I love you, she thought desperately, I love you, I love you, I—
“I judge you guilty,” she whispered, pressing the sword against his throat, every muscle trembling with the effort of holding it back, not killing him yet as she lowered her head and pressed her mouth to his in a desperate ghost of a kiss.
And she knew what she was about to do, knew exactly how it would feel to push her sword that last inch and shed his blood across the white stone of the courtyard, knew it so well she almost thought it was happening—
His palm slammed into the side of her head with a deafening clap, rocking her to the side, and then he was out from under her, grabbing his sword.
“I love you,” he said.
And as Juliet lunged for him again, she remembered the song he had once sung to her: Journeys end in lovers meeting.
Runajo shuddered as Juliet lunged again at Romeo. She wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. Because she didn’t deserve to look away.
She had put this fate on Juliet. She had no right to find it too horrifying now.
But even as she thought that—as she helplessly braced herself for the moment that she would feel Juliet die, the same way she had felt Paris die—her mind was still scrabbling for a way out.
There had to be a way to countermand the Juliet’s killing. It was the only thing that made sense. Why would the Catresou create a weapon they couldn’t choose how to wield?
Romeo was bleeding from his arm, but he was still on his feet, still moving quickly. Runajo didn’t know anything about sword fighting, but even she could tell that they were drawing this out. Juliet couldn’t stop herself from killing, but she could make everyone watch, make all the Mahyanai know what they were doing.
What Runajo had done. Because this was all on her, and her sudden, brilliant idea to save Juliet from dying by making her a killer.
Maybe it was just as well that she couldn’t find a way to free Juliet. It might turn out just as terribly as when Runajo had handed her over to Lord Ineo. She had been so sure of herself then, sure that she was doing the right thing, but when had she ever known what she was doing?
The thought caught, shivered, and repeated: When did you ever know?
She hadn’t known there was an answer in the Sunken Library. She hadn’t known there was a way to end the Ruining. She had guessed, and gambled her life and Juliet’s—the same way she’d gambled all Viyara when she and Sunjai and Inyaan bullied their way into the Cloister to remake the walls.
And maybe it was foolish to gamble again, but what did she have to lose?
The moment that Paris had died, it had felt like the air was gone from Runajo’s lungs. She had staggered, the world dimming in her eyes, for several endless moments unable to separate herself from his death. Unable to realize that her heart was still beating. The gap where he had been still yawned in her mind.
Even though they had been bonded for no more than a day, and their minds had barely touched ever, and he had been nothing dear to her.
If she lost Juliet—
Runajo was moving before she finished the thought, pushing her way to Lord Ineo’s side, where he stood watching the duel.
“You have to stop this,” she said quietly, rapidly. “Do you want your son to die?”
Lord Ineo gave her a look of weary disdain. “No traitor is a son of mine.”
But she noticed the tendons in his tightly clasped hands. He wasn’t as calm as he pretended.
“Do you want to be known as the man who had his son killed? Because that will be your legacy. That’s what they will remember, not his treachery. Not even that you saved the Upper City.”
“There’s no way to stop her,” said Lord Ineo. “You know that.”
Runajo knew nothing. She only had a wild guess, and a hope that it could be true.
“Yes, there is,” she lied. “If you pardon him, and declare his people kin. I read it in one of the records we stole from the Catresou. The Juliet enforces justice, but she must abide by the treaties of her clan. Do you think they’d want a weapon they couldn’t control?”
Somebody shrieked. Runajo looked back to the duel, and her heart thudded. Because a Mahyanai girl—it was Arajo, the one she’d seen hanging around Juliet before—had bolted into the middle of the courtyard and flung herself between Romeo and Juliet, arms outstretched.
“Stop!”
And even through the walls between them, Runajo could feel the sudden spike of Juliet’s fear, because this was an innocent, but the compulsion to kill was driving her nearly mad—
“You can’t kill me,” said Arajo, very pale. “I’m your clan.”
“No,” Romeo shouted, and tried to pushed his way forward between them, but Arajo threw herself forward at Juliet, grabbing her arm—and more people ran forward—
Runajo looked at Lord Ineo. “Your people will do it if you don’t,” she said.
He knew it; she could see it in the way his mouth twisted. “Stop,” he called out, his voice ringing across the courtyard. “He is my kin and I pardon him.”
For one heart-stopping instant, Runajo thought, What if it doesn’t work?
And then she felt Juliet’s dazzled wonderment as the need to kill was gone.
Her hands.
That was the first thing Juliet noticed, in the dazed moments after Lord Ineo called out the pardon and left her head ringing like a bell.
Her hands weren’t moving. They felt hollow, at once heavy weights and lighter than air. Nothing drove them, twisted them, gave them power.
Then she was shaking and then she had fallen to her knees. She stared at her hands—braced against the ground—and she wasn’t killing, she wasn’t hurting anyone, and she didn’t know if she could breathe through this much joy.
“Let me go!” she heard Romeo shouting, and she managed to raise her head and see him kneeling in front of her. His hands hovered beside her face, just barely not touching, as if he were afraid—
“Juliet,” he whispered. “Are you all right?”
Because Romeo had never been afraid of her, only afraid for her, even when she’d been about to kill him. Juliet smiled and found she couldn’t stop.
“Yes,” she said. “Yes.” And she reached out and touched his cheek—the unbloodied one, that she hadn’t cut. They were both still bleeding from the wounds they had put on each other, their peoples were still at war and the whole world was dying, and none of it mattered because of this. This: the warmth of his cheek under her thumb, the cautious, steadying pressure of his hand against the back of her head.
What did you do? she called silently to Runajo, because she knew there was only one person who could have found a way.
I persuaded Lord Ineo to pardon him, said Runajo.
That was enough? How did you know? Another time, Juliet would rage or weep that she had never known it could be so simple, but not now. Not when Romeo’s forehead was pressed against hers and she could feel his breath against her face.
I didn’t know, said Runajo. I guessed. And then I lied.
Thank you, said Juliet, and did not care that she hadn’t forgiven Runajo, could not forgive her. Thank you.
Wait until we’ve finished negotiating with Lord Ineo, said Runajo.
But Lord Ineo was not a problem. Juliet had just found the strength to rise, to lead Romeo by the hand before Lord Ineo—but she hadn’t yet had time to speak—when there was a commotion at the gates. It was Subcaptain Xu, but over her uniform was hung a new gold chain. She strode through the courtyard without looking to the left or right, straight up to Lord Ineo, and said, “I must speak to you. And the Catresou.”
“About what?” asked Lord Ineo.
“The Exalted desires peace among her people.”
Lord Ineo’s eyebrows went up. “Her people?”