“No doubt they gave us enough time to get to the Orb,” Serah said. “And . . . it’s good that Cleon got his vengeance.”
Lucian’s stomach fell. He hadn’t even considered that letting the Queen go would be a dishonor to his memory. Guilt clawed at him like a thing alive.
Serah knelt beside Fergus, tears in her eyes. “Sleep well, Captain. I wish you’d stayed alive long enough to see the mission through. This whole thing . . . this was what you wanted. To make a difference.” The tears fell, wetting his dusty, begrimed clothing. “Well, you did. I just wish you were alive to see that.”
At that moment, Fergus coughed and Serah jumped back as if he were an adder.
“Fergus!” Lucian said, hope swelling in his chest. “You’re alive!”
The Captain started to prop himself up but was forced back down by Serah.
“Oh my God. Fergie, I can’t believe it!”
“Did you get it?” Fergus rasped. “Is the Orb safe? Is the Queen dead?”
“How are you even alive? What happened?”
Each of their questions went unanswered as Fergus’s eyes roved upward, toward the unknown woman sitting against the wall by the open door.
“It’s a long story, but the Queen is no longer any danger to us.” Lucian paused. “At least, not for a long time. I have the Orb.”
Fergus’s eyes questioned, but he was simply too tired and in pain to ask more.
“I’m weak, Lucian,” he said. “I . . . don’t think I can even think straight.”
“Just relax,” Serah said. “Rotting hell, you’re alive!”
He turned to look at Cleon beside him, his eyes watering.
“He must be alive, too,” Serah said. “Let’s see if we can wake him up.”
Lucian felt for Cleon’s pulse. His skin was colder than Fergus’s, and there was no sign of life – no pulse, no breath, and he just felt . . .
“He’s gone,” Lucian said.
Serah looked at him. “How do you know that?”
“He killed Kiani, in the end,” Fergus said. “And he said something about that being enough for him. He told me to go to stop her, but I couldn’t move, and I thought I was dead, too. Now, though, I understand what happened. He drew the Psionic ward onto himself, made it into some kind of magnet. It drew most of the power of the Queen’s attack, and I got something of an . . . aftershock, which I apparently survived.”
Lucian saw what he meant. Cleon had sacrificed himself, that at least one of them might live. It just deepened the sorrow he felt.
“He had a hero in him after all,” Serah said. “I . . . underestimated him. And freely admit that I was wrong about him.”
It seemed so amiss that the person who had never wanted to be here in the first place was the one to have died. Lucian wiped his own tears, the heaviness in his heart making him sink to the floor.
“Thanks for everything, Cleon,” he said, his voice thick. “It’s . . . my fault this happened. But without you, without your actions, your lessons, your bravery . . .” He shook his head. “None of this could have happened. I won’t let your sacrifice be in vain.”
Serah and Fergus nodded at that.
“He annoyed me, if I’m to be truthful,” Serah said. “I’m going to miss that. Somehow.”
“He was a good watchman,” Fergus said. “A former Mage-Knight of Dara. Knightlier than any of these ones sent after us. And the best Thermalist I knew, and I’ve met many.” He gave a slow nod. “And one day, Ansaldra will answer for his death.”
Fergus’s eyes went up to focus on the woman, who was watching them from across the Spire’s entry hall. Her green eyes were wide, her face curious.
Fergus sat up, and with help from Serah, managed to stand fully. “And what of her?”
“That’s not Queen Ansaldra,” Lucian said. “She was controlled by her. The real Queen is probably back at the Golden Palace.”
Fergus’s eyes widened a bit at this revelation. “How is that even possible?”
“Really powerful and corrupt Psionic Magic,” Lucian said. “I can vouch that this woman isn’t the Queen anymore.”
“She’s refused to talk to me so far,” Serah said. “Shocked, I guess.”
“I imagine so.” Fergus considered. “Is she blocked at least?”
It was hard for Lucian to remember the details – things had gone hazy at the end. All Lucian did remember was casting out the Queen. So, he reached out toward the woman’s Focus and found the block was still there, working as intended. She was indeed a mage, which was probably required for the Queen’s magic to have worked.
“The block is still there,” he confirmed. “She won’t be able to stream until I dismantle it.”
Fergus nodded. “Until we interview her, we cannot be sure of her loyalties. It’s possible she was some ally of the Queen’s. Or she may be a victim. But we have an important matter to attend to first.”
Lucian knew what he meant. “Feels wrong to bury Cleon here, in this place . . .”
“I know what you mean,” Fergus said. He looked up at the interior of the Spire. “Maybe we can think of this place as a mausoleum for the greatest warrior Psyche has ever known.”
Serah sniffled. “I like that.”
Fergus went over to Lord Kiani’s corpse, and unceremoniously yanked out Cleon’s shockspear. “At least this might go with him into the afterlife.”
They lifted his body – an easy thing to do in Psyche’s gravity – and carried it outside the Spire. Each of them confirmed that he really was dead, and not just sleeping under some strange, demented Psionic Magic. There was no heartbeat, no breathing, no electrical impulses, all confirmed by them scanning him with their Focuses.
So there, under the light of the gas giant Cupid, they buried him deep
