But Baz had practice reversing things that would otherwise be irreparable. Reaper magic he could send back into the hands of an unsuspecting Tidecaller. Collapsings he could stop by reverting silver blood back to red. Unhallowed Seals he could undo so that magic flowed again in the veins of those who had been cut off from it.
He reached for Atheia with his magic. Willed the threads of time to pull her back, away from the gods, away from Clover, until she was standing in front of him with her dagger brandished toward him, its surface unbloodied, the wound in his middle yet to be inflicted.
Before she could plunge the knife into him, Baz said her name.
“Romie. Please.”
She faltered, pausing. He fought back tears. Part of him wanted to gather her in his arms and never let go, to assure himself she was really here—that she hadn’t died at Dovermere like he’d spent all those long months after her disappearance believing. She had simply disappeared through a door to other worlds, and now she had returned, and everything could be right between them again.
For a moment, he truly believed this was his sister. She looked the same, after all. But her eyes shifted colors like a prism, the curve of her mouth like a cruel dagger, and Baz was suddenly reminded of the hallucination he’d seen on the path between heaven and hell, where Romie had bled Emory and every Eclipse-born of their silver blood. Where she had sliced his own neck open with another dagger.
If his sister was still in there, if she still had some form of control over Atheia, it was clear that she no longer did in this moment. That Atheia alone held the reins.
And yet, she was still hesitating. Still had not plunged the knife into him.
“Romie, I beg you, if you’re in there—don’t let her do this. Don’t let her destroy you by destroying those you love.” Baz swallowed thickly. “We can go back home and be a family. It’s not too late for that, Ro. Everything you’ve done—everythingshe’sdone through you—it isn’t your fault. I forgive you. We all forgive you. There is nothing to forgive. Please, just come back to us.”
Those kaleidoscope eyes glimmered with anger, her knuckles white around the dagger she still held. Power gathered in her free hand, Reaper magic dark and foreboding, as if death by knife would not suffice.
Baz’s stomach fell. It was too late to get through to his sister. But at least he had tried.
He closed his eyes, breathed one last “I forgive you,” and waited for death to strike.
62ROMIE
IFORGIVE YOU. WE ALLforgive you. There is nothing to forgive.
The words reached into the depths of Romie’s subconscious, the dark hole she’d been thrown in by Atheia. For a second, the death Atheia was so close to unleashing on Baz, just like she had the Tidal Council, paused.
But they’d been here before, the two of them. Romie had fought and fought against Atheia only to be pushed deeper in the dark after she did. And this—Baz waiting with his eyes closed for her to strike him down—it was inexcusable. There was no coming back from this. She’d failed at wresting power from Atheia when it mattered most and knew there could never be such a thing as forgiveness for her.
She was alone, as Atheia had said. And it was her own damn fault. The dreamer who’d reached too far, who’d been seduced by the call of a destiny she had believed to be pure and only saw how corrupt it was when it was literally invading her body.
Alone, alone, alone.
But she wasn’t, not entirely.
If you let her win, that’s when you become truly alone. That’s when you go beyond forgiveness.
The voices of Aspen and Tol and Orfeyi—these voices she had so far only heard in dreams—called out to her in the dark. Romie felt them right there with her, holding her fraying mind together as her hands shook around the dagger she held in one and the power still accumulating in the other.
So fight,their voices urged.Fight for yourself, and for them, and for us.
And they were right: Romie wouldn’t,couldn’t, let Atheia win. She wouldn’t let anyone else guide her actions but her own heart. Never again.
So with Aspen, Tol, and Orfeyi lending her strength, Romie pulled herself up to the surface and felt herself expand within her own mind.
You are the one who’s alone,she told Atheia as she pushed the deity down and down and down.So desperate to achieve perfection with your creations, you forgot the beauty in sharing, in collaboration, in friendship and love and accepting all the flaws that make things beautiful and unique. You chose to stand alone. I would rather die for those I love than to follow in your footsteps for one more second.
Atheia raged and fought back, but Romie fought harder. Because that wasBazshe was standing in front of. Romie was face-to-face with her brother for the first time in nearly a year, and she wanted so badly to run into his arms. She wanted to hear all his stories, see how much he’d changed over the past year—Tides, he evenlookeddifferent, so much more assured of himself. She wanted to tell him all the things she’d seen as well, the stuff pulled from the very book that had shaped his childhood.
More than anything, she wanted to say sorry. Sorry for all the secrets she’d kept from him. For the grief and heartache he must have felt after she’d first disappeared. She wanted to apologize for pulling away from him after the incident at the printing press, because she knew now that, while she told herself she was above everyone else’s fear of Eclipse magic, that hadn’t been true. She’d been just as scared as anyone, if not more. She’d resented their father for what his Collapsing put their family through, and she’d feared Baz for his susceptibility to do the same.
Her gaze landed on Emory, who was fighting so hard to stop Clover, her power chipping so slowly at him, at this god she couldn’t possibly defeat, yet here she was still trying.
Enough. Romie was done being a puppet for Atheia, this deity she’d put her trust in and who’d ended up being vile and hateful and ugly. She was done following the whims of fate, of a destiny that made her into a murderer.
She was done sharing her body.
