“But she got the Analytica.”
Gyre nodded. Kit put her chin on her knees, eyes fixed on the opposite wall. After a moment of silence, Gyre dragged a chair over to the bedside and sat down beside her.
“Lynnia’s very angry with us,” he said. “With me, really. But she said we can stay here until tomorrow night, and you should be mobile by then. We can try—”
“You don’t need to wait for me,” Kit said. “Just go.”
“I need you,” Gyre said. “That hasn’t changed. And I think you still need me, if we’re going to get the Analytica.”
“You don’t understand.” She turned to face him. “It’s over, Gyre.”
“Of course it isn’t.”
“Naumoriel doesn’t tolerate failure. After this, he’ll cut us loose. Use someone else.”
“I’ll apologize,” Gyre said. “Grovel, if I have to.”
“Gyre—”
He got to his feet. “We can’t just give up.”
“You don’t understand.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” Gyre turned away. “Stay here. Get some rest.”
Kit looked down at the bed and said nothing.
*
Gyre had a fair few bruises of his own, and his fighting gear was stained with sweat and blood, so he ventured out in civilian clothes and a hooded robe. He didn’t bother bringing any weapons. If the ghouls decided they were going to kill him, he wasn’t foolish enough to imagine he could change their minds.
Lynnia was working in the basement when he slipped downstairs and out into the city. It was still before noon, and the streets were busy as usual, full of hurrying pedestrians and animals hissing, bellowing, and squawking. It didn’t seem fair, somehow, that nothing had changed, that Deepfire went on just as it had before last night. Before my sister found me. Before someone killed Yora.
A cabbie was happy to take him back up to the manufactory district, and even happier to wait around once Gyre shoved a stack of thalers at him. He got some odd looks from passing vehicles as he approached the door to the ghouls’ hideout. It looked the same as before, windows boarded up, apparently long abandoned.
The closer he got, the less sure he was that this was a good idea. Maybe Kit is right. Maybe we’re better off just getting as far away from here as we can. They could flee into the Splinter Kingdoms, beyond the reach of the Republic, and …
And what? His lip curled in a snarl. You’ve been chasing the Tomb for years, Gyre, and this is as close as you’ve ever gotten. More to the point, now that he knew the city was full of living ghouls and not just their wreckage, he didn’t just need to find it to get the power he wanted. I need them to help me.
I just have to explain that we’re not finished yet. He was already working on a plan to get the Core Analytica out of the Spike. It just needs a few tweaks. Maybe more than a few. But we’ll get there.
He knocked. No one answered, but the door swung inward, just a fraction. The latch hung limp and broken. Gyre pushed through slowly and closed it behind him before parting the heavy curtains that blocked any hint of light from the outside.
“Hello?” he said. “Elariel?”
Even in total darkness, he could tell something was wrong. Fumbling in his pocket, he produced a glowstone, then hesitated.
“If you’re here, say something,” he said. “Otherwise I’m lighting this.”
Only echoes answered. Gyre gave the stone a sharp rap against his leg, and it started to glow with a soft blue light. The cavernous interior space of the hollowed-out building drank it in, wreathed in long shadows, but it was enough to see that nothing remained of the huge arcana Elariel had been tending. The complicated network of crystal and wire, the plantlike armature, everything was gone. Gyre raised the stone above his head and turned in a circle, then swore, as loud and violent as he knew how.
*
By the time he returned to Lynnia’s, it was late afternoon. A tray with a bowl of soup and some soft bread sat untouched outside the closed door of the guest room. Gyre stepped over it, rapped sharply, and went in without waiting for an answer.
Kit, still in a borrowed shift, was sitting cross-legged on the bed, unwinding a bandage from her arm. She looked up as he came in, and for a moment he expected a sarcastic quip, but she didn’t seem to be able to muster the energy.
“They were gone,” she said.
“I don’t understand,” Gyre said. “How could they move all of that in one night?”
“Most of it moves itself, I think.” Kit finished peeling off the bandage with a wince.
“You knew they’d just vanish like this?”
“Mmmhmm.” She poked the bruise and winced again. “It’s what they do. When one pawn fails, throw it away and bring out the next.”
“So that’s it?” Gyre said.
“That’s it.” Kit looked up at him. “I told you to leave, didn’t I? I’m useless to you now, I promise. I won’t even—” She stopped abruptly.
“You won’t what?”
“It’s not important,” Kit said. “You should go.”
“Kit. Tell me.”
“If you’re that interested.” She sighed and put on a singsong tone. “In about a month, I’ll be dead. Six weeks at most. So if you’ve got some fantasy about you and me, I don’t know, becoming partners in crime out in the Splinter Kingdoms, you can give it up.”
“You’ll be … why?” Gyre’s eyes narrowed. “Is it the ghouls? They don’t want you to give up their secret—”
“They couldn’t care less. Maybe once upon a time they were worried the Order would find out they’re still alive, but after this long, who would believe me?”
“So who’s going to kill you?”
“Nobody. I’ll just … expire. Although, frankly, maybe it would be more poetic to find a cliff somewhere—”
“I don’t understand.” Gyre took a step closer. “You’re—”
“Oh, for Chosen’s sake.” Kit leaned over and grabbed his wrist, pulling him forward and pressing his palm against her chest. “Feel.”
After a moment, Gyre cleared his throat. “Your breasts may be a little on the small side, but that hardly seems fatal—”
“Not my lack of tits, moron.” She actually smiled, though her eyes were damp with tears. “My heartbeat.”
Gyre concentrated a moment on the gentle pulse under his hand. It sped up slightly, and in between the thumps, he felt something else, a soft buzz like there was an insect trapped under Kit’s breastbone.
“I told you when I was fifteen, I got some bad news,” she said. “I’d been having … spells. Dizziness, nausea. I went to an alchemist, and she told me it was my heart, that it was weak and getting weaker. Within a year or two, it would just … stop. And that would be that.” She shrugged. “I asked if there was anyone who could help me, and she told me that I needed a dhakim.”
“So you went looking for the Tomb,” Gyre said.
“I wasn’t looking for it, exactly. I wasn’t in a good place.” Kit took a deep breath, and her heart thumped harder against Gyre’s hand. “I figured either I’d find something that could save me, down in the dark places, or I’d die trying. The latter seemed more likely.”