She doesn’t ask for clarification, her face a mixture of resignation and anguish. It is answer enough. I shake my head and turn away.
“Mirren—"
I steel myself, unwilling to hear whatever defense of Shaw she has prepared.
“None of it is okay. Not what Shaw did to you and not what forced him to do it. Just—you have good instincts. Don’t let this make you second guess them.”
I stare at her. Good instincts? The only good instincts I’ve ever had were the ones that told me to stab Shaw. That he would only hurt me, and I needed to put an end to it before the pain was irreversible. And now, when my chest has been hollowed out with the edge of a blade, it feels more than irreversible—it feels fatal.
“You’re going back to the manor, right? You shouldn’t wander alone.”
“I need some air. Please don’t tell him where I’ve gone.”
Max looks as if she wants to argue but nods her assent. She turns the skiff around and I watch it cut a silent path through the water, back toward the marketplace where the lifeblood of Nadjaa still teems. The celebration, that for a few beautiful moments, I’d felt a part of.
I walk up the path slowly. The manor house is still, only a dim light shining through the entry windows. No doubt lit by Rhonwen before she retired for the evening. Sleep won’t come easily and the thought of returning to my room, only to stare at the walls is unbearable, so I head around the manor and down the trail. The Storven Sea crashes against the black cliffs as I make my way down through the foliage.
I welcome the burn in my legs. After a few days rest from traveling, I almost miss the strain in my muscles from a hard day’s journey. At least, then, it felt like I wasdoingsomething. Something that would get me closer to saving my brother’s life. I’ve strayed so far from that in the last week, stagnant and lost. Hiding who my father is from Shaw. Hiding that my mother is most likely dead from myself. Hiding from the fact that I am as helpless to save Easton now as I was in Similis. Helpless and cowardly and naïve.
Before long, I arrive at the cliff pond. Its turquoise waters glisten in the moonlight and the leaves of the protective willows rustle in the soft sea breeze. It should make me angry, seeing the water of the pond and only being able to think of the droplets that ran down Shaw’s face. Lower. But instead, it has a calming presence, seeping over my bones like a cooling fire.
I remove my dagger from the leather strap at my thigh. Max insisted it was wise to be armed at all times, even under an evening gown, and now I am thankful, as I line it up the way Shaw taught me. I hold the handle lightly between my fingers and when it feels right, let it fly at the nearest tree. It lands with a thump, handle first against the bark. I jog to pick it up and then realign my stance before letting it fly once more.
Shaw acted so skeptical of prophecies when Sura and Luwei discussed them, but he’d been driven by one himself. One that led him to blow up the Boundary and hurt an innocent man. If I never escaped, would he have lured me out somehow? Dragged me out? There are no limits in his drive to get what he wants. No line uncrossable, no person more important than his goal. How many times has he told me that himself; that he’s a monster who is not to be trusted? And how many times did I refuse to listen?
You’re going to be very disappointed if you go around thinking everyone has the same heart you do.
He said it to me the first few days I knew him, and by the Covinus, I hate that he was right. I hate that itisdisappointment that threads through me now instead of hatred. Why, after all Shaw’s done to me, does something in him call to me, as if my soul recognizes a kindred spirit? How foolish to think there is anything familiar in a heart so very dark.
He is the Darkness.
I throw my knife harder as Aggie’s words drift through my mind. She must have been the one to give Shaw the prophecy, just as she gave me one tonight. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was something otherworldly that spoke through her, something ancient and raw like what lived in that cave stream.
This time, the dagger sticks firmly into the trunk, and I have to level my feet to yank it out.
I throw it over and over again, until I’m panting with exertion and the blade sticks where I intend every time.
I hear him before I see him, a crunch of leaves and a swish of branches. I curse Max for giving me away so soon, but I don’t fault her for it. Shaw has earned her loyalty. I haven’t.
“I don’t want to talk to you,” I say over my shoulder, throwing the dagger again. It sticks solidly in the trunk, and I can’t help my self-satisfied smile. I hope he sees how much my aim has improved. I hope he knows I’m imagining his face every time I throw it.
A voice, so very different from the rich consonance of Shaw’s, rings across the still water. “Talking isn’t at all what I had in mind.”
* * *
Shaw
I whip around, rage and grief swirling inside me. Mirren’s absence aches like a physical wound, hollow and raw. I can’t breathe around it, can’t think of anything other than the emptiness. The abyss, which has burned so faithfully my entire life, to my detriment or boon, has gone out. All I feel is cold.
Jayan steels himself as I stalk toward him. If it were another day, I might give him credit for the strength of his backbone. “My personal guards are posted all around,” he says, as if this will matter to me at all. He could be surrounded by an electric forcefield straight from the factories of Similis and I would claw my way through it.
My voice is eerily calm. “What, exactly, has Denver told you about me, Jayan?”
The man straightens, opening his mouth to reply, but I silence him with a look.
“Has he told you I was born of the Darkness? That it roils and twists inside me, barely contained? That I have no conscience and would cut you down in front of half of Nadjaa this night without a second thought, before your nearest guard could even draw his sword?” I watch with satisfaction as the color drains from his face. “Ah, so you don’t know the entirety of my story. Rather foolish, to make such a bold move without all the information.”
Spittle covers Jayan’s mouth as he sputters, but his eyes are like chips of ice. The need to go after Mirren burgeons vehemently, pounding through my veins in time with my heartbeat, alongside the urge to spill Jayan’s blood. But neither of those things would be prudent. Jayan’s knowledge has exposed a fatal weakness, a hole for rot to seep in if I don’t staunch it. And quickly.
