She knew how to give up power. She remembered the water flooding her mouth in the North Sanctuary after her impromptu wedding in chains, remembered its sweet, clear taste. Then, it had welled up from her easily, because she didn’t want that particular magic, had never truly wanted it. It was foisted on her by a goddess looking for an end to an endless cycle.
Now her mouth stayed dry.
You know what It wants, Apollius said.The only thing anyone has ever wanted from you.
Her death. Her sacrifice. Lore and the greater good could not exist in the same world at the same time.
Be the savior, the Fount murmured.Leave a legacy. Put the magic back where it is supposed to be.
But who decided that? Who was the arbiter of what was supposed to be?
We are the same.She’d never heard Apollius sound genuine before. Every interaction she’d had with the god had been full of second meaning and innuendo, but now He spoke truth plainly.You fear death just as much as I do.
Nothing had defined Lore’s life so much as a reckless determination to keep living it.
Below her, the ribbons of magic in the Fount swirled. She wasn’t in channeling-space, but she saw the threads all the same; the deep well of Mortem that had all been called back, the dregs of Spiritum the Fount had managed to harvest from Bastian’sbrief moments of control, the blue strands of water that Apollius had stolen when Bastian killed Amelia.
Two choices here, and both required her to lower herself to the surface. Both required that she bring herself right to the edge of those waters that held everything, the seed from which the world had sprung. She dipped down, down, until the coolness of it brushed against her lips, until the sweet and mineral scent of it was all she could breathe.
“I will be better,” Lore whispered, sending ripples over the surface of the world’s soul.
And she drank deep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
GABE
Guide us in our love and in our rage.
—The Book of Prayer, Tract 5433
He knew from their first voyage how long it should take to sail from Caldien to Auverraine, but that didn’t stop Gabe from cursing the time. Flames sang in his fists, and he wondered more than once if he could make everyone work faster by setting something on fire. He’d decided against it, thus far, but the thought presented itself every time he saw someone pause.
“Calm down.” Val bumped his shoulder. “They’re going as fast as they can.”
“I am calm.” His voice was even.
“Like every hell.” But Val didn’t have it in her to admonish him too much. They both stood at the prow of Finn’s ship, underneath the snapping emerald banner of Caldien, staring out at the horizon as if they could will it closer.
The navy was already mobilized and waiting for Finn. After gathering their meager belongings from the boardinghouse—Finn left a sizable pile of gold coins on the table for Mrs. Cavendish, since Eoin wasn’t in a position to pay her anymore—the pirate hadled them through the still-calm city and down to the harbor. People crawled over every ship on the docks, hoisting anchors and affixing Caldienan flags to the masts. Ships stretched out to the mouth of the harbor, casting shadows on the water as far as Gabe could see.
“Seems you were counting on us,” Malcolm had said, squinting out at the assembled fleet.
“Men of a certain ilk recognize each other,” Finn replied. “I knew you two had common sense.”
“Common sense, and little choice,” Gabe grumbled.
“That too.” Finn had turned a scathing glance on Gabe. “Chin up, monk. You’re getting everything you want.”
Now, watching the current flow around them and waiting with his heart in his mouth for Auverraine to interrupt the endless line of sea and sky, Gabe knew Finn wasn’t right. He wouldn’t have everything he wanted until Bastian and Lore were safe.
Movement at his side. Michal, staring out at the open water, but in a manner that said it was only to avoid looking at Gabe. “So you and Lore.”
He stiffened. He knew of Michal and Lore’s history; jealousy was an emotion that came easily to him, but in this case, he didn’t really feel it. Whatever Michal and Lore had was fleeting, a weed that never bothered putting down deep roots.
“You want to talk about thisnow?” Gabe rumbled.
“Not like we can make this boat go any faster by glowering,” Michal said. “Though not for lack of trying on your part.”
