Page 81 of Fable for the End of the World

The love is what Azrael—and Caerus—can’t afford to lose. And maybe that makes love the most powerful force in the world, after all.

Inesa sets down the scrap of paper and the compass case, and the metal clinks against the wooden floor, jolting me from my thoughts.Then she raises her arms and takes my face in her hands.

“Trust me,” she whispers.

I just squeeze my eyes shut. It feels like too much to bear. All the systems so carefully constructed within me are short-circuiting, crumbling down.

Inesa pulls me closer. “Believe me.”

Seconds drag past us. Outside, the snow melts into the earth. The dark soil rises again, fed by the cold, clear water from the sky. Finally, I open my eyes. I can’t speak a word, but I give the slowest, faintest nod.

We can’t risk saying much more. The cameras are greedily taking in every word, every expression. I’ve long lost my ability to keep my face a cold mask, revealing nothing. And everyone in New Amsterdam has now seen me stripped down to the bone, naked in ways deeper than my skin. Azrael is right. It will take a lot to undo what I’ve done, not just for my own reputation, but for the reputation of all the Angels.

It might be enough, on its own, to shutter the program completely. It might cost him everything. I should cheer at the thought. And yet a painful lump solidifies in the center of my chest.

He abandoned you, a voice reminds me. It’s not the first time such a voice has spoken to me, but it’s the first time it’s felt like a voice of my own.And then he exposed you to the whole world.

Still, I can’t exorcise the pain. Not entirely. My mind hurls memories at me: every time he embraced me, every time he pulled me into a helicopter and laid a Mylar blanket over me, stroking myhair as I shivered from withdrawal. I hate him for leaving me. I love him for saving me. All living creatures have a place they call home. And the instinct to return home is as essential as the drawing of breath.

Home. The cold metal of an operating table. The darkness of the shooting range, made sickly green in my prosthetic’s night vision. The floor-to-ceiling window of my bedroom, showing me the glittering cityscape below, all the places I’ll never reach.

Home. The low, smoky heat of the woodstove. The warm glow of the oil lamps, casting everything in pale gold. Inesa’s hair spread out across the pillow, turned shiny in the moonlight that slips between the cracks in the wall. I could live like this, I realize. In just the spaces between walls.

Inesa is bending over the table, arranging the messy pile of supplies. We destroyed almost everything, but I can’t make myself regret it. There’s something freeing about being able to feel it, finally: All the rage that washed through me left a scorched wasteland behind. And yet even I know that flowers grow most brilliantly from ashes.

I join Inesa at the table. With fingers trembling faintly, I shove the intact supplies into a bag. There are some painkillers, a few bandages. A crumbling handful of decon-tabs. My gaze wanders to the white dress puddled on the floor. Part of me wishes I had torn it apart. Instead, I pick it up and let it unfurl.

It’s a long dress, reaching nearly to my ankles. It has blousy peasant sleeves and looks strikingly chaste, like a nightgown. Or something a child would wear.

At that, I realize why Azrael sent it. He sent it for the same reason he chose Inesa for this Gauntlet. He wants to see if I can do it, if I can kill another girl from Esopus Creek. He wants this to be my redemption, and his redemption, too.

I have to swallow the bile that rises in my throat.

Inesa sees me holding the dress and says, “I can’t imagine it will be very flattering. Not really my style.”

Gallows humor. I wish I could force a smile onto my face for her. I can’t deny that it would be cinematic: me in my black hunting suit, a stark contrast to my pale hair and face, descending on the innocent Lamb in her little white dress. Any concerns about my brutality or my fitness would be silenced. If nothing else, Azrael knows what makes a good show.

But there’s no point in antagonizing him unnecessarily, of testing his limits further. Wordlessly, I hand the dress to Inesa and pick up the new hunting suit.

I don’t have any modesty left to preserve; this Gauntlet has taken it all. The shame of being exposed is secondary to the physical pain of pulling the skintight suit over the blisters and burns on my legs. I bite down hard on my lower lip. Every tug of the fabric is pure agony.

Inesa helps me draw up the suit around my shoulders and then zip it in the back. With one finalsnickof the zipper, all my scars are hidden. With long, deliberate strokes, I comb through the tangles in my hair, and then pull it into a ponytail, sleek and high on my head. I could be fresh out of the helicopter, at the beginning of the Gauntlet. I can almost see the pleased gleam in Azrael’s dark eyes.

When Inesa starts removing her boots, a sudden, fierce feeling of protectiveness overcomes me. I snatch the quilt from the bed and hold it out around her, like a curtain.

A smile lifts the corner of her mouth. “Thank you.”

Behind the quilt, she slips off her shirt and pants. I stare down at the floor. Every thought in my mind is collapsing, like matter into a black hole. I go so long without blinking that my real eye starts to burn.

“I’m not used to saying that.” Inesa’s voice, sudden and unexpected, breaks the strange trance.

“Saying what?”

“‘Thank you.’” She pulls on the sleeves of the dress, covering her bare shoulders. “It’s kind of taboo, in Esopus... it sounds silly, but it’s true. No one really likes the idea of being indebted to someone else. And you definitely never want to be the one who’s needing.”

I realize how much strength it must have taken for Luka to saypleasein front of the camera, in front of all of New Amsterdam. I swallow, not trusting myself to speak.

“It’s funny, though,” Inesa goes on, “because if we didn’t need each other, we’d have nothing. Society wouldn’t work. So it’s a burden and a blessing at once. Even nature is the same. The plants drink the rainwater and the animals eat the plants and each other. Nothing is created without need. When we see flowers blooming or hear birds singing, we think it’s beautiful. But when people need each other, it seems so ugly.”

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