you were actually . . . I don’t know. Testing Rune’s development of the Majeure? Being fucking playful? Maybe you were kinder to me than I realized, because of what I said. That time. And maybe you would have been a shit boyfriend, but you were a half-decent dad.”

He closes his eyes and adds, hoarsely:

And I’m going to make you a promise that you once made to Rune. He told me about it—when he and Addam went into the Westlands after Rurik. He got you to promise that you’d watch over me after so that, if the worst happened, I didn’t—I didn’t follow him.

I’ll watch over Mayan. I promise you. I’ll watch over Mayan.

I stayed until it was just me, Mayan, and Brand. We sent everyone else back to Sun Estate, because there were things to be said.

Mayan has always been one of the tallest men I’ve known. He stood a few feet from us, waiting, his gaze pinned on a spot in the far distance.

“Here,” Brand said. Then he held out a knife—hilt first.

Mayan blinked in surprise and took it.

“It’s a gift,” Brand muttered.

“Thank you. Brand, would you mind if I spoke with Rune for a moment? Please?”

“Sure. I’ll be at the car. But you need to stay with us tonight.”

Mayan opened his mouth, and Brand more or less rose on his toes so that he could glare straight into Mayan’s eyes.

“I will stay at Sun Estate tonight,” Mayan sighed.

Brand turned and left. I may have blinked at him in surprise, myself. “I think he just gave you his favorite knife,” I said. “I’m not sure why though.”

“It’s a weapon he uses to protect you,” Mayan said quietly. “It means many things.” He smiled and shook his head. “He also left when I asked. How long do you think I’ll be able to milk that?”

“Six days. Don’t shoot for seven—trust me, it’ll backfire.”

Mayan continued to look down at the expensive weapon he was holding—vulcanized coal, inlaid with obsidian and coral. “Brand has more potential than he’s willing to admit. That’s a problem, Rune. You’ll need to deal with it at some point.”

“I know,” I said, and honestly, I did. We all would have growing pains as the Sun Court grew—and Brand’s role in it was one of the most important decisions I had to make, because he wouldn’t make the right decision on his own.

Mayan slowly moved his gaze to my eyes. “You wanted to talk.”

“I noticed you didn’t go inside to mourn him,” I said.

He said nothing.

“Are you?” I asked. “Mourning him?”

The stare that Mayan and I exchanged was profound. I’m not sure he’d ever seen me so clearly before in a given moment, nor I him.

He said, cautiously, “I felt him when he entered the timestream. I felt his pain. His surprise. And then I felt nothing.”

“I’d accept that, normally, only the thing is . . .”

“The thing is, he’s the motherfucking Tower,” Mayan finished.

“If every moment of time exists all at once, then why not pull him from the timestream at the moment he entered?” I pointed to the River House. “They want me to walk into that building and talk to the water? No. No, I’ll do that when there’s a body.”

“They’ll think we’re crazy to look for him,” Mayan said. “I will have to fight hard, and quietly, to use Dagger Throne resources. We’ll need to talk soon about that.”

I held out my hand. Mayan shook it.

Once Mayan and Rune leave, the waterfront is quiet. Orange and red rays of sun bounce off the water and turn the marble of the River House into a dusky pink.

A woman has waited to speak for a long time, unseen by all around her.

When she is ready, she rises from her chair and walks into the building. She speaks as she slowly approaches the water’s edge.

I can’t be like this for much longer, so I’ll speak quickly. Though . . . are you even there to listen? I gave you what chances I could. At the very least, you’re clearly not here, and that’s a frustration.

I relied on you to help him. The boy is stubborn and reckless, and will be the death of me. You helped keep him from biting off more than he could chew.

But this is about secrets, isn’t it? Forgive me. I have so many to share that they thicken the tongue.

I’m not entirely upset you’re gone. I suppose I can admit that. You were a useful ally, and you managed the boy—unknowingly on my behalf, but you managed him. And yet, you were not pliable. You were never pliable. That means that you’d never be a very comfortable endgame weapon.

And I have a strong suspicion that an endgame has begun.