“One,” the shade said, “you’re assuming you could have pulled that off. But let’s be generous and say you had. What do you think she would have done, after?”
“Been pissed,” I choked out.
“Understatement,” the shade said, nodding. “You’d have lost her that way, too.”
“But she’dbe alive,” I snarled.
The shade stared at me for a long moment. Then she said, “She was too hurt to go out, wasn’t she?”
“She was,” I said. “Until Mab…”
Until Mab had exerted the force of her will. Had reduced the ability of those willing to fight to defend the city to feel fear. Pain. Made them more like Winter, more aggressive, primal, drawing out their combative instincts and sharpening them, the way the Winter mantle did for me.
If Mab hadn’t done that…
If I hadn’t gone and broken Thomas out of his imprisonment…
If I hadn’t destroyed the Red Court, freeing the Fomor to attack a power vacuum…
If I hadn’t stood to fight beside the Accorded nations, only to be cast out of the White Council…
If Rudolph had had an ounce of personal courage and backbone…
The shade watched my face intently. “A lot of things had to come together for all of that to happen,” she said. “Some of them were partly in your control. Some of them weren’t. It’s…extremely arrogant for you to take credit for the ones that weren’t your fault, Harry. You haven’t earned that.”
I scowled at the floor.
“I can tell you this much,” the shade said simply. “She loved you, though she was afraid to admit it to herself, much less you. She was going to be in that fight, one way or another. She regretted none of her choices. Even at the end. Except that she’d held herself back from you.”
I started crying. My shoulders shook.
“We can have conversations like this over and over,” the shade said. “But I don’t think you’re going to get much out of them.” She leaned forward. “You need other people for that. People who can put their hand on your shoulder. Tell you things that they see that you can’t see for yourself.”
“Everyone is under strain,” I began.
“Not everyone lost the person they loved,” said the shade in a reasonable tone. “You should talk to them. About her. Let them help you remember her.” She sighed. “Because you’re stuck in your memories, all by yourself. And calling me up almost every night is not going to help you with that. Memories fade. Like pain. Like wounds. Preserve the brightest ones. Talk about them to other people. You’re going to find a lot more compassion and understanding than you think.” She took a deep breath. “And talk about the worst, too. And let them go.”
“I don’t want to let go,” I said, voice almost pleading. I looked up at her. “Of y…of her.”
“That’s not for you to decide,” she said, very softly. “She’s gone. That’s the truth. There’s nothing left to hold on to.” She smiled wanly. “Apart from me, I mean.”
Shades were not the people who had once lived. They were an imprint, like a footprint in soft ground, a spiritual being made of memories of a life now gone.
“I’m tired,” I said, shaking. “Of…just, crying. Tears. Fuck, I’m so tired of hurting.”
“You need to take steps,” she said. “You need to heal. You know what that means.”
I shook my head.
“You’re getting there,” she said encouragingly. “I know you feel terrible still. But you’re getting there.” She sighed. “I mean what I say. About talking to someone. It will help.”
The candles flickered and went out.
And the shade was gone.
I sat on the floor and wept.
After a while, there was a quiet knock at the door, and Bear said, “Dresden?”
