I had to stop, had to close my eyes as I crashed to the ground. My head pounded, too heavy to keep upright.
Looking at him through a god’s eyes was the most terrible thing I’d ever done.
I could see every potential path his life might take, every iteration he could become. Every version of Leopold was superimposed upon another, magnifying his silhouette into an infinite image of possibility. He was a king: a good one, a bad one, one that was not much of either; he was a captain: at war, at peace, triumphant, imprisoned. He was a playboy, a father, a drunk, a monk, a widower, without family, so much in love. He devoted himself to the crown, to the gods, to earthly pleasures, to scholarly pursuits. On and on and on it went. It was too much to take in, too enormous for one mind to process or understand.
I let out a sob, feeling as if my head was about to burst.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, kneeling beside me. He rubbed my back, offering comfort when I couldn’t explain. “Hazel, what’s happening?”
I leaned against his body, trying to ground myself in the solidity of his frame. There was only one of him here now—there was only this Leopold, my Leo—but I couldn’t shake the memory of his multitudes.
“Why are you here?” I cried, fumbling to find his hand. His fingers were warm and rough and here with me in this moment. I gripped them fiercely, tethering myself to him. “How did you gethere?”
“I couldn’t let you do this alone. I didn’t want you…I didn’t want you to face whatever this is alone. When Félicité began to snap her fingers, I just grabbed your hand and didn’t let go.” He bent over my supine form, his lips brushing the nape of my neck. “Hazel, what’s wrong? What’s happening to you?”
“It’s the godsight.” I shuddered. “I see what they see. I see…everything. It lets me know the lives of each candle, lets me find who I need to find. But with you here right before me…” I winced, feeling as though I might throw up. “I see too much with you.”
His arms encircled me, his chest a comforting weight against my spine. I wanted to stay there, wrapped up in him, until my sight was once again mine, until this whole mess was over. But I couldn’t. I was the only one who could end this. I was the one who needed to right the wrong.
“We have to get to the cavern before I lose the sight, before we lose this chance,” I said, struggling to sit up, struggling to stand when all I wanted was to sink. Everything felt harder with my eyes closed. Every task took too long. But I couldn’t bear to open them and see all those Leopolds again. “There’s a crevice along the back wall. Do you see it?”
“Yes.”
“Can you take me to it? Will you be my eyes, at least for a bit?”
He kissed the top of my head. “For as long as you need me.”
We made our way into the tunnels. Leopold kept one arm tightly around me, guiding my steps, and every so often, I’d risk a peek through lowered lashes, making sure we were on track, making sure we took the right path.
I knew we’d reached the cavern when his breathing changed, growing sharper, full of wonder. “What is all this?”
“Lives,” I said simply, squinting against their brilliance. “All of our lives.”
There were fewer than I remembered, and my heart panged, thinking of those lost in the war, those who’d succumbed to the Shivers. The placement of the candles looked different too, and the aisle I recalled King Marnaigne’s candle being down was no longerthere.
“Stay behind me and don’t touch anything,” I warned. “If you should cause a wick to go out…”
I heard him swallow hard before he murmured his understanding.
We waded into the sea of flames.
With Leopold positioned squarely at my back, I dared to more fully open my eyes, inspecting individual candles as I searched for the king’s. I led us down row after row, desperate to find someone within the king’s orbit, but all I found were strangers living out their lives, completely unaware how quickly peril could topple their entire existence.
“What will you do when you find Papa’s?” Leopold asked as I took us down a fourth aisle.
“I’m not sure,” I replied, answering honestly. “There’s so much I need to tell you, so much I need to explain, but there’s not time. Just know that he was never meant to be saved. He’s been living on borrowed time.”
“Your time,” he said, somehow understanding, if only a little.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“I heard what you said to the gods. There’s a deathshead?”
I bit my lower lip. We were going to have this conversation whether I was ready or not. “It’s part of my gift from the gods. My curse, really. I see cures, but sometimes I also see the opposite. Sometimes I see when it’s time for a person to die. Sometimes…I have to kill them, before they kill others.”
He absorbed this. “You’re going to kill Papa, aren’t you? Blow out his candle here, killing him there.”
I stopped in the middle of the aisle, feeling him at my back. I reached for him, finding his arm. “Yes. I’m sorry.”
