to be thankful for about that. I want to cry. I want to give up.
I want Aron to put his arms around me and stroke my hair until all the pain goes away, but even that won’t make me forget. I have to choose between myself or Aron. There can’t be an “us” ever. We won’t be allowed even the tiniest bit of happiness. Fate’s going to fuck us over.
Even so, it feels weird to just turn and leave silently. It feels like a retreat. I hesitate, then take a step toward the door. “Later.”
“If he asks,” the Spidae begins, and I bite back a snarl of irritation. Of course he has to have the last word. Of course. The Spidae continues, oblivious to my mood. “Tell Aron he needs to go to Yshrem and meet the army there.”
“What?” I cast him an irritated look.
“That is where Aron will meet his destiny,” the Spidae says, then adds, “This particular Aspect of the Lord of Storms.”
My mouth is suddenly dry as a bone. Him meeting his destiny sounds…dire. Add in “army” and I’m terrified. “Is he going to make it through that battle?”
The Spidae just stares at me.
Right. I’m sorry I asked. I shake my head and turn away again.
“You forgot this.”
When I turn around, he’s right behind me, and I jump in surprise. The Spidae holds out the football-sized pod and gives me a wintry smile. When I take it, he moves away again.
“Think on what I have said,” he calls as I leave the room. “Think on the choices you make…because they are all yours to make, Faith.”
63
Once I’m in the hall, I rush down the slope at breakneck speed. I just want to get away.
Away from all of this.
Away from everything I’ve been told in the last few minutes.
The Spidae and his non-answers have wrecked me. Fucking destroyed me. I stumble over my skirts, skidding to my knees, and the sticky webs that cover everything stop me from tumbling all the way to the bottom of the tower. I skid a few feet and then collapse against the wall, crying like a baby. I curl up, hugging my knees to my chest and sobbing.
Everything is so fucked right now.
I can screw over Aron and hate myself for the rest of my life if I return to Earth. It’s a selfish choice, and even if I wanted to make it, I wouldn’t. I want to save Aron, but I have to think of everyone. Poor Vitar is dead. What about Yulenna, Markos, Solat and Kerren? Will they die if I choose to stay? Am I picking their deaths for them, too?
And Aron—my Aron—has to ascend for things to be “fixed.” That means I have to die.
I don’t want to die. A fresh sob escapes me, and I grind my fists against my eyes. Why have I fought so hard for the last month to go home, to help Aron win, only to find out that none of it matters? If I go home, I destroy Aron.
It doesn’t feel fair.
I cry and cry, feeling sorry for myself. For being the one that’s responsible for Aron’s death. For being the one that has to make a choice, and for the fact that there are no good choices at all. There’s no right answer in any of this, only more heartbreak.
If I’d known that taking Aron’s hand that day would have led to this, would I have done it? I think for a moment, then let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. Like I had any other choice? I was going to be executed—a cleaver bride sacrificed in the god’s name. Beyond that, though…I can’t regret volunteering to be with Aron. I think of him with another anchor, holding her close, laughing with her…
And I’m hit with an ugly gut-wrench of pure, seething jealousy.
I’m shocked at how violent my thoughts get. Just imagining Aron with someone else makes me want to claw his—and her—eyes out. Fuck that. He’s mine.
Somewhere along the way, I’ve come to care for the arrogant jerk.
I love him. Not that I want to admit that to myself, but isn’t that why I’m not going to return to Earth? Why I’m going to let that connection thread snap and take with it my hopes of living past all this? Because I can’t abandon Aron.
Because I love him.
I am such an idiot.
Shaking my head, I bury it in my hands again, marveling at how stupid I must be to