sat leaning back against the bars that he could now touch because he was human, like the rest of them, and skysilver would not burn. One hand was painfully curled around a spot just above his belly, and she realised too late what it was.
Poet knew. She saw his hands shake as he unlocked the door of the cage and fell down on his knees beside Garnet. ‘What can I do?’
‘Not a lot,’ Garnet said, sounding almost lazy. ‘Come closer.’
Poet crawled to his side, and Garnet messed up his hair. ‘Not long now.’
‘You couldn’t have taken the fucking knife out before you gave him the animor?’
Garnet shook his head slowly. ‘Sky would have taken back control. It’s okay. Doesn’t hurt or anything.’
‘Liar.’
It was a painfully private moment, but Topaz couldn’t look away from them. They both looked so small and hurt. She reminded herself of how much Garnet had hurt others and felt less bad about watching.
‘If you pull the knife out of me,’ Garnet said after a moment, ‘it’d be faster.’
‘Is that what you want?’ Poet’s face had crumpled at the thought of it.
‘No, ratling. You know me. Always outstayed my time on stage.’
Poet started to cry quietly, and when he turned to kiss Garnet briefly on the mouth, his face was wet with tears.
‘Better than last time,’ Garnet decided. He started to cough and his body shuddered.
Topaz left them alone. She ducked back into the kitchen and found Kelpie there, sitting next to the unconscious Macready with an unreadable expression on her face.
‘Is he dead yet?’ Kelpie asked quietly.
‘Getting there,’ said Topaz.
Kelpie nodded, patted Macready’s limp hand once, and then went to join the others outside.
A few minutes later, Poet joined Topaz in the kitchen. His face was dry and he was as poised and together as always. ‘Still here, are you, little fireball?’ He held a hand out to her. ‘Shall we go see what kind of mess those reprobates have made of the sky?’
She squeezed his hand and they went out to the yard together. The sky was blue. Not scary battle blue, just … blue. It was a clear sort of day for the middle of winter. No clouds, and a deep chill on the air.
‘Is that it, then?’ Poet remarked, too loudly. ‘I was expecting fireworks. An ovation at the very least, possibly a parade. If I’d been given enough notice, I could have composed a song for the occasion.’
‘Maybe the war didn’t stop,’ the blonde sentinel said. ‘Maybe none of us can see it any more. It’s just Rhian out there on her own for eternity, fighting the sky, and we’re blind to it.’
‘Lovely thought,’ someone said sarcastically. Topaz wasn’t sure who.
‘It’s the Saturnalia,’ said the one they called the Duchessa. She was sitting on a broken piece of wall, leaning against Kelpie.
‘Are you suggesting we exchange gifts?’ Ashiol said acidly. He was still holding Velody’s hand.
The Duchessa gave him a dirty look. ‘It’s the second day of Saturnalia. There are rituals to perform. Songs in the Forum. Lights on the lake. If we keep the rituals, then perhaps …’ She gave a helpless shrug.
‘Perhaps the city will heal,’ said Kelpie.
‘It’s worth a try,’ said Velody, looking around at the wreckage of the street.
‘We can sing,’ Topaz volunteered. When everyone looked at her, she ducked her head, annoyed at them all. ‘Well, we can,’ she muttered.
The other lambs nodded, though they were all as reluctant as ever to speak.
‘Of course you can,’ said Poet, his hand cool in hers. He managed a half-smile down at her. ‘Everyone can sing. That’s what the Saturnalia is for. Singing, and roasted nuts, and hot bean syrup. I can taste it already.’
Some time later, the sky started raining rose petals.
On the third day after the world ended, the city healed.
Isangell had performed every arcane Saturnalia rite the city had ever observed, and many they never had. She and Kelpie had combed the librarion for ancient texts and used everything that they found to celebrate the festival. They all thought she was crazy, Isangell was well aware of that. Not only the ragged survivors of the Creature Court, but every living person she found in Aufleur was given a ritual to perform.
‘It doesn’t work like that any more,’ Ashiol told her, impatient with her attempts at festivity, at staging a Saturnalia pageant around the few undamaged streets of the city. ‘There’s no animor left. We’re on our own.’
‘Would you rather do nothing?’ Isangell demanded.
Velody helped, and Poet, and