Page 140

And that left Orpheus with a decision.

Where is she?

In his mind, the spell page waited, a burned-out image he could draw blinded, if needed. Instead, he stared into the shadows like Gwen was already there, hiding in the darkness because they’d grown close enough over the weeks for her to read his mind.

He’d never been very good at lying. He’d never had the reason to. But now he wished he hadn’t reacted so badly in the library. That he hadn’t blamed Gwen, not because he didn’t think she deserved it, but because he wondered if he hadn’t scared her off for good, and self-sabotaged his own infernal plan.

He gritted his teeth through the sharp pang in his leg, ignored the rumble of his stomach and stared into the darkness and waited. Time ticked by in the gray light angling through his window, the bed frame at his back stiff, the mattress soft, the blanket just barely out of reach—

“—Orpheus?”

He jerked awake with a gasp.

Above where he’d collapsed, Gwen hovered, Soot’s twin eyes blinking out of the shadows.

“You came,” he whispered.

“Did they hurt you…” Gwen reached for him, then paused, eyes meeting Orpheus’ before her hand drifted down to touch his broken leg.

Orpheus flinched. To say anything comforting was too big a lie right then.

“I’m sorry,” she said into the silence, hand retreating when Orpheus shoved up into a painful seat. “I talked to Atticus, but he wouldn’t listen. People died, and he didn’t seem very…empathetic.”

“He knew it would come to this.” That’s why he had Orpheus repair the power cell that aligned with the western perimeter of Sanctuary’s wall, the most likely direction the Empire would approach from. “Why else would he have me repair that sphere?”

Gwen shook her head, blonde hair falling over her shoulder, sticking to her wet cheeks. When had she started crying? Orpheus’ gut sank. “I’m sorry for not telling you,” she whispered, and the words pierced straight into Orpheus’ soul. “I’m so so sorry.”

“You lied to me,” Orpheus heard himself reply from a great distance. “Why are you here, Gwen, really?”

“I want to help.” Gwen looked into his face and there was very little left to say—for both of them.

He’d made his decision. He knew what came next.

“It’s the tenth day. I’m out of time. The Architects are going to kill me.”

“I won’t let them,” Gwen said, heat returning to her voice. “What do we do?”

“I have a sigil, based on the channeling spell that got the power cell working. It may give me my magic back temporarily and…help me escape. But it needs your magic to cast it.”

It was a risk telling her, but Orpheus knew the most dangerous lies were those sharpened by the truth. The light that returned to Gwen’s eyes was evidence enough. She nodded, wiping at her tears and standing up straight.

“Okay, let’s try it,” she breathed, and Orpheus allowed himself to go numb.

Their lantern was gone but the small window provided more than enough light for them to work by. He explained the spell in simple terms, basic theories Gwen would recognize in his sigil but hopefully not question too deeply. And with each explanation a new stone was added to his stomach, until the weight of what he carried dragged him so far under his own darkness that he could no longer feel, no longer care, when Gwen drew the sigil out perfectly, smile emerging on her face while she worked, proof of the joy casting now brought her, because she knew with his instruction, she could wield magic as she’d always dreamed.

People used each other, that was a simple fact of life. There was a reason it’d been his first lesson for Gwen. The hermits hadn’t thought of his wellbeing when they’d worked their experiments on a small waif of a child year after year. Lore hadn’t seen him as anything more than a tool in her war chest, easily discarded when he no longer fit into her plans. Even Red had wanted him on that stage with Fenrir to act as a symbol—no, a threat—to the nobility whose loyalty remained in question.

Only Fenrir had ever seen Orpheus as he truly was. A person capable of making his own decisions, shaping his own life, who didn’t deserve to be used, or lied to, or manipulated for someone else’s gain.

And now, Fenrir was dead.

So, in the spirit of all those who came before him, Orpheus watched the machinations of his plan fit into place.

“We should probably take those off, right?”

Orpheus’ breath caught in his throat when Gwen’s hands landed on his. She held them lightly, Netherflame rolling across their palms to sink into the cuffs and break the locks free. The iron collar followed, clattering loudly to the ground. This was new magic for her. A spell cast by her will. Simple tricks he had taken for granted once, that soon would be his again.

“Ready?” she asked, and Orpheus couldn’t bring himself to speak. He nodded.