Without the stone’s protection, fire raced unchecked back over Cydrich’s body. His screams grew more agonized and desperate. Then the burning Gareth jammed claws into Cydrich’s mouth and eyes and tore the sorceler’s head away. Cydrich’s body crumpled to the floor.
As fire swept over his own body, the Gareth turned around and held Cydrich’s head up for the crowd to see. He was screaming now in triumph and in agony. Awash in fire, he staggered forward, still holding up the flaming skull as he fell to his knees.
His body boiled away into an oily, green-black smoke, and Cydrich’s burning skull dropped and rolled on the floor.
No one made a sound except for Denua’s jarring laughter. Her guards looked around with awe at the evaporating smudges of smoke where the Gareths had been standing.
They were gone, all of them.
Panic filled Evin’s veins with ice.
It wasn’t him I just found him I just found him he can’t be gone
He turned to look around the room. Display cases shattered, burning, or intact. Tables. Shocked faces. A dark suit of armor, but full plate, not like the ones the Gareths wore.
Not here outside
He slipped past Denua’s guards and broke into a run for the open archway to the street.
They weren’t real not the real one he didn’t die not with Cydrich he didn’t
He slid down on the stone walk in front of the museum and fell heavily on his ass. He righted himself and found that he had put his hand into bloody snow. Seeing it startled him out of his panic. He lifted the hand and stared at the red-tinged ice and water dripping from his palm. Gareth had done this. Cydrich had made one of him do this.
Who will the gods blame?
He lifted his gaze from his hand and looked around at the street. It was lined with shops and homes with closed doors and shutters. A shattered, blood-spattered cart lay on its side just down the street, and beside it most of a man’s arm. The snow was slushy and trampled all down the street. Easy to see where the army had come from.
Farther down the street in that direction, a dog chewed on something, its muzzle dripping, dark, and wet.
Evin got to his feet, intending to walk back along the invaders’ path, when an armored man ran from the shadows at the corner of a building across the street and froze in surprise. “Evin?”
A sob of relief escaped Evin’s throat, and he rushed toward Gareth, the last one, the real one. Even as he crossed the street, his mind raced to find the right plan to deal with Denua.
What should we do? Flee? Surrender?
He opened his mouth to yell,
Hide
! but two Parigian swordsmen appeared from around the same corner. Gareth had been fleeing from them, leaving the battle when his brothers vanished. He had realized it was over. Maybe he thought he was free.
One of the pursuers carried a torch.
“No, stop!” Evin shouted. “Wait. It’s over. We won.”
Gareth whirled to face the men and held his sword up defensively. “Please, I don’t want to hurt you.”
The men split up and flanked Gareth. They weren’t going to listen.
“Halt!” Denua’s voice came from the door of the museum, behind Evin. “Arrest him.”
Guards swarmed past Evin and across the street. The two pursuers cursed at Gareth, and one spat on him, but they held back. Guards approached, took his sword, pulled off his helm, and threw it aside. Then his bow and quiver of arrows. Gareth offered no resistance. He looked defeated and sad, as if this was what he’d expected all along.
“Mercy, Your Majesty!” Evin said. “He saved us from Cydrich.”
“
This
one didn’t save us, darling. He invaded my city and helped a traitor kill my people.”
“But you can’t—They were
all
him! He would have saved us too, if—”
“Silence! Chain the beast and put it in the dungeon. I will decide whether to use it or destroy it.”
Evin seethed but knew he had overstepped. As he struggled to control himself, he noticed how Uliette looked at him with pity, and if anything that made it worse.
Uliette was right. Gareth would never be free.
He’s just a weapon.
Chapter Twenty-six
Two days had passed since the invasion. The city was rebuilding. The first thing Denua did after her return to the castle was order that Cydrich’s devices be found, where possible, and returned to her. She also ordered her scryers to watch the searchers closely, to see that none of the sorceled devices might be stolen. Her highest priority was to get sorcelers she trusted—and whom she could surveil—to work on understanding Cydrich’s mirror. It was vital not only to determine how it worked and how to create new ones, but also how to detect and defend against mirror-army invasions.
The sorcelers requested some of Gareth’s blood in order to begin their experiments.
Evin struggled to be patient during those days. He knew he could manipulate Denua into letting him see Gareth, but he did not want to appear too eager, and he did not want the memory of his insubordination to be fresh in her mind.
Finally he took a carafe of wine from their room and carried it up to the war chamber, where Denua spent most of her days now. Its large meeting table was convenient because of the ability to use the city map for planning reconstruction projects.
When he walked in, one of Denua’s sorcelers—a thin little weasel named Tarcia—was suggesting that Gareth might be used as a “renewable sacrifice” for blood sorcelry to speed the city’s recovery somehow. Evin imagined smashing the carafe and burying its shards in Tarcia’s neck. But he held himself together and even managed to smile as he offered Denua her wine.
She waved the weasel off and gratefully accepted the drink.
Evin smoothed her hair back and tried to show only love on his face as he waited for her to drink. When she was done, he asked, “Have things been progressing well?”
“As well as can be expected. We’ll need raw materials that take time to arrive, so we have some displacements to deal with. The worst problem is the survivors.”
“Oh? I don’t understand.”
“The creature, it has the moral views of…” She cast about for words. “It’s weak. As if it were raised by a bloody priest—definitely not by Cydrich. It tried to avoid killing, so now we have hordes of beggars, citizens missing arms or legs.”
“Oh… You can’t just put ’em back on?”
“Sometimes, not always. Our sorcelry isn’t quite like that thing Cydrich had. It can be difficult or require the sacrifice of one to save another. More than most of the wretches are worth to me. In the end, many would be better off if the monster had simply killed them. Now I’ll have to do it to keep them from cluttering up my city.”
“Oh!” He was unprepared to hear her speak this way, of murdering hordes of people as if they were an infestation of ants. He wanted to save them. Not as desperately as he wanted to save Teffaine and Gareth, but he believed they deserved saving too. Could he fit them into the new plan? But Denua was watching him. She would expect him to say more. He concentrated on his feelings of love and sympathy, searching for something truthful to say that would satisfy her. “I—I’m sorry. I’m sorry you have to make such painful decisions.”
She looked at him, her face glowing with youth and unattainable beauty, filled with love. “You do understand how difficult it can be.”
“Yes, of course. But I came to ask you about the other difficult decision you’re making.”
Her face hardened. “How long to keep your friend alive.”
“Yes. I’m not here to annoy you by pleading for him. I just wondered if I could visit him in the dungeon. Please give me permission to see him, if only for an hour or two.”
She examined him for a moment. Deciding how to let him down. He tried not to get his hopes up. He knew he’d get her consent in the end, just maybe not today.
“My guards won’t allow you to see him privately,” she said, “and they will report everything to me. Are you sure you want to go and speak to him, knowing that whatever he says might influence my decision?”
Evin almost collapsed with relief. “Yes, I’m sure. Despite what Cydrich made him do, he’s a loyal Elyrrian. Even after being in the dungeon, he won’t have any ill will toward you. He’s just not capable of it.”
“Then go, if you’re willing to risk it. Perhaps the guards’ report will bear out your faith.”
* * *
Evin followed a guard through the tunnel leading into the dungeon. The tunnel was just low enough to be uncomfortable, though Evin did not have to bend to get through. This close, the guard stank. Evin couldn’t wait to get upwind of the man. How comfortable he had become in the palace, with his little cleansing wand and the perfumes Denua gave him. He kicked himself, in his thoughts, for forgetting what real life was like for people like Gareth and his own parents.
He hoped he was ready for it, because he was about to meet real life right now.
The tunnel opened into a wide, underground room. With its chains, manacles, bloodstained tables of unfinished wood, and metal devices covered in plates and rivets and spikes, the room stank of evil. The stupid, pointless, cruel kind of evil that Tyber would have liked. Across from the entrance, Gareth sat manacled to a wall, naked. The bastards hadn’t even given him a cell. Evin didn’t know whether it would be worse to be caged and alone with despair, or here on display, but he was outraged anyway.
Outrage was good. Anger was good. Maybe he wouldn’t cry.
The chains held Gareth’s arms up. His chin was tucked down to his chest. Perhaps he was dozing.
Evin closed the distance, conscious of the effort to conceal his heartbreak, and crouched. The beautiful green skin was smooth and flawless. Which probably only meant they hadn’t tortured him in the past few minutes. And they hadn’t begun using fire yet.
Despite Denua’s warning, the guard did not sit beside him to spy but stood quietly at a short distance.
Evin had just decided to sit without disturbing Gareth for the allotted two hours so the guards would be forced to let him sleep, when Gareth looked up and—
oh shit
—smiled. Evin was prepared for anything but that look of happiness and trust. Did Gareth have false hope that Evin could change anything? Evin’s eyes stung.
“H-hello, Gareth.” There was more, but he didn’t know how to say it.
“Don’t be sad. I did it. Well, one of me did. We saved you!”
“Yes.”
“So that’s good.”
“Yes. It’s good. I can—”
“I believe you now, you know. All that stuff. Cydrich showed me what it’s like to be bad, and you were right. You
were
.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not a monster. Not bad. So you mustn’t be sad.” Gareth stretched to lean a little closer, as close as he could, and whispered, “It’s really not so terrible in here. When they cut me”—despite Evin’s resolve, a sob squelched from his chest—“I make a lot of noise like it hurts awful, but I’ve had a
lot
worse.” His conspiratorial expression almost made Evin believe. Nodding, Gareth rested back against the wall.
Evin rubbed his eyes. “Cydrich tricked me. I thought he killed you, before. And now… I couldn’t come to see you before now, but I’ll come whenever I can.”
“I’m glad.”
Evin looked at the dirt floor, not knowing what to say, hating himself for wasting their time.
“A man came,” Gareth said. “In a blue robe. Shiny cloth. He talked about gods and stuff. He didn’t like me.”
A priest? “He doesn’t matter.”
“He said I was gonna burn for what I did, like I didn’t know that already. No, don’t be sad! There’s a good part. He said after we die, we get judged for our lives. Don’t you see?”
Evin shook his head and willed his eyes to stop leaking.
“Evin, the gods will know you were right, won’t they? They’ll know I only did stuff to save you, and I tried not to kill people. They’ll know you were right, that I was good. I tried to be.”
Evin wanted to die for not taking Gareth into his arms. “You were. Always. You were always a good man. What you did was Cydrich’s fault.”
“So it’s good, then. They’ll know.”
“
I
know. And I’ll make sure everyone knows. Everyone.”
“I won’t be a secret no more. Not a ghost no more.”
“Gareth.” Evin hoped Gareth would understand when he said, “To me, you’re better than the best thing ever.”
A tear escaped Gareth’s eye then, but he smiled again and nodded. “To me. You.”
* * *
The next day, Denua summoned Evin to the throne room as she held court. A line of people waited to bring pleas or disputes before her. However, she left the citizens to stand restlessly in their queue while she dealt with other business. Uliette and Tarcia were present, a few other advisors, and now Evin.
“Evin, my love, I have received Captain Uliette’s full report on the matter of the creature we hold in the dungeon.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” He steeled himself.
“You have shown a remarkable interest in sheltering this…
thing
that was responsible for an invasion of Parige and so much damage to the life and property of her citizens.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. I believe Gareth—”
“You will be silent.”
He closed his mouth with a snap.
“You have shown a remarkable interest in the creature itself. An
unusual
interest. Some question has arisen about your loyalty to me, your queen. You may answer. Are you loyal?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
To everyone who matters.
Denua smiled. “Good, then it is settled.” She looked at Evin and Uliette. “You will be glad to know, Evin, that I have a small task for you, by which you may demonstrate your loyalty. One that I know you will be glad to do for your queen.”
“Yes…Your Majesty…” He knew what would follow but still had to struggle against his body, to mostly breathe evenly, to hold back the tears that would expose him.
“I have decided that the creature you call Gareth is a monster from the underworld. In fact, it has been identified as nothing less than a troll cast in human form. It has caused much destruction and pointless suffering. Our sorcelers will recreate the mirror device without further need of it, and the monster is otherwise too dangerous to exist.”