“I’m sorry,” she told Solon. “I’m just worried that I’m running out of time.”
“Now you have to say you’re sorry, too.” Claire held out a cherry to Solon.
“I regret nothing,” Solon said, and turned away. “Trenton, you’re next.”
“Wait,” Cat said. “I could do more. If we went back to those hazelnut trees, I could revive them. My grandfather grew pecans—one tree produces six hundred pounds of nuts per year. Say there were fifty trees in that grove. That’s three hundred thousand pounds of food. The Poet said his family is starving. I could help.”
“None of you will leave the protection of the glaze,” Solon said.
“My family could be starving right now,” Cat said. “If there was something someone could do to help them—”
“You cannot handle what is out there.” Solon glared at Eureka, making her wonder if he knew where she had been last night.
Dad approached Solon. “I’ll give it a shot. What do I do?”
“You don’t have to, Dad,” Eureka said. “You’re not well.”
Solon looked hard at Dad. “Your quirk is likely buried very deep within you. But it’s there. It’s always there. Perhaps a tool might help. Ander, the orichalcum?”
Ander unzipped his backpack and withdrew three silver objects. First was the delicate anchor they’d used yesterday to make landfall. It gleamed as if recently polished, as all the objects did. There was also a sheath, six inches long, and made of thinly hammered silver. From it Solon drew a futuristic-looking spear that was, amazingly, many times longer than the sheath. It was nearly four feet long, with a thin serrated blade.
The last object was a small rectangular chest about the size of a jewelry box. It contained Atlantean artemisia, a substance deadly to Seedbearers. Ander had flashed that chest at his family when they tried to run Eureka off the country road in Breaux Bridge. Its green glow had scared them off. Solon eyed it greedily.
“The objects before you are made of orichalcum,” he said to Dad. “Before Ander brought them here, I had not seen them in three-quarters of a century and was beginning to think they were mystical aspects of my imagination. Orichalcum is an ancient metal. It is also an indentured metal, which means it works for its owner. You may choose one—which is to say one may choose you—as a talisman to help uncover your quirk.”
Dad stared at the objects. “I don’t understand.”
“Can we please stop trying to make sense of things?” Solon said. “It’s supposed to be natural, like it was for your children. For example, this one speaks to me.” He lifted the chest’s lid and gave a deep, sensual sniff.
Ander snapped the lid shut. “Are you suicidal?”
“Of course I’m suicidal,” Solon said, laughing. “What kind of insane lunatic isn’t suicidal?”
“If you die, I die,” Ander muttered. “I won’t abandon Eureka because you’re too much of a coward to live.”
Solon raised an eyebrow. “That remains to be seen.”
“Dad, take the chest,” Eureka said.
“Yeah, I like this one.” Dad eased the chest from Ander’s and Solon’s grips. He opened the lid and recoiled at the sharp odor. Solon leaned forward, breathing in, enchanted. Eureka noticed that Ander leaned forward, too. Seedbearers couldn’t resist artemisia.
As Solon bent over in another consuming coughing spell, Dad watched with a concern that Eureka recognized. He’d looked at her that way all her life.
“You have cancer,” he said.
Solon straightened, stared at Dad. “What?”
“Your lungs. I see it clearly. There’s darkness here”—he gestured toward Solon’s heart—“and here, and here.” He pointed at two other places along Solon’s lower ribs. “Artemisia could help. The herb eases inflammation.”
“Hear that, Ander?” Solon laughed.
“This artemisia comes from Atlantis,” Ander said. “It’s far more potent than any herb you are familiar with.”