“Please.”
Blaise shifts slightly, his eyes moving past me to stare at the space over my shoulder. “In the mines, there are quotas,” he says after a moment. “You need to bring in a set weight of gems a day, otherwise they withhold your dinner rations. Which only makes you weaker and means that the next day you’re even more likely to miss quota. Not a very fair system, but it keeps everyone on edge, makes us determined not to come up short even once. If you miss it three days in a row, they put you in a cell deep in the mines, so far below ground you forget what fresh air tastes like.” His voice begins to waver, but he clears his throat and continues. “Most people who go into the cell don’t come out sane. Being that deep…it does something to people. It’s like spending years in the mines, but in the space of a day or two. Usually the people who are sent there are taken straight to their execution afterward.”
“But you weren’t,” I say quietly.
He shakes his head. “I was ten or so, and there was a man who slept on the cot next to mine. Yarin. He was about my father’s age before he…Anyway, he wasn’t well. The dust from the mines gave him a terrible cough and made him weak. He missed a lot of quotas, but never three in a row. He was careful about that, and our group always shared rations with him when he lost his. It wasn’t easy—the rations were meager already—but…what else could we do? We all knew that if he was sent to the cell, he would never come back to us.
“The guards knew it, too. They weren’t right, those men. They enjoyed watching us fail, they enjoyed beating us for it. And, maybe more than anything, they enjoyed taking people away for executions. And Yarin was an easy target. More than once, I saw them knock a handful of gems off the scale when they weighed his so that he came up short. The Kalovaxians are monsters, you’ve seen it as surely as I have.”
I think of the Kaiser and can’t disagree, even as thoughts of S?ren and even Cress protest.
Blaise continues. “Yarin was on his third day, and I knew there was no possible way he would make his quota. His cough was worse than it usually was, and he had to stop every few minutes to catch his breath. When the day started to draw to an end, he didn’t even have half of what he needed.” He stops to swallow, the lump in his throat bobbing. “But I did. The guards didn’t stay down there with us—they didn’t want to risk mine-madness—so they only entered for a few moments at the beginning of the day and the end. Before they came to fetch us after sundown, I switched my pail with Yarin’s. Yarin tried to stop me, of course, but it was done.
“When the time came to measure, Yarin passed, even when the guards took a handful out. And I didn’t come close to making it. But the guards had been overseeing us for as long as I could remember. They knew that since my first day in the mines, I never missed quota. They knew what I’d done, even if they couldn’t prove it. I thought I would die that day, but they had worse in mind. They killed Yarin with just a swipe of a dagger across his throat, right in front of the whole group, and then they took me down to the cell.
“I found out later that they left me there for a week, but I didn’t know that at the time. Down there, alone in the dark, a day feels like a year and a minute at the same time. When they finally came for me, I was huddled in the corner, my fingers shredded. I’d tried to claw my way through the stone, I think, but I don’t remember any of it. And I had this.” He gestures to the scar. “A mark, like Art’s hair.”
I trace my fingers over his cheek. Despite the chill in the air, the scar itself is hot to the touch, and it pulses through me like a second heartbeat. It draws me closer and drowns my thoughts in a pleasant hum, like when I hold a Spiritgem. The power of it frightens me, and though I don’t want to let go, I start to pull my hand away. Blaise’s hand covers mine, holding my hand over his skin, his scar. His eyes are so intent on mine that I can’t look away.
“You feel it, don’t you?” he asks.
“It’s strong,” I say, trying to hide my unease. I don’t remember Ampelio’s scar having that kind of power, nor did the markings on any other Guardian I’d heard of. I try to force confidence into my voice. “Glaidi blessed you. She knew how strong you were, even then. Your father would be proud.”
The muscle in his jaw tightens as he swallows. “It doesn’t feel like a blessing, Theo.” His voice is more of a breath than anything. “I can’t control the power. You saw what I did to the Kaiser’s chair, what happened in the throne room today. Ampelio helped as much as he could, but it wasn’t enough. I scared him, I think. I scare myself. It’s my fault they caught him. If I hadn’t lost control…”
“The earthquake at the mines,” I realize. “The one that sparked the riot.”
He nods, eyes dropping. “The one that killed a hundred people,” he adds. “And led to Ampelio being caught.”
I’ve never heard of someone wielding that much power without a gem, uncontrollable as it might have been. I hadn’t even thought it was possible, but I have no reason not to believe Blaise. The anguish written plainly on his face twists at my heart; it’s a feeling I know too well. I open my mouth to tell him it wasn’t his fault, that it was an accident, that Ampelio wouldn’t have blamed him. But as true as all those things might be, they won’t do any good. I know because even though I’m sure executing Ampelio was the only thing I could have done—even though he asked me to do it—I still feel guilty. Blaise’s guilt is just as bad, and there is nothing I can possibly say that will take even a small part away.
So I don’t say anything at all. Instead, I wrap my arms around him and just hold him while we both cry. His heart presses against mine, in tune, and when our tears slow, his lips press against my hair, my forehead, my tearstained cheeks. He begins to pull back, but I root him in place, drawing his lips to mine.
It’s a different kiss entirely from the uncertain one we shared three weeks ago, the one we haven’t spoken of since. The one I thought he rejected me after, though now I wonder if I misread that. It’s different, too, from the way S?ren and I kissed. Our kisses were filled with hope and giddiness, with the exploration of something new and beautiful.
This is a kiss of acceptance, for him as well as me. It’s forgiveness for things we’ve done that are unforgivable. I love him, but the realization doesn’t feel like plunging into ice water the way it does when I try to pull apart my feelings for S?ren. Because falling in love with Blaise was always going to happen, even if we lived in a simpler world where the siege never happened. Even if we were both unscarred. We were always going to end up here.
I can see it before me as clearly as if I’m looking through a window: our parents still alive and happy and teasing us for every tiny show of affection, Blaise and I walking through my mother’s garden hand in hand, kissing him goodbye when he leaves for his Guardian trials, kissing him hello again when he finally returns. I want that life so badly that my chest aches, and there is nothing I wouldn’t give to have it.
He holds me until I fall asleep, but when I wake up to the sun streaming through my window, I’m reminded that we don’t live in that simpler world. Because he’s gone, the others are watching me, and my back is screaming.
HOA WAS MERCIFUL ENOUGH TO let me sleep in—she knew I needed it. It must be past noon. For a moment, I forget what happened last night, but as soon as I move, the welts on my back send a lightning bolt of pain through me and I let out a hiss.
“The Prinz is back,” Artemisia says immediately, like she’s been waiting for hours for me to wake up. She likely has been. I slowly force myself into a sitting position.
“Did you hear me?” she asks when I don’t answer right away.