“We’re leaving now.”
“Gabriel. I understand your worry, but Lore can take care of herself—”
“She shouldn’t have to.” The words hissed between Gabe’steeth. “I have to do something to save her. If He hurts her, if He uses Bastian to do it—”
“Bastian barely exists anymore, Gabe,” Michal said gently, still standing by the wall. His expression was drawn and tired, someone who had given up hope and was pained to see another hold it. “Even if we put the whole Fount back together, we don’t know what will remain of him.”
Quick as called fire, Gabe was across the room, his hand vised around Michal’s neck. Distantly, he heard Malcolm shout, but he wasn’t listening. His mind was all jumping flame and ember-spark.
“He’s in there,” Gabe said. “And we will save him. We will save Lore.”
Michal nodded, as much as he could against the hand on his neck.
Gabe let him go, slowly. When he turned around, Malcolm’s fist met his nose.
It wasn’t undeserved. Gabe knew that, now that the fire in his head was fizzling. He bent double, catching blood in his hand.
“Get a hold of yourself,” Malcolm snarled, hands still in fists. “Do you understand me, Gabriel?”
A nod, blood streaming down to his lip. It tasted metallic, sickeningly warm.
You are soft, Hestraon said.And you are a coward.
Gabe didn’t argue.
“We steal the piece tonight,” Malcolm continued, his voice a strained kind of even. “We leave on whatever ship Val and Mari and Michal can nick from the harbor. We head to the Mount. The chances of Lore being caught between then and now are negligible.” He sighed, fists loosening. “Just hold on for one more day, all right? We’re doing all we can.”
Not all.
But Gabe nodded. He left the room, went to his own. He saton his bed and stared at the wall, thinking of Lore and Bastian and Alie, all these people he loved and couldn’t save.
He stayed in his room until night began to fall, coating the window in veils of darkness. Through the wall, Gabe could faintly hear Malcolm and Michal whispering. He couldn’t make out most of it, just a word here and there.
Unstable. Stronger. Worried.
Gabeshouldbe worried. He knew that. He should be worried that he was hearing Hestraon, seeing the god’s memories. He should be worried at how easily he’d taken to this power. How tempted he was by the idea of losing himself.
But his most prevalent feeling, when he thought of his magic, was a deep, awful satisfaction. For so long, he had toed every line, played by every rule. He still thought of that night in Lore’s room, when they were just a monk and a poison runner. How he’d denied himself, denied her, for a mandate that no one else cared about.
He’d never thought himself worthy of love without caveats. In that, he and Hestraon were alike. But caging himself into being worthy had done nothing but keep him trapped.
Malcolm met him by the door, both of them already covered in their black cloaks. They didn’t speak as they started toward the Rotunda.
It took him until the round building loomed into the sky to say something. “I’m sorry,” Gabe breathed.
A nod. “Michal is the one who deserves an apology.”
“Fair. He’ll get one.”
Malcolm sighed. “I understand. Truly, I do.” He glanced sideways, expression soft. “But we can’t be reckless with this. The stakes are too high. The whole damn world is in the balance here.”
Gabe cared less and less about the world. Not if it would cost him Lore. Not if it would cost him Bastian.
Down in the belly of the Rotunda, the Brotherhood waited silently. Eoin’s expression was eager, his hood the only one left down. Behind him, the copper door gleamed on the wall, fired shut and unassailable.
There was no preamble. Eoin already had the cup in his hand; he dipped it into the false Fount. Instead of passing it around the room, he drank the whole goblet dry.
Malcolm and Gabe shared a concerned look. Eoin was a fool, and these meetings were nothing but theater; still, the change in routine felt ominous.
