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“Forget about the past. What about the throne, the kingdom?”
“The only place I want you sitting on is me,” he said, his voice deep and husky. He grinned, with a wicked gleam in his eyes. I punched him lightly in the shoulder.
“I’m serious,” I frowned.
“I don’t care about all that,” Damien said. “You’ve turned of the ash. The humans are free. Let them deal with the rest of it.”
“Even if we free the compounds, we’ll need to protect them. Are we still doing the covenant, the renewal services? The choosing?”
“Maybe instead, we can offer scholarships for extraordinary artistry and invention. Those selected will go to a university in the citadel for training. They can return after four years and serve their community; or move to a new compound if they choose.”
“I like that,” I said. “Though the compounds should have universities, too. Education should be a right, not a privilege.”
“We’ll need a lot of books,” Damien said.
“Between Augustine and Sam’s collection in the shire, we must have thousands already.”
“We can start with that,” Damien nodded. “Send the files and print them up with the royal press. It hasn’t been used for much, but I think it’s around.”
“So it’s settled,” I said, linking my fingers in his. “We’ll go into the book business.” He flinched when I reached for his mangled hand, the one missing two fingers, but I brought his arm up and kissed his palm. The wounds had healed, but the injury remained.
“We’ll have a little library or a coffee shop,” I continued. “April will come and study for school while I play with Cosmos. That’s the mutid kitten I adopted. We’ll read and drink tea and be happy.”
“Sounds like dream,” Damien said.
I narrowed my eyes, suddenly cross with him. His comment reminded me too much of my waking dream while under his mother’s compulsion.
“Sorry, I’m nervous about dreams right now, always questioning my reality,” I said, shaking my head. “Sometimes I think I’m still there, trapped in that throne room, fighting with the king I killed. Killing Nigel… it feels like a different life, and sometimes I’m not sure what’s real.”
“I’m real. This is real,” he said, seeing my face. “Dream was a poor choice of words. I meant, it sounds perfect. Let’s absolutely do it, and soon. If that’s the life you want, that’s what you’ll get, and I’ll spend every day making you happy. We’ll start libraries in each compound. Trade with the havocs, and Augustine. Print so many books, they have to sell them in stalls along the riverbank.”
“That’s not great for business.”
“It’s a risk, for sure,” he agreed. “Free literature, an educated populace, is a dangerous thing to established systems of power.”
“Only when they are needlessly cruel and corrupt,” I frowned.
“We’ll just have to do better.”
“By owning an unprofitable bookstore?”
“If that’s what it takes,” he smiled.
“Nigel said something about your favorite book,” I said. “And I had a vision, about a house in a forest, next to a waterfall.”
Damien lifted his eyes in surprise.
“Is that a real place, something you built?” I asked.
“Only in my mind,” he said. “I saw the land once, a rocky plateau in the middle of the lake, with tall mountains all around. It was so beautiful, I thought I’d end up there one day. I readWaldenwhen I was young, and thenDracula, a few decades later. That vision, the cabin, it was a fantasy at first, and then my darkest fear. To be completely alone, forever. The last man on earth. Writing poems, for nobody, on a janky typewriter until it was out of ink. Creating something new, when everything was coming to an end—a letter for no eyes, no heart.”
“Well, screw that,” I said, “because now you have me. Wait,poems?”
“Song lyrics,” he clarified.
“What do you play?” I asked.
“Piano and guitar, mostly,” he said. “I used to, anyway.” He pressed his eight fingers down against the mattress
