Marlow stared at him, surprised.
Felix had forced the name from him, but passing Theo’s words along was August’s choice. And it was kind in a way she hadn’t expected from someone like him. He helped them find the others when he could’ve just kept it to himself.
It was the first time she’d looked at him and seen more than blue banners and centuries of oppressive blood.
But it didn’t matter. It changed nothing.
She muttered a quick thanks, brushed the sentiment aside, and pulled her attention back to the house.
Bedwyck was dying. It was clear in every distant scream, in every mangled body they stepped over in the street. Still, there were rare occasions when it was possible to pretend for a moment that the world wasn’t falling apart around them.
This was one of those moments, and Marlow savoured the feeling, soaking in it like sunlight.
They had only known this odd group for a few months, but there was something about them—a hopefulness that lightened the weight of everything else. They reminded her of the resistance fighters back in Fallowmoor. The ones who’d grown close enough to call not just allies, but friends. The ones who had all likely died that night in the market square.
Gideon’s group felt like home.
She longed to tell them that at least one member of the Fallowmoor resistance had survived, thatshestill carried their secrets, their plans. But she’d long passed the point where she could confess to Felix and hope for forgiveness. To reveal that now, after all this time, would mean losing him forever.
Gideon climbed onto a chair, then stepped onto the wooden table, ignoring the curses hurled at him by the heavyset man behind the counter.
Samuel Davies was the owner of the Blackened Anchor; one of the few pubs still open and serving drinks in Bedwyck. He was a grouch, but he was also Gideon’s older brother, and Marlow was learning he’d let Gideon get away with just about anything.
Lifting his glass in the air, Gideon drew the attention of the group. “Tonight’s cause for celebration.” He glanced down at the lanky boy with tawny, disheveled hair who always reminded Marlow of the cranes that perched along the river. “Our Theo is fifteen. And, as I’m a man of my word, that means he’s finally old enough to join the fight.”
Everyone cheered, and the man beside Theo patted him hard on the shoulder.
Gideon hopped down from the table and crouched in front of the boy. “You’ve always been like family,” he said, mussing Theo’s hair. “But now you’re officially part of the resistance.” He raised his glass in salute. “You’re gonna help us take back this country. Be proud of that, lad.”
Theo’s face lit up, and he stood, lifting his glass. “To Atheran!”
The group echoed in unison.
“To the resistance!” Gideon added with a grin.
Felix, lounging in the chair with his feet propped on the table beside Marlow, had been unusually quiet. But at that, he lifted his glass, gave a crooked smile, and said, “To heads on silver platters.”
The response was loud enough they could probably hear it across the river.
Marlow clutched her glass and watched the others in silence.
“You alright?” Felix asked. “You’ve a face on ya.”
She blinked and smoothed away the frown. “It’s just . . . he’s just a kid, y’know?”
Theo was a healer, like her. He actually reminded Marlow a lot of herself—of the version she’d pretended to be most of her life.
“He’ll be alright,” Felix said over the ruckus. “He’s got all of us looking out for him.”
Felix was right. Theo had this strange little family, and Marlow knew how big a difference that could make.
She’d spent much of her life pretending, and it had eaten at her the same way it ate at Felix to hide his magic. Funny enough, he was the one who’d urged her to stop hiding for others’ comfort. He wanted her to live as herself, even if he couldn’t do the same.
“They don’t like it, that’s their problem,” he’d told her. Like it was that easy.
Ithadn’tbeen easy. It still wasn’t. Everyone seemed to have have an opinion about it, and they all felt it was their duty to voice that opinion. But Felix had been there for her every day, always supportive, always protective. And though he’d teased her about the name she’d chosen in that big brother way he had, he hadn’t called her by anything else since.
And she’d kept a secret the size of the Glaverlough Cliffs from him all this time. Guilt twisted in her stomach, mixing with the worry that had already taken up residence there.
