Page 36 of The Unseelie War
And Serrik, standing apart from them all, his face a mask of cold indifference.
“I’m willing to do whatever it takes,” Ava said finally. “But I'm not letting anyone sacrifice themselves unnecessarily. Therehasto be another way.”
“Then you had better work to find it quickly,” Abigail said gently. “Because time is running out for all of us.”
Serrik made a sound of disgust. “This is madness. All of it.” He stalked toward the exit off toward the left of the stage. “Congratulations to all of you in advance for your most wonderful, heroic, and tragic deaths. I am sure someone will laud your efforts. It shall not be me.”
“Where are you going?” Ava called after him.
He paused at the edge of the theater, not turning back. “I do not know as I care.”
And with that, he was gone, leaving them all staring at the space where he'd been. A door slammed in the distance.
“Well,” Abigail said into the silence. “That went about as I expected.”
“He’s scared.” Bitty chewed her lower lip, thoughtfully. “He’s just scared of losing Ava.”
“We’re all scared of something,” Ibin replied. “That doesn't excuse cowardice.”
Ava closed her eyes, trying to center herself. When she opened them again, her voice was steady. “I should go talk to him. Before he does something we'll all regret.”
“Ava—” Lysander started.
“No. I'm not giving up on him. He’s…he's important to me. And despite all his bluster, I know he's better than this.” She ran a hand through her hair, scratching her scalp. “Besides, Abigail's right. We can't do this without him. If Valroy doesn't follow her into the Web, we're going to need every advantage we can get.”
“And if he refuses to listen?” Nos arched an eyebrow.
Ava smiled grimly. “We hope I get better at controlling my power, or else a lot of people are going to get trains dropped on them.” She started toward the exit, her mind already racing ahead to the confrontation she knew was coming. Behind her, she could hear the others beginning to plan, their voices low and urgent.
But all Ava could think about was the look in Serrik's eyes when she'd called him a coward. The hurt, the anger, and the resignation.
She'd pushed him away, just like everyone else in his life had done. And now she had to figure out how to bring him back before it was too late.
For all of them.
Ava foundSerrik in what had once been the opera house's costume department, now transformed into something that looked like a cross between a medieval armory and a spider's den. Golden threads stretched across the room in intricate patterns, and clothing items that she guessed hadn't existed an hour ago hung from the walls—sections of armor that seemed to be forged from shadow, a swathe of a scarf whose strings hummed with otherworldly resonance.
He was standing at a workbench, his back to her, methodically placing items into a leather satchel. His movements were efficient, controlled, but she could see the tension in his shoulders.
“Going somewhere?” The sarcasm in her voice was thick. She knew he was leaving.
He didn't turn around. “As I said. Preparing for departure.”
“Departure.” She stepped into the room, noting how the golden threads seemed to part for her without her conscious thought. “You mean retreat.”
“Call it what you will.” He placed what looked like a compass made of bone into the bag. “The end result is the same.”
Ava moved closer, studying a row of weapons on the walls. Chances are, they’d been props once. But not anymore. Now, they were very much real. Most of them were beautiful in their lethality—works of art designed for destruction. “Where’d all this come from? Did I make this, or you, or did it just…appear?”
“I am unsure. And I am not entirely certain that it matters. But they will be useful.” He finally turned to face her, and she was struck again by how carefully controlled his expression was. “For those foolish enough to stand and fight.”
“Serrik…if we don’t, there won’t be anywhere to run to, he?—”
“Why are you here, Ava?” His voice was tired. “Have you come to hurl more accusations at me? To tell me again what a disappointment I am, that I no longer wish to bloody my hands with the death of thousands of fae?”
“That's not—I didn't mean?—”
“Didn't you?” He leaned against the workbench, crossing his armsover his chest. “You called me a coward. You said I wasn't the man you thought I was. Both of those statements were quite clear.”
