Page 107 of The Song Rising

“Paige.”

“I remember everything. I saw—” A single tear ran to my jaw. “A Rephaite. In Dublin.”

“Gomeisa Sargas was there to bear witness to the Incursion, and was pleased with what he saw. Since then, Hildred Vance’s mind has been his most reliable weapon.”

My young mind must have closed down, locking the memories deep into my hadal zone. The streams of death, so great in number that the gutters had run red. The soldiers marching across the bridge; the vanguard riding stallions; hot breath steaming in the morning air. Babies and children, men and women—all of them dead. From under the statue of Molly Malone, I had watched the soldiers drag the bodies away to be dumped into the river, knowing that if I moved an inch, if I let out one sound, I would be among them. Butchery orchestrated by Hildred Vance, with Gomeisa Sargas pulling every string.

And it would happen again. Any day now, it would happen again.

The tears kept coming. I breathed as evenly as I could, dabbing my eyes with my sleeve.

“I saw you in the Netherworld.”

The light in his eyes flickered. “The golden cord must have allowed you to mirror my gift.”

“You were dancing with Terebell.”

“She was my mate,” he said, “long ago.”

I was too numb to absorb it, but part of me had known. There was no other reason for her to be so protective of him, to be so intimate with him. She wasn’t like that with any of the other Ranthen.

“Why isn’t she your mate anymore?”

Warden looked back at the citadel.

“It is not wholly my tale to tell.”

There was a tender pressure at my temples. “I didn’t realize that you thought in Gloss,” I said. “I know I couldn’t have understood your voice, or your thoughts, in my body—but with the golden cord, my spirit could make some sense of the language. Like a mental translation. It was like—like hearing a song I used to know—”

I buckled against him. Warden caught my arms, steadying me, and we knelt again.

“All of this has already happened.” My voice splintered in a way I couldn’t stand. “We—I can’t let Vance do it again, I can’t—”

“You are still here. So is the Mime Order.”

I found myself leaning into him heavily, seeking out his heartbeat. His embrace was tight enough to warm me, but not so tight that I couldn’t pull away, as I should. As I must.

“Why did you show me all of that?”

His hand came to the back of my head.

“Because you needed to remember. To remember why you must be Underqueen.” His voice rumbled through both of us. “You have known what it is to be a citizen of the free world and a denizen of Scion. A Londoner and a daughter of Ireland. A prisoner of Sheol I. A mollisher of I-4. You understand all that is at stake in the war to come, and why it is necessary. You know what it is like to live beyond Scion as well as within it. You know what the world could become if they are allowed to expand their domain.”

“Other people have—”

“No one else in the syndicate has your history with Jaxon Hall, who could now be the Sargas’s right hand. Only you watched Nashira kill a child because you refused to be her weapon.” His gaze was inescapable. “Youburnto destroy Scion. To avenge all that has been done to you. To undo the world they fashioned and reshape it. The Ranthen chose you. I chose you. Most importantly, you chose yourself. On the night of the scrimmage, you decided that you, not Jaxon, were the one to lead the syndicate.”

I had no argument to offer. The dive into my darkest memories had taken all my strength.

Warden hitched his coat back over my shoulders. I pressed myself against him, letting him stroke my damp curls. Neither of us stopped the other. We stayed like that until the little flame in the tin went out, lashed by wind and shards of rain.

“Whether or not I decided that,” I said quietly, “it doesn’t change the fact that we’ve failed.”

“You have risen from the ashes before. The only way to survive,” he said, “is to believe you always will.”

The motion of his gloved hand on my hair steadied my breathing. I held him close to me, letting his warmth take away the pain of the past, just for one fragile moment. I wanted him all over again, wanted him with an intensity I had never known, but I couldn’t act on it. Nothing had changed. So I slid myself from his arms, feeling as if I was tearing a seam. I picked up the lighter and tried to ignite the alcohol a second time, but it stayed cold.

The silence between us was fraught with unspoken words. When I looked at him again, his eyes were afire.

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