Page 92 of Between Smoke and Shadow
“Don’t,” Harrick says. His entire body trembles as he speaks, and each word sounds physically painful. “I’ll do anything.Anything.”
“Ahh, I’m sure you would,” the Architect muses. He releases my hair, curling his hand around the back of my neck instead. I clench every muscle in my body, as if being perfectly still will allow me to disappear. “Unfortunately, the time for begging is past. Now, you must face the consequences of your actions.”
Harrick attempts another step forward, only to crash to his knees. The guard behind him lets out something dangerously close to a laugh, and it’s echoed by the other guard. The Architect doesn’t join. He only sighs again, as if impatient for all of this to be over.
“Hold his arms,” he says. “And keep his eyes open. Make sure he watches.”
Harrick’s head lifts before the guard reaches him. He fights, even though he must know it’s a battle he will lose. Magic sparks uselessly at his hands as the guard restrains his arms behind his back.
“I’m here,” Harrick says. His voice is strangled still, and tears trail through the blood on his face. “I’m here, Rune. You are not alone.”
“I’m scared,” I say. I don’t know why I admit it, but I do. “I don’t want to die.”
“I will be with you soon,” he says. “As soon as I can, sweetheart.”
I shake my head. There are so many things I need to tell him, but I can’t find my voice for a single one.
I’m sorry.
I love you.
Live for both of us.
Don’t let him win.
A flare of magic lights beside my face. For one foolish moment, I think Tora has returned to save us, that the Architect lied and she is still alive. But when I turn my head, it is the Architect’s magic I see. It flares in a misshapen orb, creeping toward me like a starved animal. I lean away from it, even though I know there’s nowhere to go.
The Architect’s hand clasps tighter over my throat as his magic presses against the side of my face. It is warm, but not scalding like I expect. It caresses my cheek, sliding across my skin and slipping into my ear. I feel it inside my skull, dancing past the bone and into my mind. I try to look back for Harrick, but my vision is clouded until I can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.
I am on this stage, the rough, bloodied wood beneath my bare feet. But I am also at my mother’s deathbed. I am begging her not to leave me, even as she’s struggling to breathe. I am selfishly demanding she stay, telling her I will never forgive her if she dies.
I am in that cramped servants’ bedroom, asking too much of a father who has already given more than he has. I am telling him my cruelest thoughts, pushing him to be reckless, foolish, selfless. I am racing down poorly lit corridors, tripping over my own feet, shoving into this same bleak courtyard. But he’s already dead. I’m too late and it’s my fault and he’s already dead.
I am convincing Harrick to marry me. I am abandoning the rebel faction. I am ruining every life that comes into contact with mine.
All the horrible, terrible things in this world come back to me, and there is only one way to keep them from continuing. To stop the hurt I’ve forced on everyone around me.
“Creature,” the Architect whispers. For the first time, I realize his voice is not cruel at all. It is honest, bare, true.
When I open my eyes, it is his I find. They are darker than Harrick’s, without even a hint of violet. They are black, endless, all-knowing.
“This is for you,” he tells me.
I look to his outstretched palm. He holds a dagger between his fingers, delicately, as if it’s precious. And it is, I realize. It is the only solution to the damage I’ve caused, to the hurt I’ve inflicted. I study the Architect’s wide, omniscient eyes. I’m not scared anymore. I am at peace. For once, I know exactly what I’m meant to do.
I take the dagger from his palm, careful not to touch him with the blade. I look at my reflection within it, at the dark circles beneath my eyes.
You are so tired, the Architect tells me.
And I am. I feel the exhaustion of this life on every bone in my body.
It is time to let go, he says.
And I know he’s right.
I hold the handle, rotating the dagger, just like Harrick taught me.
If you were to stab someone, he’d said.You’d do it like this.
