“Because someone has to.”
For once, Lift ignored what her gut was telling her and, instead, climbed through the window. She crossed the room in a dash.
Out into the upstairs hallway. Onto the steps. She soared down them, leaping most of the distance. Through a doorway. Turn left. Down the hallway. Left again.
A crowd in the rich corridor. Lift reached them, then wiggled through. She didn’t need her awesomeness for that. She’d been slipping through cracks in crowds since she started walking.
Gawx lay in a pool of blood that had darkened the fine carpet. The viziers and guards surrounded him, speaking in hushed tones.
Lift crawled up to him. His body was still warm, but the blood seemed to have stopped flowing. His eyes were closed.
“Too late?” she whispered.
“I don’t know,” Wyndle said, curling up beside her.
“What do I do?”
“I… I’m not sure. Mistress, the transition to your side was difficult and left holes in my memory, even with the precautions my people took. I…”
She set Gawx on his back, face toward the sky. He wasn’t really anything to her, that was true. They’d barely just met, and he’d been a fool. She’d told him to go back.
But this was who she was, who she had to be.
I will remember those who have been forgotten.
Lift leaned forward, touched her forehead to his, and breathed out. A shimmering something left her lips, a little cloud of glowing light. It hung in front of Gawx’s lips.
Come on…
It stirred, then drew in through his mouth.
A hand took Lift by the shoulder, pulling her away from Gawx. She sagged, suddenly exhausted. Real exhausted, so much so that even standing was difficult.
Darkness pulled her by the shoulder away from the crowd. “Come,” he said.
Gawx stirred. The viziers gasped, their attention turning toward the youth as he groaned, then sat up.
“It appears that you are an Edgedancer,” Darkness said, steering her down the corridor as the crowd moved in around Gawx, chattering. She stumbled, but he held her upright. “I had wondered which of the two you would be.”
“Miracle!” one vizier said.
“Yaezir has spoken!” said one of the scions.
“Edgedancer,” Lift said. “I don’t know what that is.”
“They were once a glorious order,” Darkness said, walking her down the hallway. Everyone ignored them, focused instead on Gawx. “Where you blunder, they were elegant things of beauty. They could ride the thinnest rope at speed, dance across rooftops, move through a battlefield like a ribbon on the wind.”
“That sounds… amazing.”
“Yes. It is unfortunate they were always so concerned with small-minded things, while ignoring those of greater import. It appears you share their temperament. You have become one of them.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Lift said.
“I realize this.”
“Why… why do you hunt me?”
“In the name of justice.”
“There are tons of people who do wrong things,” she said. She had to force out every word. Talking was hard. Thinking was hard. So tired. “You… you coulda hunted big crime bosses, murderers. You chose me instead. Why?”
“Others may be detestable, but they do not dabble in arts that could return Desolation to this world.” His words were so cold. “What you are must be stopped.”
Lift felt numb. She tried to summon her awesomeness, but she’d used it all up. And then some, probably.
Darkness turned her and pushed her against the wall. She couldn’t stand, and slumped down, sitting. Wyndle moved up beside her, spreading out a starburst of creeping vines.
Darkness knelt next to her. He held out his hand.
“I saved him,” Lift said. “I did something good, didn’t I?”
“Goodness is irrelevant,” Darkness said. His Shardblade dropped into his fingers.
“You don’t even care, do you?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t.”
“You should,” she said, exhausted. “You should… should try it, I mean. I wanted to be like you, once. Didn’t work out. Wasn’t… even like being alive…”
Darkness raised his Blade.
Lift closed her eyes.
“She is pardoned!”
Darkness’s grip on her shoulder tightened.
Feeling completely drained—like somebody had held her up by the toes and squeezed everything out of her—Lift forced her eyes to open. Gawx stumbled to a stop beside them, breathing heavily. Behind, the viziers and scions moved up as well.
Clothing bloodied, his eyes wide, Gawx clutched a piece of paper in his hand. He thrust this at Darkness. “I pardon this girl. Release her, constable!”
“Who are you,” Darkness said, “to do such a thing?”
“I am the Prime Aqasix,” Gawx declared. “Ruler of Azir!”
“Ridiculous.”
“The Kadasixes have spoken,” said one of the scions.
“The Heralds?” Darkness said. “They have done no such thing. You are mistaken.”
“We have voted,” said a vizier. “This young man’s application was the best.”
“What application?” Darkness said. “He is a thief!”
“He performed the miracle of Regrowth,” said one of the older scions. “He was dead and he returned. What better application could we ask for?”
“A sign has been given,” said the lead vizier. “We have a Prime who can survive the attacks of the One All White. Praise to Yaezir, Kadasix of Kings, may he lead in wisdom. This youth is Prime. He has been Prime always. We have only now realized it, and beg his forgiveness for not seeing the truth sooner.”
“As it always has been done,” the elderly scion said. “As it will be done again. Stand down, constable. You have been given an order.”
Darkness studied Lift.
She smiled tiredly. Show the starvin’ man some teeth. That was the right of it.
His Shardblade vanished to mist. He’d been bested, but he didn’t seem to care. Not a curse, not even a tightening of the eyes. He stood up and pulled on his gloves by the cuffs, first one, then the other. “Praise Yaezir,” he said. “Herald of Kings. May he lead in wisdom. If he ever stops drooling.”
Darkness bowed to the new Prime, then left with a sure step.
“Does anyone know the name of that constable?” one of the viziers asked. “When did we start letting officers of the law requisition Shardblades?”
Gawx knelt beside Lift.
“So you’re an emperor or something now,” she said, closing her eyes, settling back.
“Yeah. I’m still confused. It seems I performed a miracle or something.”
“Good for you,” Lift said. “Can I eat your dinner?”
I-10. Szeth
Szeth-son-son-Vallano, Truthless of Shinovar, sat atop the highest tower in the world and contemplated the End of All Things.
The souls of the people he had murdered lurked in the shadows. They whispered to him. If he drew close, they screamed.
They also screamed when he shut his eyes. He had taken to blinking as little as possible. His eyes felt dry in his skull. It was what any… sane man would do.