Page 115 of Love, Nemesis
“I’ll forget about it anyway,” he said, packing one of his saddle bags as she scrubbed something over a bucket of water. “It’s not worth getting angry over.”
If you block out the bad, you’ll block out the good too,she said.It’s all life, you know.
“I’m listening,” Lethe spoke aloud in response to the memory, rubbing his eyes.
And there he saw her, lying on those stone tiles, bleeding as Strike Haulud dragged him away to isolate him. She wasn’t crying any longer, sprawled out naked at Peter’s feet.
He was too tired to protest—nearly dead, staring at her as those doors closed, blocking her broken body from sight.
And then he remembered lying in bed, his fingers tracing her shoulder. The curve of her waist as her chest rose and fell with each breath in the morning light, her hair lying in chaotic curls over his arm. She’d fallen asleep next to him as he recovered from a particularly painful mission. He’d kissed her temple tenderly, stealing that moment for himself as she slept.
Back in the present again, he opened his eyes to the blue sky of the Mystics.
I’m just one person, Lethe.Her voice echoed as if she were lying beside him.You need to live for more than just that.
He clenched his teeth, covering his eyes with his hand. For the first time in years, he wept. Lethe’s body heaved with the memories as if after all these years, his heart had come back to him, a final confirmation that Emma didn’t have it any longer.
When it was done, he felt exhausted, heavier than he’d ever felt, but with all of the devastation of it, at last he had the vibrant images back, the times they’d laughed together.
He remembered her, all of her.
I know they’re our friends, but if you start smoking like a Rider, you better stay in the mountains!
He smiled, rubbing his face, covering his eyes.
We should get up to see the sunset tomorrow.
He inhaled.
I keep stepping in that hole in the grass and getting my foot wet. Will you fill it in already? I hate it. It’s hard to see. I keep forgetting it’s there.
He exhaled.
I love you.
He held his breath.
I love you so much.
He let the emotions go, waiting for the happiness that would follow. He waited for some sense of peace, but in the absence of those feelings, he didn’t feel anything.
Narrowing his eyes, he lifted a hand to his face. There were no darkened fingertips, but in the absence of resentment, anger, and sadness, he felt nothing.
He thought back on his life with Emma. He thought back on his life in the ROSE. Neither aroused any feeling at all. Slowly, he sat back up, still looking at his hand. He clenched and unclenched his fist, and then at last, it occurred to him.
He wasn’t Lethe Shepherd anymore. He wasn’t a ROSE. Whatever he’d just let go of, he was suddenly aware that it hadn’t been a burden. The tragedies of his past had grounded and defined him. And that definition, as thin and fragile as a balloon, was gone.
He searched the sky, feeling just as fast and limitless. For a brief moment, he wanted to laugh at the humor of his past self, who only a few minutes ago had thought so gravely of history.
No specific thought triggered him to move other than the sense that it was time to go. He sat up, forcing himself back to his feet as he returned his glove to his hand. His business was done in the Mystics.
It was time to return to the State, to the Capital, to Ana.
* * *
When he arrived back at camp, he and Cal quietly saddled up and took a day’s ride back toward the border.
At nightfall, they both sat near the campfire in the thick of the dense woods, a starlit sky barely visible above them. Cal watched as Lethe heated his knife, empty of oil, over the coals. When it was hot enough, he removed it, pressing it against Ivan Rowe’s name on his arm.
