Shadowlark

them try again, lying this time, with me. I was never intended to return, but Basil—Basil had a way of getting back inside. When I asked him how he’d managed to keep track of it for all these years, he was quiet, and I realized the answer: he kept it because he’d always intended to come back for me.“You’re sure you want to go back there?” Nix was not a fan of my decision and told me so at every possible juncture.

“I have to go,” I said with a sigh. “I’m not trying to sacrifice myself or be a hero or something. But they’re dying there, sooner or later. The Renewable they have will die, and then the city will have nothing.”

“But they’re the ones who did this to you.”

“It was only a small group of people who did this to me. Gloriette. The other architects. Kris.” My thoughts tangled as the image of the tousle-haired, handsome architect flashed before my eyes. “And even they were acting because they thought it was the only way to save the city.”

“Trying to talk sense into you is like trying to fly into a headwind.”

I tried to hide my smile. “And you love it. You’re coming, after all, aren’t you?”

Nix made an irritated grinding sound with its wings and then took off, headed for the ventilation shaft it used to go from room to room. I grinned, shaking my head. The little bug might be annoying and full of itself, but it was good company. And it was loyal.

I surveyed my supplies, trying to think if I’d missed anything. The people here would do just fine without me. They had Basil and Dorian, and Wesley too. If I slipped out in the night, there’d be no fuss, no pleas and no demands made.

There was just one problem: Oren.

I’d follow you anywhere, he’d told me in the Eagles’ prison cell, back before everything had happened here. I didn’t want to force him to put that promise to the test now that he’d found a home. He was different here, and even he had to realize that. He was quieter, calmer. Still just as strong and fierce as ever, but he was in control of himself. He was even in control of his shadow self—if only barely.

I couldn’t ask him to leave, but if I told him I was going, I knew he’d follow. My only other option was to leave without telling him, and I couldn’t bring myself to do that either. It was a betrayal nearly as bad as forcing him to leave this new home.

There was a tap on my door, and I jumped. “Oren?”

“Sorry to disappoint.” It was Wesley, the door opening half a moment later so that he could slip inside. “I noticed you weren’t at dinner and wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. I was standing in front of my bed, which was covered in supplies, but I couldn’t be concealing much. “Just want to be alone tonight.”

Wesley’s eyes raked over everything arrayed on top of the blanket, then fell back on me. “Running away again,” he said quietly, though there was no judgment in his voice. Just a mild comment on what he saw.

“Running back,” I corrected him.

Wesley made a noncommittal sound. I waited for him to speak, to explain why he’d come to find me. Instead he just stood there, watching me, his expression difficult to read.

“Wesley,” I found myself saying, “back in CeePo, when Adjutant called Basil Prometheus. You weren’t surprised.”

He inclined his head, conceding the point. “The possibility had crossed my mind.”

“That the author of the journal was Prometheus himself?” He nodded, and I struggled to understand. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Wesley ran a hand across his scalp, not replying immediately. “Because when you’re fighting an impossible enemy, your best weapon is hope.”

“I thought I was your best weapon,” I said dryly.

“Indeed,” he said, although his tone was serious, not echoing the humor in my voice.

I swallowed, scanning Wesley’s face. He was still a little haggard, dark circles under his eyes. He looked wan in contrast with the brightness of his peacock coat, which no one had dared suggest he get rid of even though he was no longer posing as one of Prometheus’s highest lackeys.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” I said softly.

He gazed back at me for a long moment, reminding me of the teachers I’d had back in my home city, pinning me to my chair and making me want to squirm. Then he nodded. “I know you are. But I knew what I was offering. And I did offer.”

“I could’ve killed you.”

Wesley smiled. “But you didn’t.”

“But I could have.”

Wesley laughed. “We could be at this all night, Lark. Life is full of coulds and shoulds. Those things have no bearing on reality. You do what you do, you make the choices you make. I respect your choices. You should do the same.”

When I had no answer for him he straightened, reaching for the handle of the door. “Goodbye, Lark. Be well.”

I was left staring after him as the door swung loosely closed, thinking of all the exercises he’d made me do, learning how to recognize the point of death, how to automatically stop myself before I passed it.

Did he know? Could he have somehow suspected, all along, that it would come down to that moment—him offering his magic to me, me having no choice but to take it?

Before I could consider that idea any further, the door squeaked open again, shattering my thoughts. Oren was there, one palm pressed against the door, his expression locked down. His eyes were on the supplies strewn over my bed, and for a wild moment I considered using my reserves of magic to slam the door in his face and pray he hadn’t seen.

But it was too late. I could see the betrayal in his gaze, the way they flicked from object to object, avoiding my face. With a tiny whir, Nix darted out from behind Oren’s head, and hovered over his shoulder.

“Told you she was leaving.” Though it was impossible, I could have sworn it sounded smug and petulant.

Traitor, I thought. When I turned my furious gaze on the pixie, it gave a startled screech and fled. So much for loyalty.

And so much for getting out of here without telling Oren.

“What is this?” he asked, stepping into the room and letting the door bang closed behind him.

“Oren, I wasn’t going to—”

“No, you tell me now. What is this? Are you planning another scouting mission somewhere?”

He knew I wasn’t. He was giving me a chance to lie, so we could both pretend. I lifted my chin. “I’ve been headed back there ever since I left, I just didn’t realize it. I’ve got to go back. I’m done running away.”

He closed the gap between us so he could speak in a low voice. “You’re still healing. Your arm—”

“Is fine. The splint will stay on another week or two, and it’ll be good as new. The healers have done what they can, now it’s just time. There’s no reason I can’t travel.”

“And the people here?” Oren’s pale eyes were icy hot, jaw clenched. “You’re just going to up and vanish on them?”

“They’ve got Basil and Dorian. They’ll be fine.”

Oren took a breath in and then let it out audibly—it was shaking. “And me? Were you going to leave without telling me?”

I stared at him, trying to catch my breath. “I don’t know.”

His throat moved convulsively as he swallowed. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“Oren, you’re happy here!” I burst out, suddenly angry— angry that he wouldn’t just let me do this for him, angry that this wasn’t just my choice to make. “You have friends here, you can do some good here. You’re in control. You’re living an actual life. You’re safe here. How can I ask you to leave home behind?”

Oren was breathing hard, as though he’d just sprinted up a hill—as if standing in front of me now was some monumental feat of strength. “You think it’s this place that’s done all that?”

“Of course it is.” I gazed back at him, the fury draining away.

“You still talk too much,” he said wearily, taking another step forward so he could reach up, fingers tracing the line of a healing gash along my cheekbone. “And you don’t pay any attention to what’s really going on.”

I wanted to shake my head and deny what he was saying, but his fingers were like fire tracing down from