“Good,” said Ayn. “I applaud your restraint.”
Through all this, Rowan’s smile didn’t fade. “You know, Ayn, I could have told Goddard that you were the one who set me free back on Endura.”
Just like that. He just laid it out there for the two guards to hear.
“Lying will get you nowhere,” she said for the sake of the guards, then ordered them both to wait outside the room – which, in a place where so many of the internal walls were still clear glass, didn’t hide anything from view, but at least the room was soundproof once the door closed.
“I don’t think they believed you,” Rowan said. “You really didn’t sell it.”
“You’re right,” said Ayn. “Which means I’ll have to glean them now. Their deaths are on your hands.”
“Your blade, not mine,” he said.
She took a moment to glance at the two guards, oblivious on the other side of the glass wall. The problem wasn’t gleaning them but hiding the fact that it was her doing. She’d have to order some low-level scythe to do it, and then persuade the scythe to self-glean – and all in such a way that it wouldn’t seem suspicious. What a mess.
“Setting you free was the worst decision I ever made.”
“Not the worst,” Rowan said. “Not even close.”
“Why didn’t you tell Goddard? What possible reason could you have?”
Rowan shrugged. “You did me a favor, and I returned it. Now we’re even. And besides,” he added. “You undermined him once. Maybe you’ll do it again.”
“Things have changed.”
“Have they? I still don’t see him treating you the way he should. Has he ever told you what he told me today? That you’d be the heir to the world scythedom? No? Seems to me that he treats you the way he treats everyone else. Like a servant.”
Ayn took a deep breath, suddenly feeling very much alone. In most things, she enjoyed being a party of one, but this was different. What she really felt was a complete lack of allies. Like everyone in the world was an enemy. And maybe they were. She hated the fact that this smug boy could make her feel that way. “You’re much more dangerous than he gives you credit for,” she told him.
“But you’re still here listening to me. Why?”
She didn’t want to consider the question. Instead she ran through her mind all the ways she could glean him right then and there, and damn the consequences. But if she gleaned him, she knew it wouldn’t take. There was no way to render him unrevivable there in the penthouse, which meant Goddard would just bring him back to face the very specific judgment he had planned. And then, when he was revived, maybe Rowan would tell Goddard everything. She was bound just as completely as Rowan was.
“Not that it matters, but I just want to know,” Rowan said. “Do you agree with everything he does? Do you think he’s taking the world in the right direction?”
“There is no right direction. There’s only a direction that makes things better for our kind, and directions that don’t.”
“By ‘our kind,’ do you mean scythes?”
“What else would I mean?”
“The scythes were meant to make the world better for everyone. Not the other way around.”
If he thought she cared, he was barking up the wrong tree. Ethics and morality were the hobgoblins of the old guard. Her conscience was clear, because she had none, and had always taken pride in that.
“He means to publicly end you,” she told Rowan. “And by publicly, I mean in a way that will leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that Scythe Lucifer is gone forever. Vanquished and extinguished for all time.”
“Is that what you want?”
“I will not mourn you,” Rand told him, “and when you’re gone, I’ll be relieved.”
He accepted it as true, because it was. “You know, Scythe Rand – there’s going to come a point when Goddard’s ego gets so far out of control that even you can see the danger of it – but by then he’ll be so powerful, there won’t be anyone left to challenge him.”
Ayn wanted to deny it, but she felt gooseflesh rising. Her own physiology telling her that there was truth in what he said. No, she wouldn’t mourn Scythe Lucifer. But once he was gone, there would still be plenty to worry about.
“You really are just like him,” she said. “You both twist people’s minds until they don’t know which way is up. So you’ll excuse me if I never speak to you again.”
“You will,” Rowan said with absolute certainty. “Because after he ends me, he’ll make you dispose of whatever’s left of me, the way you disposed of what was left of Tyger. And then, when no one’s listening, you’ll snipe at my charred bones, just so you can have the last word. Maybe you’ll even spit on them. But it won’t make you feel any better.”
And it was infuriating. Because she knew he was right on every count.
27
Tenkamenin’s Pleasure Dome
The Spence traversed the Atlantic with Scythe Anastasia, sailing a direct course for the region of SubSahara, on the Afric continent. It was a distance much shorter than most people might think, taking just under three days. They arrived in the coastal town of Port Remembrance while the North Merican scythes were still searching for Anastasia in the far reaches of South Merica.
In mortal days, Port Remembrance had been known as Monrovia, but the Thunderhead decided that the region’s dark history of subjugation and slavery, followed by poorly planned repatriation, warranted an entirely new name that would offend absolutely no one. Naturally, people were offended. But the Thunderhead stuck to its decision – and, as with all decisions the Thunderhead made, it turned out to be the right one.
Scythe Anastasia was met by SubSahara’s High Blade Tenkamenin himself upon her arrival – as a vocal opponent of Goddard, he had agreed to provide her secret sanctuary.
“So much ado about a junior scythe!” he said in a booming, genial voice as he greeted her. His robe was colorful and meticulously designed to pay homage to every historical culture in the region. “Not to worry, little one, you’re safe and among friends.”
While Citra found Possuelo’s meu anjo – my angel – endearing, being called “little one” felt diminutive. She held her head high as Scythe Anastasia and, in the name of diplomacy, did not comment. Instead Jeri did.
“Not so little,” Jeri said.
The High Blade threw Jeri a dubious gaze. “And you are?”
“Jerico Soberanis, captain of the vessel that so successfully brought Scythe Anastasia into your welcoming arms.”
“I’ve heard of you,” Tenkamenin said. “A scavenger of note.”
“Salvager,” Jeri corrected. “I find what’s lost, and fix things that are beyond repair.”
“Noted,” said Tenkamenin. “Thank you for your fine service.” Then the High Blade put a fatherly arm around Anastasia, leading her away from the dock with his entourage. “Oh, but you must be tired and hungry for something more than maritime fare. We have all things prepared for your comfort.”
Jeri, however, kept pace with them until Tenkamenin asked, “Have you not been paid? Surely Possuelo has taken care of that.”