eyes flicked toward Eleanor. “Honestly, you both would have been miserable, and I would have ended up in charge, anyway.”
She felt her cheeks burn with anger, but she said nothing.
“Now,” the Seneschal went on, “I’m guessing that the infuriating little man told you about my plan for the guild, and I’m further guessing that Judah didn’t like it. She’s hidden herself away to keep it from happening. And unlike you, she has the strength to stay hidden no matter what. As long as she’s getting your little messages—” he nodded at Gavin’s arms “—she’ll know you’re alive, and that’ll be enough.” He stood up. “So you’re not going to send any more messages. You’re not going to be in pain; you’re not going to be hungry; you’re not going to be cold. No matter where she looks, she won’t find you. I think that will drive her mad, don’t you?”
Gavin said nothing. The Seneschal called out and the magus he’d brought in from the city entered, accompanied by a guard. Eleanor couldn’t remember the magus’s name; he was thick around the middle, with thinning hair. He cowered, embarrassed, before the Seneschal. “Bind his hands,” the Seneschal said to him. “I want them utterly useless.”
The magus did as he was asked, wrapping each of Gavin’s fingers individually and then tying them against his palms in loose fists, until each hand was nothing but a useless stump at the end of his arms. Gavin closed his eyes briefly but otherwise didn’t react, and Eleanor—watching—told herself that it could be worse; that in fact, it might be, still.
When the magus stepped back, the Seneschal surveyed his work and nodded. “It’ll do for now. We’ll figure out a more elegant solution at the guildhall.”
“What guildhall?” Elly said sharply.
“The guildhall for which you’ll be departing at sundown,” the Seneschal said. “Secretly, of course. The managers want the House, and I want Judah. As long as she thinks you’re here, she won’t go far. You may bring what you can carry—within reason, of course. I don’t recommend unwrapping his hands, Eleanor. You’ll find consequences of that extremely unpleasant.” His face was steady. At the last state dinner, when the Wilmerians were there, he had taken Eleanor’s arm to help her onto the dais, and told her she looked lovely. It was hard to believe there had ever been kindness in him.
Then he left. Gavin’s bound hands lay limp in his lap. Reaching out, Elly took one of them in her own. She intended only to make sure the bandages weren’t too tight, but Gavin said, “Don’t. He meant what he said. He’ll cut your fingers off or something.” So she let the clumsy thing drop.
“We have to find Theron,” she said.
“Theron is dead,” he said.
A shudder went through her. She remembered Theron’s thin arm around her, helping her climb the tower stairs; his voice, bright and coaxing and full of life, saying, Come on, El. A few more steps. I’ll keep you safe. I won’t let you fall. But in the tower itself, Gavin believed he’d heard that betraying turncoat of a magus say he’d killed Theron. Gavin believed he’d been paralyzed, bound by some force he couldn’t see. Gavin believed Judah was alive.
She took Gavin’s face in her hands—his worn, somber face, the two desolate pits of his eyes like chips of coal. “Tell me again,” she said.
“Judah’s not dead. She jumped. I saw her jump. But she’s not dead.” He hesitated. “I can’t see my fingers. Can’t move them, can’t touch anything with them. But I know they’re there. I know Judah’s somewhere, Elly. I don’t know...where—”
The last was barely a whisper. Elly felt her eyes fill with tears, but she pushed them away with the heel of her hand.
“You don’t believe Judah’s dead,” she said. “I don’t believe Theron’s dead. Until we learn otherwise, one way or another, we believe each other. All right?”
His eyes still held that odd mix of stubbornness and pity that was becoming so familiar to her, but he said, “All right.”
“Good,” she said. “In the meantime, we’re together. And we’ll stay that way as long as we can.”
Suddenly, unexpectedly, he dropped his head to her shoulder. His arms, with their bandaged hands, slid around her waist; gripped her tightly, as if to prove she was real. She put her own arms around his shoulders even though she didn’t know if she was real, she didn’t know if anything was real anymore. She didn’t have to know, she told herself. A few more steps; a few more after that. Wake up each day and figure out how to survive it.
She would keep them safe; all of them. She would not let them fall.
Somewhere and Nowhere
There was light—or was it merely the absence of darkness, or was it the absence of anything at all? She saw nothing. Her eyes found nothing to see. She was not sure if she saw light or dark or simply void, absence. Was what she felt truly cool or was it simply the absence of warmth? She was lying down—or was she standing? There was no surface. She simply was.
Who was she?
She didn’t know. She didn’t know how long she had been—here—wherever she was. She was not sure if time passed in the light or the absence or whatever it was, but it seemed to. One idea flowed to the next, at least. They were all shapeless, vague. This? Not this? Something else? Eventually she was able to think words like where? and when? and who? If there were names for those things, surely there were names for other things. Surely there were—other things.
Things. Yes. There was a thing called pain; she knew the bite of it. She knew hurt, and then bite, and then teeth, and then suddenly she knew her own teeth, there in her mouth. She had a mouth. She had a head. She had—a body—
She more than was; she had a self. And she realized: this self was not new. There had been a before. This, now, was not an absence but a continuation. Of this one thing, of this first thing, she was certain: she had been. She would be. She was.
I’ll stand up.
She was standing up. A gentle ecstasy filled her and with it came words. She thought feet and they were there, below her, ten naked toes in the nothing. She thought dress and found herself in a gown the color of new grass at dusk, a fine silver vine winding up from its hem. She felt the weight of hair down her back, blinked lidded eyes; thought air and discovered breath slipped in and out of her body.
The nothing around her reminded her of fog—fog!—and fog reminded her of the orchard—orchard!—and somehow she was not surprised when slim trees coalesced out of the absence. Damp ground pressed the soles of her feet. Slowly—as slowly as it had in the beginning of everything—the world formed around her, and there was breeze and there were smells and instead of void her ears filled with the subtle susurration of life itself; and, somewhere above the fog, she knew there was a sun.
She took a step, and then another. The world was beautiful and after the endless time in the void everything she saw dazzled her with its very there-ness, and she was walking through it. Toward what, she didn’t know. There was something she needed. She would walk until she found it.