The Stone Sky (The Broken Earth, #3) - N. K. Jemisin Page 0,103

too, and went to find Nassun. Even if she hates you. Even if you left her to face a terrible world alone. Even if you are the worst mother in the world … you did your best.

And maybe it means you’re choosing one of your children—the one who has the best chance of survival—over the other. But that’s no different from what mothers have had to do since the dawn of time: sacrifice the present, in hopes of a better future. If the sacrifice this time has been harder than most … Fine. So be it. This is a mother’s job, too, after all, and you’re a rusting ten-ringer. You’ll see to it.

“So what are we waiting for?” you ask.

“Only you,” Hoa replies.

“Right. How much time do we have?”

“Perigee is in two days. I can get you to Corepoint in one.”

“Okay.” You take a deep breath. “I need to say some goodbyes.”

With perfect bland casualness, Hoa says, “I can carry others with us.”

Oh.

You want it, don’t you? To not be alone at the end. To have Lerna’s quiet implacable presence at your back. Tonkee will be furious at not getting a chance to see Corepoint, if you leave her behind. Hjarka will be furious if you take Tonkee without her. Danel wants to chronicle the world’s transformation, for obscure Equatorial lorist reasons.

Ykka, though—

“No.” You sober and sigh. “I’m being selfish again. Castrima needs Ykka. And they’ve all suffered enough.”

Hoa just looks at you. How the rust does he manage to convey such emotion with a stone face? Even if that emotion is dry skepticism of your self-abnegating bullshit. You laugh—once, and it’s rusty. Been a while.

“I think,” Hoa says slowly, “that if you love someone, you don’t get to choose how they love you back.”

So many layers in the strata of that statement.

Okay, though. Right. This isn’t just about you, and it never has been. All things change in a Season—and some part of you is tired, finally, of the lonely, vengeful woman narrative. Maybe Nassun isn’t the only one you needed a home for. And maybe not even you should try to change the world alone.

“Let’s go ask them, then,” you say. “And then let’s go get my little girl.”

To: Yaetr Innovator Dibars

From: Alma Innovator Dibars

I’ve been asked to inform you that your funding has been cut. You are to return to the University forthwith by the least expensive means possible.

And since I know you, old friend, let me add this. You believe in logic. You think even our esteemed colleagues are immune to prejudice, or politics, in the face of hard facts. This is why you’ll never be allowed within a mile of the Funding and Allocations committee, no matter how many masterships you earn.

Our funding comes from Old Sanze. From families so ancient that they have books in their collections older than all the Universities—and they won’t let us touch them. How do you think those families got to be so old, Yaetr? Why has Sanze lasted this long? It’s not because of stonelore.

You cannot go to people like that and ask them to fund a research project that makes heroes of roggas! You just can’t. They’ll faint, and when they wake up, they’ll have you killed. They’ll destroy you as surely as they would any threat to their livelihoods and legacy. Yes, I know that’s not what you think you’re doing, but it is.

And if that isn’t enough, here is a fact that might be logical enough even for you: The Guardians are starting to ask questions. I don’t know why. No one knows what drives those monsters. But that’s why I voted with the committee majority, even if it means you hate me from here on. I want you alive, old friend, not dead in an alley with a glass poniard through your heart. I’m sorry.

Safe travels homeward.

12

Nassun, not alone

COREPOINT IS SILENT.

Nassun notices this when the vehimal in which she’s traversed the planet emerges in its corresponding station, on the other side of the world. This is located in one of the strange, slanting buildings that encircle the massive hole at Corepoint’s center. She cries for help, cries for someone, cries, as the vehimal’s door opens and she drags Schaffa’s limp, unresponsive body through the silent corridors and then the silent streets. He’s big and heavy, so although she tries in various ways to use magic to assist with dragging his weight—badly; magic is not meant to be used for something so gross and localized,