The Toll (Arc of a Scythe #3) - Neal Shusterman Page 0,140

the truth of that, but it was always just a means to an end.

“Is it true what Alighieri said?” she asked.

“Is it true?” he mocked. “Is it true? Of course it’s true. And, just as that preening old weasel said, we were protecting our world, protecting our way of life.”

“Protecting yourself.”

“And you, Ayn,” Goddard pointed out. “Every scythe who will ever be ordained has benefited from our bid to keep humanity planet-bound.”

She made no comment, no challenge to his defense. He didn’t know whether it was because she agreed, or because she simply didn’t care.

“Constantine joined the LoneStar scythedom,” she told him.

The thought of it was so absurd, it actually made Goddard laugh. “Good riddance. The man was useless to us.” Then he took a good look at Scythe Rand. “Are you leaving as well?”

“Not today, Robert,” she told him.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m naming you third underscythe, in Constantine’s place. I should have done it long ago. You’ve been loyal, Ayn. You speak your mind whether I ask for it or not, but you’re loyal.”

Her expression didn’t change. She didn’t thank him. She didn’t look away. She just held his gaze, studying him. If there was one thing Goddard did not like, it was being the subject of scrutiny.

“We will get past this,” he told her. “We’ll turn the angry eye of inquiry back on the Tonists, where it belongs.” And when she didn’t respond, he dismissed her with a curt “That will be all.”

She stood there for a moment more, then turned and left. After she was gone, he closed the door and gently climbed into bed. He didn’t so much wallow in the diamonds as he did spread himself across them, feeling their unforgiving sharpness dig into his back, his legs, and his arms.

* * *

The Toll’s inner circle had now expanded to six: the Toll, Curate Mendoza, Sister Astrid, Scythe Morrison—and now Scythe Anastasia and Jeri Soberanis. They were one short of a Tonist Octave—although Astrid was quick to point out that the Thunder was with them, and that made seven.

Alighieri’s confession was now out there, its truth beyond anyone’s ability to deny. Now it was a matter of letting the news take root in the world. After they had left the old scythe to his mirror, with a brand-new gold-plated brush, Morrison found them a farmhouse where they could spend the night. One where the owners were not home.

“In mortal days,” Jeri pointed out, “this would have been considered breaking and entering.”

“Well, we entered, but we didn’t break anything,” Morrison said. “And besides, as scythes we’re still allowed to. Just because the world’s turning on Goddard and his followers doesn’t mean it’ll turn on the rest of us… right?”

But no one answered, because no one was sure anymore. It was all uncharted territory.

Mendoza was busy as ever, gathering intel, telling curates in his network how to handle aggression, because anger against Tonists was at an all-time high.

“There is no question that we are at war now,” he told the others. “But I have every faith that we will triumph.”

To which Astrid gave a somewhat facetious “All rejoice.”

“So now the world knows Goddard’s crimes against humanity,” Anastasia said. “Even his own followers will start to tear him down… but he won’t go down easy.”

“Cunning people find other people to drown for them,” Jeri said.

“You played a good hand,” Greyson told Anastasia. “It’ll be hard for him to come up with a better one.”

She soon went to bed, the day having exhausted her, and although Greyson was just as spent, he was too uneasy to sleep. But the farmhouse had a fireplace, and Jeri found some chamomile tea to brew. The two of them sat together in front of the fire.

“Flames are strange things,” Jeri said. “Enticing, comforting, and yet the most dangerous force there is.”

“No, that would be Goddard,” Greyson said, and Jeri laughed.

“I know you might feel this is insincere,” Jeri said, “but I am honored to be part of this troop of world changers. When I was hired by Scythe Possuelo to salvage Endura, I never dreamed I’d be part of something so important.”

“I don’t think you’re being insincere, Jeri. And thank you. But I don’t feel important. I keep waiting for people to figure out that I’m nothing special.”

“I think the Thunderhead made a good choice,” Jeri told him. “The position that you’re in, the power that you wield… anyone else would have let it go to their head. If I was the