touch was ice on his skin, and her voice, fire in his heart.
“Never flinch,” she whispered.
And the Moon looked up then. To the Suns who should have loved him. Fingers closing into fists as he spoke.
“You gave me life, but that does not give you power. And though you left me shattered, that does not make me broken. The pieces of me you left behind are sharp as knives. Sharp as truth. So hear it now, and know.
“You struck at me when I was but a child. You lay me low when I was sleeping. But I am a child no more, Father.
“And I am awake.”
He was clad all in white, but not so bright that the Moon couldn’t see. He was tall as mountains, but not so high that the Moon couldn’t reach. And Anais stretched out his hands toward his father, cupping his face. The Suns tried to pull away. But it was truedark now, and with Night beside him, the Moon was stronger.
His sisters held their breath as he leaned close.
He kissed his father’s brow, just above the first of his eyes.
And with his thumbs, he put out the second and the third.
The Suns screamed. His sisters wailed. His mother smiled. He felt those orbs of red and blue give beneath the pressure, felt the hard, warm arc of the sockets beneath. How easy it would have been to push farther then. To feel the bone splinter, to reach up and tear out the last, plunge the world below into cold and black unending.
But again, he felt the girl’s hands on his shoulders. Slipping about him in a cool embrace. Her cheek was pressed against the back of his neck, and all the rage, all the hate, all the bitter sorrow and regret, the worthless Could Have Beens and If Onlys melted away at the sound of a single word.
“Enough,” Mia said.
He turned and met her gaze, black as truedark skies.
She kissed his lips, resting her brow against his as tears spilled from her eyes.
“It’s finished,” she sighed.
And she was gone.
His father was on his knees, bleeding from the places his eyes should have been. His sisters knelt before him, their heads bowed low. His mother spread her gowns across the heavens, the bonds of her prison forever broken.
And Anais ascended his throne.
One sun.
One night.
One moon.
Balance.
“All is as it should be,” the Night declared. “The scales weigh even at last.”
The prince of dawn and dusk looked to the infinity above them.
He shook his head.
“One tithe remains,” he said.
And with black and burning hands, he reached for a piece of forever.
CHAPTER 49
SILENCE
Mercurio stood in the dark of the Athenaeum, the scent of ashes in the air.
The shelves remained untouched, but the books were all gone. Memoirs of murdered tyrants. Theorems of crucified heretics. Masterpieces of geniuses who ended before their time. The chronicler’s blaze had claimed them all, just as they’d claimed Cleo’s son himself. The shelves before the old man were empty now, the Dark Mother’s library gutted.
Not a single page remained.
“Marielle is looking for you upstairs,” the boy said.
The Lord of Blades patted his robe, searching for his cigarillos. Finally finding one behind his ear, he struck his flintbox and breathed gray into the singing black.
“Let her look,” he replied.
Jonnen peered out over the railing, his eyes on the gloom. The ghostly choir sang in the stained-glass dark about them, and Mercurio wondered what exactly the boy saw. The shadows around Jonnen rippled and sighed, pooling thick about his feet and whispering with voices the old man couldn’t quite hear.
“Have you any word from Ashlinn?” the boy finally asked.
“Not since we hauled you two from the ocean that night,” Mercurio replied. “Somehow I think I’ll not be hearing from her again.”
“A message arrived for us in Last Hope,” Jonnen said. “From Bonifazio.”
“Who?” Mercurio blinked.
“Cloud,” the boy replied. “Corleone.”
“Ah,” he nodded. “And what did the King of Scoundrels and Tight Leather Pants have to say for himself?”
“He wanted to know if we wished safe passage to Whitekeep.”
“… What for?”
“Sidonius. Bladesinger.”
The old man blinked.
“The wedding,” Jonnen sighed.
“O,” Mercurio scowled. “Fuck that. I’ll send something fancy. I’m too busy to go traipsing over the Four war-torn Seas just for a piss-up.”
“And too old.”
“Mind your fucking manners.”
The boy looked out at the dark with eyes that belied his youth. “We may not need the seas soon.”
“Lessons coming along, then, little Speaker?”
The boy looked up at him. A small smile on his lips.
“Marielle says it’s not to be toyed with, but…”
The