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She almost stumbled, but her training kicked in and she kept the rhythm. “Why?”
His brow creased. “What do you mean, why?”
“All those renegade mages know is violence,” she said. “No one can reason with them. I’ve got to hit them hard and fast, before they see me coming. Anything else is just asking for death. It’s been quiet lately, but I doubt that will continue. Those renegade mages could destroy Lotis with their stupid infighting. How is talking to them going to stop them?”
His tone turned infuriatingly patient for someone with drawn whiskers smeared on his face. “Well, I’m a mage. And I’m capable of talking and listening. So are Dannel, and Kyon, and Nori. Even the little ones can manage the feat.”
“You’re all different,” she replied. “You’re not warring over territory, or revenge, or some other foolish thing.”
His grip on her hands tightened; sweat slicked his palm, but he kept his voice steady. “Aye, but we could be, if the rivers of our lives had taken a different course. Roll your eyes if you want, Verve, but you know it’s true. Use your new abilities and look into any of those renegade mage’s hearts; I guarantee you’ll see what’s plain to anyone with eyes: they’re desperate and scared, and have been pushed to this point. As anyone could be.”
He was right, damn him, but she couldn’t back down. “I don’t need to look into their hearts. I know your faith is misplaced. Yes, they’ve been pushed to the breaking point, but they’ve broken. They are broken.” Her voice cracked. “Beyond repair.”
The song slipped seamlessly into another. Alem made a noise of frustration. “They can’t all be that way.”
“How could they be anything else?” She almost felt sorry for him. Then he looked at her again and she saw the pity in his gaze — pity directed her way. Her breath caught. “I can’t believe I’m being lectured by a man in a ring-tail costume.”
“Says the possum,” Alem replied. “Verve… You can’t keep killing anymore. Not with these new abilities. You know that, right?”
Her renewed worry over Danya increased from a hum in the back of her mind to a roaring tornado. “What else am I supposed to do?” she snapped. “Try to make those mages talk out their troubles? Maybe hug after?”
“Each death you cause kills you, too,” Alem said. “It just takes longer.”
The One is life.
Verve shook her head. “Pretty words. Yours?”
“Milo’s.” Alem met her gaze steadily. “You don’t have to kill to survive anymore, Verve. You have a choice, but more importantly, you have a chance to choose. I think—”
“I’m well-aware of what you think,” Verve broke in. “Since you never shut up about it.”
She snatched her hands free of his and turned away, heading for her loft. Each step brought her away from the warm glow of the fire, and each step made more tears burn her eyes. She swiped them away furiously. The fire was too bright; the darkness choking. The emotions of the others were too…much, too intense and strange and difficult. This feel-good, finally-found-a-home, meridian-stuff was all a distraction from her real problem. She was such a fool to think she could be free — of Danya, of her past. She needed to plan, to prepare for the worst…
Footsteps sounded behind her. Alem’s presence drew closer, pricked with fear but bright with courage. She couldn’t turn to look at him, for if she did, no doubt she’d never stop seeing the imprint of his spirit, like looking at the sun.
“I’m sorry, Verve,” he called when she did not stop. “I didn’t mean to shame you. I know your life has been hard—”
She spun around to glare at him. “This isn’t about me,” she hissed. “This isn’t about the renegade mages. This is about you. Danya knows you’re here. She will come for you, and by refusing to leave, you’re putting everyone else at risk.”
“I’ve been down this road too many times,” he replied. “There’s nowhere I can go where someone won’t want the power I possess. I told you; I’m tired of running.”
Verve crossed her arms before her chest. “You stop running, you die.”
“That can’t be my fate,” he whispered. “I won’t let it.”
She shrugged. “Then you’d better learn how to stand your ground and fight.”
His gaze turned distant, and he did not reply. They stood about an arm’s length from each other, cloaked in the shadow cast by Hadiya’s barn. The mage moon glowed, full and high in the inky sky, and Verve shivered despite the warm air.
“Each death you cause kills you, too. It just takes longer.”
Obviously, Verve had never seen this mysterious Milo, but Celidon had. And the meridian before him, Jocasta, had been friends with Milo. So their memories, now living inside Verve’s head, pricked little holes in the dam of her conscience. She could hear Milo say those words, but more than that, she could feel the weight behind them, the weight of one who had caused his fair share of death.
She shook her head to clear away Celidon and Jocasta, but Celidon’s spirit would not be so easily banished. Karel… Through Celidon’s memories, Verve saw Celidon’s soul-bonded die, felt him die, felt his bright spirit fade into pain and fear and there was nothing she—or Celidon, but they were the same now—could do about any of it. The memory resonated in her mind, dragging her down with the heavy weight of another wasted life. But the memory of Karel’s death wasn’t alone; he was one of so many she’d killed, now all clamoring at the surface of her mind. She tried to ignore those memories, the really painful ones, but there were so many now. Pain outweighed the good — if indeed there had been anything truly good in her life after that day.
She had to find a new way forward. But what would a new path look like for a killer like her?
And even if she could change, what good was an assassin’s mercy, anyway?
