I want him to yell back, scream at me, but he has the nerve to calmly place his hands on the table and say, “We can talk about your brother later. Right now, we’re discussing this new alliance.”
“Dammit, Ryder. I just want to see Blaine. I—” Everything seems broken. So many people are dead, and I’m here, separated from Blaine, feeling lost, sick. “How did this happen?” I mutter. “This wasn’t supposed to be my life.”
“And do you think I wished this to be mine?” Now he decides to yell. Not before, when I wanted it, but now. “I haven’t let my guard down since I was eighteen! My best friend is now dead. I’ve lost one of the finest captains I’ve had under my command. Is it terrible? Yes. Does it hurt? Worse than I can even begin to describe. But I square my shoulders, hold my head high, and carry on. Moving forward is the only option.”
I’m glaring at him now, because I can’t push feelings aside the way he describes. I don’t work that way. I don’t know how to exist if I don’t feel.
“Here’s what you’re going to do,” he continues. “You’re going to take some time to mourn for those you lost and then you are going to realize that this mission was not a waste. Look at all you’ve accomplished. You saved Bleak from a life underground and Adam’s men freed half his people. You met a Forgery that fought against his programming—bent his will to help you! Above all, you have given us our best edge in years: an ally. Adam has assured me that the Expats will put our numbers to shame, that together we will be unstoppable.”
I can see the logic to his words, but the price paid in the process of gaining these assets seems unjustly steep.
“Now as for this alliance,” Ryder continues, “I’m sending a captain to help oversee things out west. Elijah will meet Adam at neutral ground—about a three-hour hike north of Crevice Valley—and he should be to you by tomorrow evening at the latest.”
“And Blaine,” I say. “Send Blaine, too.”
“That was not a part of our agreement.”
I slam my hands on the table. “I don’t care, Ryder. Just send him!”
As if on cue, there is the sound of a door bursting open on Ryder’s end, and then Blaine, speaking from out of view.
“Is it true? I heard you made contact with them!” And then he’s stumbling into the frame, pushing against Ryder, who is trying to restrain him. “Gray!”
His hands go into his hair, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing, and I don’t know how I ever mistook a Forgery for him. This is Blaine, so real and alive I can feel it even though he’s only on a screen. Ryder is pointing back toward the door, asking Blaine to leave, but Blaine pulls up a chair.
“You look horrible,” he says as he sits down.
“Thank you?”
He laughs and I can’t help but laugh, too. It fills an empty space in my core.
“I’m coming,” Blaine announces. He says this so surely it’s almost as if he believes he can blink his eyes and be next to me.
“You are not,” Ryder says.
“Ryder, I’m going and that’s the end of it. I sat here when Gray went into Taem to get the vaccine and it nearly killed me. I spent the last month chewing my nails and worrying nonstop while he trekked across the country. You keep us apart again, and I’m just going to hike there myself. You know I can do it. I’m well enough now.”
I’m speechless. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Blaine disagree with someone so forcefully. Ryder opens his mouth, closes it.
“Fine,” he says eventually. “You two are as stubborn as your father.”
I’m beaming, because this seems like the very best kind of compliment, and Blaine thanks Ryder profusely.
“Gray, be sure Elijah gets in touch with me when you’re all settled over there,” Ryder says. “Until then, I’m sure you have some things to attend to.”
He stands and moves out of the frame. I hear a door close a moment later and I’m left with my brother. All I wanted was to see him, and now even this is not enough. Tomorrow seems terribly far away.
“Pa’s dead,” I blurt out.
“What?”
“He jumped in front of a bullet. To save me. And . . . it’s a long story. I’ll tell you everything when you get here. I promise. I just couldn’t keep it from you and I’m sorry it happened.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
He’s making one of his big-brother faces now, something like parental concern mixed with sympathy. “You’re okay, and that’s what matters.”
“He mattered, too, Blaine.”
“I’m not saying he didn’t. It’s just that you matter more.”
I shake my head. Blaine’s always doing this: weighing outcomes as though every piece of life is either more or less important than another. I don’t think he realizes that in no way does my living make our father’s death any easier to accept.
When I look up, Blaine’s hand is resting against the display, like he wanted to grab my shoulder and forgot we were on opposite ends of the country.
“I’ll see you real soon, Gray,” he says. “Promise.”
“If I’ve learned anything these past weeks, it’s that you shouldn’t make promises. Not ever. Nothing is so certain you can guarantee it.”
He smiles. “Oh, I’m guaranteeing this. There is nothing more important right now than getting to you. You come first. Always.”
I feel like we’ve had this conversation before, but I can’t help repeating his final word.
“Always.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
I ROUND UP THE TEAM so that we can properly say good-bye to our dead. It is a crisp, clear afternoon, the sky so cheerfully blue I swear it is mocking us.
We walk behind the house and form a half ring around a small fire pit, the wind at our backs. I clear away the snow and nurse some flames to life. Sammy says a few words the way he did that day in Stonewall. A funeral should make you feel at ease, help you move on, but I just keep feeling guiltier and emptier and unworthy of being alive. I made it and they didn’t. That’s the bit that kills me most, but that’s how it is with death: It doesn’t care if you deserve to face it or not. It comes of its own accord and it takes life without considering how those left standing will feel. Death is a greedy, selfish thing.
Sammy brings things to a close and Bleak, Clipper, and Bree head inside, shivering.
“You going to be here awhile?” Sammy asks.
I stare at the flames. My legs feel like roots, suddenly, reaching deep into the earth. “I guess so.”
“Great. I’ll be right back.”
When he returns he’s clutching a near-empty glass jug, amber liquid sloshing in it as he walks. He takes a swig and passes it to me.
“Swiped it from the kitchen pantry.”
I take a drink and the burn of the alcohol is a welcome distraction. We pass the jug back and forth a few times, watching the fire like it’s doing something interesting.
“I loved her,” Sammy finally says. I have never before heard him say three words with more sincerity.
“I know,” I say, because I’ve suspected it for a while.
He seems startled by my answer and coughs on a bit of alcohol. “Was it anything like her, or did I fall for an illusion?”
“Sammy, that Forgery was so much like Emma it terrifies me. It had her personality and her voice and her mannerisms. I mean, it fooled me, and I grew up with her.”