voice became bitter. “I don’t want anything from you, Mr. Stanton.”
“You know, there’s one thing about you that always astonishes me. The longer you talk, the wronger you get.” His voice rose in intensity if not in volume. “Have you thought, for one instant, that perhaps I didn’t do anything because I respect you? Because I don’t think of you like some cheap hussy who can be bought with a hot meal and a little clever persuasion?” He paused, frowning. “If you don’t think I care about you more than that, then you really don’t know anything about love.”
Then he saw the tears rising in her eyes, and he took her in his arms and gathered her close. She buried her face in the fabric of his shirt; he brought up a hand to stroke her hair.
“I’m sorry, Emily,” he said. “Really I am.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she said again.
There was a long silence. When he finally spoke again, she felt his voice rumbling in his chest.
“Because I liked having you believe I was someone I wasn’t. When you looked at me, you didn’t see all the mistakes I’d made, and I could pretend I’d never made them.” He paused. “But I did make them. And pretending I didn’t is … indecent.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I don’t care,” she whispered.
“Ten years ago I was a cadet at the Erebus Academy, I’m sure they told you that.” His voice was flat. “I studied sangrimancy and I would have become a Maelstrom. I told you how military sangrimancers protect themselves with neologisms. I had one of my own once, just like Caul. But a neologism cannot be maintained forever. The horrors it represses must be released sometime. The first time is always the worst, it is said.” He was quiet for a long time, and she felt him shudder. “After the first time, I couldn’t continue.”
“Conscience,” Emily said.
“Or cowardice,” Stanton murmured. “It doesn’t matter which. Neither is an excuse.”
She held him tighter, as if physical closeness could hold him to her. But already, she could feel his distance, feel him moving further and further away.
“I wish I could be someone you should love,” he said, and there was terrible finality in his voice. “But I’m not. I wish I could say you should love me, but I can’t. Because it’s not fair. Three times what thou givest, remember?” He paused. “I haven’t even begun to pay for what I’ve done. Being burned is my price, and there will be others. I won’t ask you to pay my debts with me.”
Emily grabbed the fabric of his coat in her good hand, clasped it, and shook Stanton furiously.
“It doesn’t matter,” she cried desperately, fighting tears. “You’ve told me a hundred times that I don’t know anything about love, but you’re the one who doesn’t know anything. You don’t know anything at all about love!”
“You think I don’t?”
“You don’t!”
“Certain of that, are you?”
“Reasonably,” Emily said, her voice quivering.
He pulled her closer, brought his face to hers, close enough that she could feel his hot breath against her lips. But then he stopped, their skin a feather’s distance apart. He turned his head.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said, pushing her away.
She pressed her hand to her mouth, stepping backward. Stanton drew a breath to say something, but before he could speak, Mirabilis’ voice rang from the doorway.
“Miss Edwards,” he said, “we’re ready for you.”
Emily turned, ran toward the door, skirts swishing.
“Emily,” Stanton called after her in a low voice, but she pretended not to hear, stepping quickly into the brilliant room beyond.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The Grand Symposium
When she reentered the great hall, the clock was just striking midnight. She saw that the colleagues had been joined by two burly manservants in Institute gray who had positioned themselves, arms crossed, in front of the two huge black doors.
Miss Pendennis came to her side, took Emily’s arm.
“Everything all right?”
“Fine,” Emily said. Quickly, she dashed tears from her cheeks. As Stanton came into the room, pausing on the threshold to take in the faces of the participants, she looked away.
“Dreadnought Stanton!” said Heusler with a slimy smirk. “The spirit of the next hundred years of the republic!”
Stanton narrowed his eyes at the sangrimancer.
“High Priest,” he said in a strained voice. His eyes flicked from the fat man to Mirabilis, who frowned, gesturing impatiently for Stanton to join the group. When they were all assembled, he lifted his hands in welcome.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mirabilis said. “For the actual proceedings, we shall