You said, “Mari, that’s just what Jagger wants you to think. He’s a liar. He lies. If you find yourself thinking you can’t be saved . . . if you find yourself thinking you’re lost . . .” You tucked me close, pressed your mouth to my forehead, and said, “Hang on. Hang on to hope. Have faith, Mari. Remember . . . your heart is a battlefield.”
I smiled. “It’s a bloody one.”
You brushed my hair back and said, “They all are. But when the bloody battle is done, where will you stand? With me? Or against me?”
With good? Or against good?
With love? Or against love?
“With you,” I promised.
This battle was one of the moments Rou had told me about. The emotional weight of it struck me like a supernova and cleaved my heart in two. The lock around it shuddered and wailed.
Everyone, even the horror, had frozen for a few fraught seconds while the two Finns fought a death duel.
It wasn’t the blue sparks flying, the violent whirlwind of their battle, or the deadly struggle that struck me. It was that I’d known this moment would come.
Not for Finn. I hadn’t known he’d fight himself. But for me.
There was a cruel, monstrous horror inside me. It felt like it had swallowed me whole. Ever since I’d woken up a mine, I’d felt consumed. It was terrifying. It was horrible. Everywhere I turned, it was there.
Yet there was also a small, flagging, weary bit of good.
It hadn’t left me.
In that tiny, safety-pin-size, half-a-breath moment, I felt the thundering weight of revelation.
There was the joy of holding Finn’s hand as we sprinted through the rain and then kissed with rain-soaked lips under an awning. There was the peacefulness of resting my head against Justice’s shoulder as he painted me the stars. There was the gentleness of Luvic conjuring a homeless man a thick winter coat and then handing him his own gloves. The generosity of Griff spending hot afternoons in Rou’s garden, hauling buckets of water to the roof. The patience, the kindness, the faithfulness we all had with each other—always—even in the dark.
In that moment, the whole world shifted and became new. It was as if I’d stepped through a locked door and entered a new place. Like the world before had been muted and dull. An old, faded photocopy of an old, faded photograph of a dull, muted day. Now, I’d stepped into the real moment. And I saw how the photocopy of the photograph had hidden the beauty of the world.
How can anyone describe stepping into a new world? The colors sang. The light—even within the horror—was as bright as a star. It was like the first time I’d left the city and traveled north. I’d never imagined how many shades of green there could be. I’d never known how many smells a forest could have. My imagination hadn’t prepared me for the wonder.
Then, just as quickly as the revelation occurred, it pulled back and dropped away, leaving me with a fuzzy, faded impression of what was and could’ve been.
Or maybe . . . could be again.
Jacob glanced at me quickly, tapping against my heart.
All right? his tap asked. Okay?
I nodded.
He grinned and then pulled back and sprinted toward Celia on the horse.
At his movement, everyone was released from their shock at seeing Finn fighting himself.
Last gripped my arm and swung me toward Primus. He grabbed my shoulders and snarled, “Now, truth seer. Untie the Smith’s illusion. We end this!”
As the Bards and my brother fought the horror, I floated outside myself and studied Finn’s illusions. Both of them were conjuring. Both of them were surrounded in thousands of knots.
They were the functional military knots the Smiths preferred. Bowline, square knot, overhand knot, reef knot, rolling hitch, half-hitch, cleat hitch, figure eight. Simple to untie.
“Finn!” I shouted.
They both turned and looked at me.
The one with the blue fire swords was filled with intense focus and determination. His eyes flickered to me for only a second before returning to his attack.
