All Just Glass

“I tried to get him to feed,” Nikolas said. “That helped when Elisabeth nearly killed us, as if her blood combated her magic. But he wouldn’t. I fed for him, on the witch who had attacked him, but I couldn’t even get him to take blood from me.”

She nodded. The power was already too deep inside Kristopher for him to rouse enough to feed. Sarah didn’t know if she could find her Vida power in time to pull Michael’s power from the wound, but Nikolas was right that such power could be drowned with more of the same—normally by taking blood, but there were other methods.

“Come here,” she said. She didn’t have to say why or ask permission. As soon as Nikolas was near enough, she put her left hand on his throat. He tensed a fraction but did not draw back, even when she pulled at his power. He clenched his jaw; she knew it hurt, what she was doing, but she also knew that Nikolas would never argue against any measure that might save his brother.

Besides, he had taken her blood; he could hear her concerns in her mind. He knew perfectly well that she didn’t know how to control her magic anymore, and that she could easily mangle his power through clumsy fumbling, killing both or all of them.

She used herself like a wire to funnel power from Nikolas into Kristopher. She transferred to Kristopher the power Nikolas had taken from Michael, which would temporarily fool the magic of the knife into thinking this body was not an enemy but a friend. It wouldn’t completely heal him, but it would slow the damage, like a shot of epinephrine delaying a fatal allergic reaction.

Only when she had given as much power to Kristopher as she dared did she put both hands on Kristopher’s chest, one over the wound and one over his heart. She closed her eyes and struggled to find the blade’s magic, which she knew almost as well as her own. She and Michael had grown up together. They had trained together. She had helped him form the link between his power and the centuries-old Arun blade.

Bit by bit, she subdued the poison. Now that Michael’s magic was feeding Kristopher instead of killing him, Kristopher’s own power was able to help heal the wound.

At last, Sarah turned to Nikolas to say, “He’ll live. He’ll need to rest, and feed when he wakes, but he’ll live.”

Nikolas nodded, and then it was like that wasn’t enough. He pulled her close and kissed her. Through Kristopher, whose mind was still open to her and tightly linked to his brother’s, she could sense the overwhelming wash of emotion: protectiveness, gratitude, relief, maybe even love. It was like a reflection on a stream, not as clear as the thoughts she could normally hear from Kristopher, but a background hum Nikolas wasn’t trying to hide from her. She didn’t want to shut it out, because in that instant she was feeling exactly the same way. Whatever she felt about Kristopher, she did not want him to die for her.

And whatever she felt for Kristopher, she probably shouldn’t be kissing his brother.

“Thank you,” Nikolas said when she pulled back. There was no sense of guilt in his mind about the kiss. Did he know something she didn’t know about Kristopher’s feelings for her? Or did he just know that Kristopher wouldn’t mind, regardless of his relationship with Sarah?

She had to block out the echoes of thought. It was too much to think about and try to dissect these relationships in the middle of everything else.

“It was my fault Kristopher was hurt,” she said.

“It was our choice to come for you,” he replied. “We argued over whether or not you had the right to end your own life. We decided it didn’t matter if you did have the right. We weren’t going to let you go through with it.”

Argued. These brothers did not argue, not with each other. Their paths had diverged only once, when Kristopher had chosen to stay with his sister to help her through a difficult time. Otherwise they were always so similar. Sarah’s impression had been that Nikolas tended to defer to his brother.

“Out of curiosity,” she asked, “what side of the argument were you on?”

Nikolas hesitated. Maybe he thought she might think less of him for believing that they shouldn’t ride to her rescue.

“I argued that it was selfish and cowardly to turn yourself over to the hunters,” he said softly. “You are a protector. You are not a Vida anymore, but you are still a guardian to those who need you. Your despair is not sufficient to erase that responsibility.”

“That wasn’t why I did it,” she responded. “I would never abandon a duty just because it was hard. I didn’t want other people—”

“I’ve seen many people die in the last century and a half,” Nikolas interrupted. “The one thing I know for certain is that after you are gone, you lose any power to decide what other people do. Will they kill for you? Will they die for you? Will they fight to avenge you? That is never your choice.”

It was the people who might kill or die for her if she lived who worried her. “What about the humans who come to you and Kristopher to die?” she asked. “Do they get the same talk about whether they have the right to end their lives?”

“They come to us because they see no other choice,” Nikolas replied. “When we can, we give them options. I have counseled plenty who come to me seeking an end, sent many home, and given others new lives. Some I can only help one way.” He shook his head with a sigh. “Do me a favor, Sarah. If you must end your life, at least do it yourself. Do not force your once kin to slay you, and do not force my brother and me to decide if we must take on the entire race of witches to avenge you. And do it somewhere that I will find your body, instead of my brother. I cleaned up my father’s bloody corpse so Kristopher would not see. I can do the same for you.”

Only from Nikolas could those words sound sincere, instead of like a ploy to elicit guilt and submission. Sarah knew he meant every word.

At last, what he had said earlier sank in. Kristopher and Nikolas had come to save her, despite knowing she had chosen her death. Would they have avenged her even though she had been willing to give up her life? Would they have either slaughtered or been slaughtered by those she had once called family?

Worse, Nikolas and Kristopher had allies—not just Nissa, but powerful figures like Kaleo. Even if the twins respected her decision, Kaleo had made it clear that Sarah had his protection, yet he was far less likely to care what choice she had made. Would he have joined the fight?

How many bodies would have joined hers on the floor?

She had thought she was doing the right thing. Was Nikolas correct that she had just been doing the easy thing? As he had pointed out, once she was dead, she didn’t have to make the hard decisions anymore.

“What was Kristopher’s opinion?” she asked softly. Nikolas had made it clear that his decisions after her death would not be affected by how she chose to die. Kristopher claimed to love her. What would he have done?

“He argued that we are not your keepers, and that no matter how much we want to hold on to you, whether or not you continue with this life has to be your decision.” Nikolas shook his head. “Ultimately, it is your choice to make, no matter which side of that argument each of us is on. If Jerome had not told us what you were doing, we would not have known. There will be plenty of other moments we will not know about. We will protect you, even from yourself, when we can, but the final decision to live must be yours.”

The words cut deeply. She had grown up among absolutes and duty, but Kristopher had introduced her to doubt, and decisions, and therefore freedom. He represented the opposite of all she had been raised to obey without question, so it should not have surprised her that he had been the one to argue for her right to make a decision that now horrified her.

Nikolas, on the other hand, had always been more black and white.

“And if, someday when you aren’t there, I decide not to live?” she asked.

Nikolas shrugged, his gaze going distant. “Kristopher will forgive you,” he said. “He will mourn for you. He may choose to avenge you even if your death is by your own plan, and I will follow whichever path he takes. But unlike my brother, I do not forgive easily.”

Perhaps Nikolas’s approval should not have meant so much to Sarah, but the words ate at her, feeding the shame she already felt for—

Oh, no.

“Zachary,” she said as the last moments of the fight came back to her. “I—”