Her eyes fluttered open. “If you’re not going to kill me, can’t you let me die in peace?”
“I have an idea,” Gyre said.
“There’s no more ideas, Gyre.” Kit closed her eyes again, and her voice grew fainter. “No more plans. No more chances. I’ve been gambling with my life ever since that old man sat down across from me. I finally lost, is all.” She shuddered and coughed, spraying blood. “I just wish I’d worried a little less about my heart.”
“Kit …”
“Hold my hand,” Kit said, very quietly. “Please? It won’t be long.”
Gyre took her hand, squeezed it tight, then let go. He knelt, slipping both arms under her, and lifted her off the deck. Blood squished, and something wet and sticky slid from Kit’s midsection and hit the ground with a plop.
“That fucking hurts,” Kit whimpered. “What … are you doing, you … utter … fucking …”
Her eyes rolled back, and her head lolled against his shoulder. Gyre staggered forward, toward the folded-open spur and its arcana-encrusted chair.
“Gambling,” he told her under his breath.
Epilogue
Maya
“I can ride,” Maya protested. “As long as we go gently.”
“We’re going down a mountain,” Beq said. “What part of that is gentle?”
“It might be better than this … thing,” Tanax said, indicating the travois he was fashioning out of the poles and canvas from one of their tents. “It’s going to be bumpy.”
“Not too bumpy, I hope,” Maya said, looking down at Jaedia’s limp body. “I don’t want to have to explain to her why she woke up with two broken arms.”
“She’ll be all right,” Beq said, taking Maya by the hand.
They stood at the base of the valley, where they’d left the three swiftbirds. Tanax, as Maya had hoped, had been shielded by his panoply, and he’d awoken after a few hours. After some quickheal, Beq was walking, albeit with a limp. As for Maya herself, Beq had wrapped the through-and-through wound tight enough to make it hard to breathe, given her all the quickheal she could stomach, and proclaimed her intention to drag her to every alchemical healer in Grace, sanctioned or not. For the moment, she could move, though with considerable pain, and that would have to be enough.
Jaedia showed no outward signs of injury, aside from the small punctures at the back of her neck, and her breathing and pulse were steady. But she also showed no signs of waking up, and Maya worried. The faster we get her back to the Forge, the better. She winced at a spike of pain. I suppose that goes for me, too.
None of them would have made it out of the valley under their own power. The big, spider-legged things—not plaguespawn, Gyre had said, but “constructs”—had carried them, with surprising gentleness, down the rocky slopes. Now they waited a little ways off, with Gyre standing among them. Maya looked at him, then over at Beq.
“We have a lot to do when we get back,” she said, apropos of nothing. “Find out who Nicomidi was working with besides Raskos, and figure out what in the plague he meant by ‘hearing the Chosen.’ And that black spider-thing—” Maya shivered. “I think Baselanthus knows more than he’s telling. And—”
“Go talk to him,” Beq said, smiling slightly.
Maya sighed and winced again. Even that hurt. Moving slowly and carefully, she left the birds behind and climbed the slight rise to where Gyre was waiting. He crossed his arms as she approached, and Maya fought the urge to touch the Thing for calm.
“So,” she said.
“So.” Gyre hesitated. “You’re going to be all right?”
“Beq thinks so. I’m lucky, apparently.” Maya gave a careful shrug. “Or your girlfriend was trying to keep me alive.”
“Her name was Kit,” Gyre said. “And I seriously doubt that, to be honest.”
“Was?”
Gyre closed his eyes for a moment and nodded.
“I’m sorry,” Maya said, then thought about that for a moment. “I mean. I guess.”
“I’m sorry she stabbed you.”
They lapsed into silence again.
“You could have had your constructs kill us,” Maya said. “Two helpless centarchs. It must have been tempting.”
“A little,” Gyre said.
“You told me you’d do anything to destroy the Order.”
“I will. Someday.” He shook his head. “But it has been brought to my attention that I need to think a little bit harder about what comes after, when I do. There are some sacrifices that aren’t worth the cost.”
“That’s … a good lesson.” Maya took a deep breath, in spite of the pain. “I can’t let you do it, though. You know that.”
“I know.”
Maya hesitated, then blurted out, “There’s no point in asking you to come back with me, is there?” She blinked, feeling tears in her eyes. “You don’t have to live … like this. We could try to fix what’s wrong with the Order.”
“Would you come with me? Leave your haken behind, travel out into the Splinter Kingdoms, never look back?”
“No,” Maya said, looking down.
Gyre gave a small shrug. “Then it seems likely we’ll meet again. Somewhere.”
“Somewhere,” Maya said. She shook her head. “If you ever want to meet me without a sword in your hand, get word to the palace in Deepfire. I’ll let them know that if someone named Silvereye sends a message, they should pass it on.”
“All right.” Gyre started to turn away, hesitated. “Can I hug you, do you think, without squeezing your guts out?”
Maya gave a weak smile. “Beq said hugs are okay, as long as they’re gentle.”
Gyre stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Maya clasped hers at the small of his back, pressing her face into his neck.
“I missed you,” he said, very softly. “Every day since they took you away.”
Maya’s throat worked. “I missed you too.”
“I hope …” He paused. “Who knows. Be well, Maya Burningblade.”
“Be well, Gyre Silvereye.” Maya pulled away from him, wiped her tears, and sniffed. Gyre turned away, slowly, and walked up the slope, the constructs following behind him.
Be well, Gyre, Maya thought as he passed out of sight. I really hope I don’t have to kill you.
Gyre
“You should have killed her, you know. While you had the chance.”
Gyre wiped his real eye and straightened up. He felt something tugging on the leg of his trousers, then climbing the side of his body, little claws digging at the leather of his clothes. A tiny spiderlike construct, barely the size of a cat, finished its ascent and settled comfortably on his shoulder.
“Probably,” Gyre said.
“Too sentimental, that’s your problem,” the little thing said. The voice still didn’t sound much like Kit’s, but it was improving rapidly.
“Speaking of which,” Gyre said. “Have you made your decision?”