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Joy.
“Have they hurt you?” I ask.
“No,” she says with a laugh. “I’m training. It’s marvelous. A Spinster. Me! Wouldn’t Mom and Dad be surprised?”
I bite my tongue. I want to ask her what she thinks happened to our parents, but I know better. Cormac might let her remember me, but he’ll have altered her memory.
“Do you remember anything?” I ask her, my eyes traveling from her to Cormac. I don’t want to overstep this moment and have her ripped from me again. “Where have you been?”
Her eyelids flutter and she stares at me, like she’s trying to dredge up a memory but cannot.
“She’s been at the Coventry,” Cormac says, prompting her and letting me in on the lie I need to embrace if I want to spare my sister the devastation of the truth about what happened to her and my parents after my retrieval.
“You’ve been happy there.” My voice breaks on the words, my throat swelling over the lie, but I push it through. It’s better if Amie doesn’t remember Riya and the men who dragged her from the tunnel under our house. Someday I can tell her the truth, when she can understand it.
“I’m not without a heart,” Cormac says.
“I never said you were,” I respond coolly. “It’s just a small one.”
“Enough of this,” Kincaid says, walking from his entourage toward me and my sister. “Take her with you. My men can handle the rest.”
“Why would you think I would leave with you?” I ask him, pushing Amie behind me to keep her a safe dista
nce from him.
“You want to go back with Cormac? Playing dress-up and weaving the world in a tower?” Kincaid asks.
“‘Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,’” Cormac says.
“Well done, Cormac,” Kincaid says. “But this thread of life is spun.”
“Shakespeare suits any occasion,” Cormac says, his eyes on me. “‘His thread of life had not so soon decay’d.’”
Cormac’s message is clear to me. Kincaid is rotten, and I know then what I have to do. I feel my consciousness fading down, focusing in on the basic world around me. The strands of Alcatraz are dark and the time here moves slowly. It’s not frozen like in the buildings, but it’s still otherworldly. Unnatural. The sooner I get off this island the better. But I’m not interested in the island, I’m interested in the man advancing on me. His composition reminds me of Albert’s, and I’m sure if I looked at Cormac now with my newfound ability, I would see something similar—a mass of artificial threads neatly patched into place around the stagnant, staid individual time thread. Kincaid’s time thread is worn, mixed with newer threads into a macabre patchwork. Away from the Guild’s technology and labs, he would have used any means to survive. How many have died so he could live?
I step forward. I’ve seen it done. I can replicate it now, but to do so means I have to count on Cormac’s army to back me up against Kincaid’s entourage, but I know that’s why Cormac has drawn us here together. Why he sent Valery to lead us to Kincaid. He’s been planning this moment, orchestrating it from offstage. He knows I have a choice: destroy him or Kincaid. I can’t have it both ways, but now I understand my choice, what’s truly at risk. I could watch Arras fade into the sky, but I’m not jaded enough not to see the thousands of laughing schoolgirls, the mothers fawning over their infants, the couples learning to fall in love. I can’t destroy them to destroy one man or the Guild. There’s another way, and now I’m playing with a full deck.
I won’t turn back.
The realization bursts inside me, flooding me with strength, and I lash out with the ferocity I felt the night I was attacked at the estate, my fingers grazing into Kincaid’s very being and latching on to his time strands. I have to pull hard against its efforts to stay in place, but everything rides on this and it gives me a strength I didn’t know I had. With a pop, it uncoils, pulling through him.
I ignore his agonized shriek and I watch the unwinding in its purest form. I don’t see flesh or bone, merely the threads falling apart. The thin silver strand of his soul dissipating into the night sky along with the rest of him, until the golden strand of his life—his unnatural time in existence—fades from my fingers. By the time I regain full awareness, there’s chaos around me and dust scattering at my feet.
Dust to dust, Kincaid.
FORTY-TWO
CORMAC’S MEN REACT AS I EXPECT THEM to, engaging in cross fire with the few Tailors that dare to take them on. Most of them are smart enough to make a run for it, and a few even escape the range of fire.
“Leave them,” Cormac says flippantly. He has a smug look on his face, and I hate him for it. “I knew I could count on you to make the right decision, Adelice.”
“What is right?” I muse out loud. I turn to Amie, but she’s backed away from me, her face ashen. I’m a monster to her, but it doesn’t matter. I knew that would happen. Better now than later.
“What did you do?” she gasps, one hand reaching to her throat.
“I made a decision,” I say in a calm voice. Amie thinks she wants this life, but she needs to know what it really entails. She needs to see the dirty work—the horror behind the looms, the capability of the Guild, the choices she’ll have to make.
“And now you have another one to make,” Cormac says. “I can’t leave you here, Adelice. You’re dangerous.”
