Albert raises his cup to this as if toasting the lunacy of the predicament. “The officials were heavily involved with the project. These were powerful men—men of immense wealth—and they seemed obsessed with a positive outcome as long as it guaranteed a world where their own standing would not be diminished.”
“Warning sign number two,” I say.
“Indeed. But they were invested in how the science of the looms could benefit their businesses. They sold us on their concern about the world, the people, their customers. I recognized the greed in them.”
“But you missed their ambition to use the looms as a fountain of youth,” Dante points out.
“Having never been obsessed with such a ludicrous notion, I did. I fancied myself a man of science, not a man looking for glory and immortality. It never occurred to me,” Albert says.
“But how did they do it then? If you didn’t help?” I ask.
“Not every one of the scientists shared my ideals, but many of them shared my intelligence. Men like Cormac and Kincaid hung around asking questions—not to explore how the looms could be used to their advantage, but to ascertain who among the scientists could help them achieve these possible benefits.”
“So one of your men turned on you.” It’s Valery who points this out.
“Yes, my lady. The officials established who would help them in their grand plans and set it in motion in secret laboratories in Arras.”
“And they made themselves immortal,” I say.
“That is not entirely correct.” Albert stops me. “To truly be immortal, you would have to be nearly untouchable. They are still vulnerable to disease and injury.”
“But they have those who can alter and patch them into health.”
“Yes, but their so-called immortality skirts a fine line. It can be taken in an instant.”
“So Cormac can be killed,” I say.
“He can,” Albert confirms. “Do you feel it necessary?”
“How else can we liberate the people? Separate Earth from Arras?” Dante cries, the words a fervent verdict of Cormac’s fate. “The Guild’s time is up.”
Albert holds my gaze. He’s not asking us a practical question, he’s asking me an ethical one. He’s asking me to look inside myself and see how far I’m willing to go.
“If we separated the worlds, Arras would have to learn to depend on its own resources. There would be upheaval. Change,” I say softly.
“The course of evolution would begin again,” Albert replies.
“Does anyone have any clue what we’re talking about?” Erik asks, but Dante tells him to shut up. If the others are having trouble following, they aren’t about to interrupt.
“Where do we begin?” I ask.
“I can guide you,” Albert says, a sad smile peeking from beneath his mustache, “but it will be difficult. Arras is a parasitic universe syphoning Earth’s time and resources, but if the edges of Arras were bound and released, the composition of Earth would achieve critical mass, creating a rift in space-time that Arras could occupy, separate from Earth. It could heal. The looms would be useless then, but Arras would be self-sustaining.”
“And the Whorl can do this?” I ask in a breathless voice, trying to wrap my head around what Albert is telling us. If Arras was separated from Earth, both could survive. I wouldn’t have to choose which world to save, and I could prevent the growing threat of all-out war between them.
“The Whorl can tie the edges of Arras together, separating them from the looms and knitting Arras’s time into an infinite weave.” Albert knits his fingers together into a circle and holds it to his eyes. “Time will flow from beginning to end in a ceaseless circle of life.”
“That’s why we need you. We need the Whorl,” Dante says.
“Ah, dear boy, I do not have the Whorl.”
“Then where is it?” Jost demands. He’s risen from his seat and he grips the mantel. His desperation to get back to Arras and save Sebrina is written in anguished lines over his face.
“The Whorl is not a thing. It is a person,” Albert says.
“You’re the Whorl,” Dante guesses.
“No,” Albert says with a shake of his head. “She is.”
His finger points directly at me.
THIRTY-NINE
THE BURDEN OF HIS WORDS SETTLES DOWN on me, weighing across my chest. I don’t hear how the others react. They blur out of focus as I’m forced once again to confront responsibility and purpose. I should be accustomed to this tangled dance of power and obligation, but I feel the constriction of it. I tried to let go of the idea of saving myself, of saving Amie, but the idea of saving the world on my own—of wielding such terrible and awesome power—is nearly more than I can bear.
“Adelice.” Erik is beside me, coaxing me back to the present. His hands are wrapped, hot, around my wrists. “You okay?”
I anchor myself in his presence. Erik pushes me and accepts me when I’m still only human. If I can latch on to him and syphon his strength, maybe I can face what’s coming next.
“How can you know that?” Dante is demanding of Albert. I focus on his words, willing my mind to participate in the exchange of information.
“You said she was the Creweler,” Albert says, but he’s holding something back. I can see that.
“I was supposed to be the Creweler,” I correct. “I never finished my training.”
“So you can catch the elements and command them,” he says. “What else? There is more.”
I nod, pushing the information out of my torpid mind. “I can alter like a Tailor.”
“So genetically you have both powers,” he says.
“Yes, I must have gotten them from my parents,” I say, filling him in on the strange relationship between Dante and me. On how the time dilation has affected our lives’ courses as we lived on the disparate timelines of two worlds.
“Has your mother been tested? It would be interesting to analyze her genetic makeup, along with his —”
I stop him before the lump in my throat swells and dams my voice. “My mother is a Remnant. I doubt she’d cooperate.”
“Her mother’s genetics and mine,” Dante jumps in, “created something special, unique, like a mutation.”
“Not exactly, dear boy,” Albert says, and then pauses. “I feel especially strange calling you that now, given that you have a nearly grown daughter.”
“It’s weird for the rest of us, too,” Erik says.
“Genetic abilities skip around, appearing in seemingly strange fashion, but they’re not random. Once it became clear that I had a method of separating the worlds, the Guild worked feverishly to prevent that from happening,” Albert says.
“Why? Why would they want to remain dependent on Earth?” Jost asks. “Earth was a threat to them.”
“And an opportunity. You must not forget these were businessmen,” Albert tells him. “Earth had resources, and the Guild was uncertain we wouldn’t require more of them. But I think, truly, they were unable to divorce themselves from the possibility of this world. What if they could discover ways of using it to their own advantage later? And then there was the real need of a hiding spot should their schemes be discovered.”
“In case anyone found out the same men were running the show,” I say.
“But they had Tailors to keep that a secret,” Dante says.
“Yes, but men are fickle. Uprisings occur no matter how tightly you grip the masses in your hands. Earth was an insurance plan, but more important, tying Arras off from Earth would take away their looms. It would take away their control.
“Your story about your unusual parentage answers a lot of my questions,” Albert continues. “The Guild tried very hard to prevent you from existing.”
