She had never wanted to be human—had feared it more than anything.
She had never felt human. She had never felt anything at all.
Until Luc.
He had made her question everything; he had made her see the world differently. He was stubborn and opinionated and selfless and loyal. She wanted to see him again, to tell him he was right, ask him to tell her more about his family, his friends, his dreams. She wanted to show him she understood, now, why he had to save his sister. That she knew what it was like to care that much for someone else.
She tried to swallow, but it felt like something had wedged in her throat. Pressure built inside her chest. She felt like she would explode. She opened up her mouth to scream, but nothing came out.
She felt her legs shake. She fell to her hands and knees. The pendant landed a foot away in the dirt. She gasped for air, felt her lungs burning. Then something inside her broke, and a sob burst from her throat.
A gut-wrenching, half-strangled noise.
She’d never cried before.
Tears ran down her cheeks and made strange patterns in the dirt. She stared, horrified and fascinated, even as sobs continued to consume her, as her chest heaved and pain clawed through her chest. She wondered if this was death. She had expected pain, but this was so much more. It went on and on, didn’t subside, just battered her until she felt nothing else, as though a deadly current had been unleashed inside of her.
She pushed to her feet, half blind, desperate. Without knowing what she was doing or where she was going, she stumbled toward the lagoon. Tears blurred her vision, but she could still see that thousands of fireflies were swarming around the choppy surface of the water.
She swallowed back a sob. Why didn’t they fall? They must complete the cycle; they must return to Pyralis.
Corinthe had waded into the water. Her thoughts had somehow become fixed on the idea that she could help, that she could restore this tiny bit of balance. When the water was waist high, she inhaled and submerged herself. Her arms and legs burned, but she ignored the screaming pain in her muscles as she kicked out and swam to the center of the lagoon.
She surfaced, spitting water. “Go!” she shouted. “Go before you’re lost!”
She swung her arm, lifting a spray of water toward the hovering mist of fireflies. But they had obviously lost their way and wouldn’t become submerged.
Tears stung her eyes. All of those fates would be lost forever. Would the whole world end, now that everything was chance and choice? Would everything fall into ruin?
Corinthe thought of Luc’s warm eyes, the way he said If you believe in fate. …
Was it chance that she had fallen in love with him?
Did it matter?
Corinthe drew in a mouthful of water, then spit it out, coughing. The surface of the small lagoon was choppier than it had been only a few minutes earlier. A vibration traveled across the surface, growing louder, until it swelled to a roar. The currents surged, tugged her in different directions. She took another mouthful of muddy water and spit it out, retching.
A wave crashed over her head, burying her in sound and tumult. For several panicked seconds, she was turned around. She surfaced to suck in air just in time to get another mouthful of water.
She went under again.
Her lungs burned and her legs felt like deadweight. She clawed for the surface, could barely breathe in before she was once again pummeled by a hard wall of water.
Corinthe let go. There was nothing left inside her, not a single ounce of strength to call on. She heard faint strains of music drifting softly on the current, felt something like wind on her skin. … Her music box was playing. …
Then she heard nothing but silence.
20
Miranda lay in stillness after Corinthe left; even the beating of her heart was muffled. She didn’t breathe. She didn’t move.
Then, at last, she inhaled deeply, a gasp that was also a laugh.
She was hurt. It had not all been a deception. But she had known, too, that she could use the injury to convince Corinthe that she was to blame for all the destruction, that she must kill Luc or bear the guilt of Miranda’s death.
Her shelves had been broken and most of her bottles shattered, spilling her precious tinctures and potions. But she was able to salvage some crushed poppy, which would help her pain, and slowly she extricated herself from the rubble. Her powers were weakened; she had to do it the human way: by climbing. She had to stack the rubble, piece by painstaking piece, before using it as a springboard.
Thankfully, not all her powers were gone.
She made it to the lagoon just in time to see Corinthe go under. So. Corinthe was at last going to return to Pyralis.
This was it: the moment she’d been waiting for. The chance to show the Tribunal that the destruction of Pyralis could be orchestrated—that they should have listened to her all along.
They would bow to her now, look to her for leadership and counsel. She would control the Radicals. Together, they might grow even more powerful than the Unseen Ones.
The irony, the part that was poetic, was that she would use one of their own to do this. A Fallen Fate, the first Fallen Fate, would be the key to their demise. Ten years in Humana had changed Corinthe, and Miranda had been the one shaping her. She had trained her, subtly and slowly, for choice—for one choice, at least.
She had waited for ten years for the perfect opportunity, and when she received the marble from the Messenger, she had known: the fate within it had been Corinthe’s. She was destined to die by the boy’s hand. But the marble was cloudy and hard to interpret; and Corinthe had readily believed in a different meaning. She wanted to believe. She wanted to believe that she would at last go home.
Miranda dove into the lagoon. The trail left by Corinthe was faint, but Miranda followed it down into the swirling mass of color at the bottom of the pond. Faint strains of music filtered through the water, a tune familiar enough to cause a moment of pain in her heart.
That was the past.
The future now depended on one girl. Would Corinthe have the strength to do it? She would save herself; but she would also bring about the destruction of Pyralis.
Miranda kicked and propelled herself forward. The farther she swam, the more the pain eased in her head and limbs. Above, a dull purple light glistened, and she swam toward the surface. The pressure on her limbs had eased. She felt strong again.
Surely her plan could not fail. Not after everything she’d done to make it happen.
Miranda broke through the surface just as Corinthe was sloshing—shivering, thin, and pathetic, like a wet dog—to the shore. Hazy purple light filled the sky. Tiny fireflies blinked over the water. Miranda dove back under and swam several yards farther, to be sure Corinthe did not see her.
Once Miranda could stand, she stepped out of the river, kicking off her waterlogged sandals. Even the stones here were soft, as though they were made of velvet. Everything in Pyralis felt pliable, as if waiting to be molded into something else, something better.
Her fingers itched to unleash a storm, winds so strong they could swallow up the beauty of this place, but she knew it wouldn’t work. She’d tried before, when she was younger, stronger.
Only the Fates had power here: Corinthe and her sisters, the forever-children. Only they could act in this twilight world.
So she had waited, and waited, and waited, until patience became like a taste curled under her tongue, bitter and ever familiar.
Miranda glanced at the sky and smiled. The twilight was fading already. Her plan was working, and the time had finally come for her to exact revenge on the Unseen Ones.