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Nashira will not let you go once you are in her clutches. She will chain you in the darkness and she will drain the life and hope from you. Your screams will be her music.
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I do not know how it happened, but in the aftermath of London, the aether has bound our spirits. I felt it for the first time while you had your fever, and saw it in my dreamscape. It is...a golden cord
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It roots me again. You remind me what it is to have a home.
Arcturus Mesarthim knew what it was like to feel.
He knew the depthless well of his own abilities, burdened as he was by tragedy and pain, but he also knew the foreign touch of another soul’s emotions. He’d felt heat in the sarx of another through dreams. He’d known anger and grief and fear through the eyes of other Rephaim. To him, both that and his own had always felt like being immersed in a great body of water, enfolded into the feeling and held there with it.
Humans, though. It had been a century since he’d first experienced the shock of it. Delving into the dreams of an Oxford captive at the direction of his blood-sovereign, he’d pulled himself back so sharply that he’d almost taken the man’s spirit with him. He might’ve killed him by accident.
Humans, in their raging spark of life, felt their world with an intensity and ferocity that he would never have expected. Where Rephaim were softly drowned, Humans sparked like lightning; their fear left a taste on his tongue, their anger outpacing his heart, their tenderness thickening like mud under his skin.
Nashira had not required him to attempt such endeavours again.
Arcturus had never forgotten the feeling, his oneiromancy clutching to the memory with a fervour reserved for specific lessons. Even so, he had staggered mid-step the moment he felt the golden cord pull taut.
He had not lied to the dreamwalker. The entire connection remained a mystery to them all. But he had not been able to find the words to describe the feeling in that moment, even if he had wished then to share them.
It had been a tiny weight, lost amongst the pain and monotony of his dreamscape, too insignificant to attract his notice. And then, within the space of a minute, he’d felt the vibrations of a heart–not his own–steadily pulling as if rooted to his very spirit. It had crescendoed with the palpable fear, the shock of pain, and the smell, as ever, of some kind of flower.
When he’d reached out instinctively, the cord had been there, waiting to be grasped and Arcturus had followed its pull straight to that place he swore he’d never return, reaching the landing of Tom Tower just as Paige had looked up.
When she’d met his eye, he thought he’d known the degree to which something had changed.
He had been mistaken.
Arcturus knocked once against the door and heard the voices beyond it cease abruptly.
He waited patiently as the humans conducted their safety checks, watching as one of the curtains parted a sliver and a flash of half a face was visible for the briefest moment. A couple of words were exchanged and then someone was fiddling with the lock and the door was cracked open just far enough for Nick Nygård to peer through, a pistol still held steady in one of his hands.
“Dr Nygård,” Arcturus knew how he must look, drenched through with the rain, snow caking his boots, “Apologies for not calling ahead.”
Nick’s eyes were bloodshot and red-rimmed. He glanced up and down at him and then squinted behind him at the mournful night.
“I am alone.”
A sigh. “You’d better come in then.”
Inside the derelict safehouse, Nick led him through an entryway and into a larger, sparsely-decorated room where a small collection of people had gathered around a table. All of them were standing and all of them were armed.
“Warden.” Ognena Maria’s drawn face softened but she did not holster her gun. “You’ve returned.”
“Indeed.” Arcturus glanced around at each of them, “Eliza, I hope your wound is healing well.”
Eliza’s blonde head dipped a little, “As well as can be expected.”
“You need to dry off, Reph,” The Glym Lord said, looking around for something to offer him, “I’m afraid we’re out of freshly laundered towels.”
“The cold and wet do not bother me,” Arcturus replied, “Though I apologise for my appearance and the abruptness of my visit. If it is not too late, I had wished to join the meeting.”
“More the merrier,” Maria smirked, tucking away her weapon and throwing herself down into the nearest chair, “Tell us something fresh and happy, Warden.”
The others followed suit and Arcturus lowered himself down into a chair that the Glym Lord had nudged his way.
“Would that I were able,” he said, “What news has there been in London?”
“Nothing,” Nick said, leaning on the table across from him, “Less than.”
“We’re keeping the Mime Order fed and warm,” Eliza said, her voice still gravelly and guilt-ridden, “Lucida and Pleione have both continued to train voyants in combat. Between that and the necessary chores and errands Beneath, we’re keeping busy.”
Maria pulled out a roll of aster and stuck it between her lips, lighting it smoothly, “Don’t keep us in suspense, Warden. Where’ve you been?”
“I remained in Edinburgh for a time to track Nashira and Hildred Vance but my search quickly led me south again,” Arcturus said slowly, “I have been unsuccessful in uncovering any more information while my fellow Ranthen await word from the Archon.”
“You have been hunting Paige,” Nick said, his voice breaking over the name as if the utterance itself pained him, “For her body.”
Arcturus went quiet, looking at each of them once more. None of the Underqueen’s commanders looked well. Nick looked as though he had not slept since Scotland and Eliza was still thick with bandages. Beside Arcturus, the Glym Lord had his chin resting on his knuckles, his eyes unfocused on the table before him and across the table, Ognena Maria had the grey look of a chainsmoker, blowing aster from the side of her mouth.
It had been ten days since Paige had been shot and this was the first time Arcturus had seen most of them since they’d been smuggled back into London.
“You are under the impression that Paige is dead.”
“Oh mercy, Warden, please,” Nick’s face was distorted in pain, “You were there.”
“So I was. And if that bullet had killed her, Nashira would have hung her body from the Lynchgate.” His words were awful and every human in the room reacted, however much he tried to temper his tone and delivery.
Eliza shook her head, palms hiding her face, “She’s dead, the whole of Scion saw it happen.”
“You think they’ve got her holed up somewhere?” Maria took a long draw of aster as her face flushed with frustration, “We’ve looked. We’ve exhausted every contact we have. Nobody knows anything. The lines are cold.”
They certainly were. The golden cord was as numb and lifeless as Arcturus had ever seen it.
“You understand why we’ve had to keep going, don’t you?” The Glym Lord asked, “Losing Paige and Tom and now Senshield’s in full swing…it’ll be a miracle if we can keep any of our voyants alive.”
“I understand the feeling of helplessness,” Arcturus said, “I feel it too. The syndicate has never faced more hardship than it does now. But I believe Paige is alive.”
“If she is, she’s being tortured,” Maria’s face tightened with grief, “They’ll be tearing her apart trying to find out where she’s hidden us and there is not a thing any of us can do about it.”
“Maria,” Nick pleaded.
“I hope she’s dead,” Eliza’s shoulders shook and tears filled her eyes, “I hope she’s dead and gone so that they can’t touch her.”
Nick reached out a hand and gripped her arm, “Enough, all of you. We did everything we could and we’ve still got everyone we can spare out looking for her.” He looked to Warden with tears welling in his own eyes, his grief, like the rest of them, just as raw as it had been ten days ago. “I assume you came here with more than just this?”
“I am still committed to the Mime Order,” Arcturus said softly, “And I would assist it by finding the Underqueen.”
“How?” The Glym Lord demanded, “And how do you even know she’s alive?”
“I have been searching the aether,” Arcturus explained, aware, as he always was, of the golden cord and its dull weight in his dreamscape, “Since we have had no further information, I would move to seek some through more direct means.”
“That won’t work,” Nick had anticipated him, “And it would be against her wishes.”
Eliza looked between them, “What won’t work?”
“If I were to offer myself to Nashira in Paige’s stead, perhaps we might glean something.”
Terebell’s words came back to him as the leaders of the London Underground sat with the thought.
One human cannot cost us everything, Arcturus. I know you are grieved for the outcome but I will not forfeit our progress. Neither will I forfeit you.
“Would she go for it?” Eliza asked, breaking the silence, “Nashira?”
Nick’s attention was scrutinising but Arcturus weathered it, “I do not mean to disillusion you into believing that Nashira has any intention to release her. She has long held plans to assume Paige’s gift.”
“So what would we gain from losing you?”
“I am an acceptable loss,” Arcturus said, looking to Eliza, “It is not clear whether I would learn anything but I believe that Nashira may use Paige to taunt the Ranthen and a sacrifice may be worth that. The syndicate cannot afford any of your own losses in Paige’s absence.”
The silence resumed. It was clear that the humans were uncomfortable but Arcturus could not find it within himself to care.
Quite abruptly, Maria let out a barking laugh, making the Glym Lord jump.
“This amuses you, pyromancer?” Arcturus heard his voice in his own ears, chilling his own sarx.
“Sure does, Gigantor,” she took another drag of her cigarette, the hollows of her cheeks stark in the lowlight, “Why? Were you not intending to be funny?”
“I do not make light of Paige’s situation.” Arcturus felt the lapping of his own anger rising for his throat.
“Good, we’re in agreement there,” Maria’s smile was hauntingly false, “Because if you were serious, the syndicate would lose its strongest advocate in the Ranthen. And if that were not enough,” She leant forward across the table, no hint of her smile now, “you would insult the Underqueen’s sacrifice.”
Arcturus felt a tremor through his body, stemming from the scars on his back. Before he could answer, though, Nick spoke.
“Terebell has given her blessing for this move, has she?”
Terebell, as it happened, had categorically forbidden it.
“I am obligated since I am responsible for elevating Paige into her position.”
“You diminish her with that,” Maria spat, “Paige has her own autonomy. You’re not her keeper any–”
“ I never presumed as such !”
The room rang with his words and Arcturus could feel his heart hammering in his chest. The sensation felt innately human, irrational in the overexertion.
Ognena Maria had not relented on her intensity but he noted, as in the others, a change in her expression. But where Eliza looked a little fearful, Maria was exacting. As if she were evaluating a sum he could not see.
“You say she’s alive.” It was not a question but Arcturus inclined his head, “Well, if that is the case, then I believe she went in with a plan.”
“A plan?” Glym rubbed his face and swore quietly.
Maria hadn’t moved, her eyes still locked on Arcturus, “Yes. Something was brewing in Manchester and again after she met the Spaewife. Paige was learning from Vance the same way Vance was learning from her. If she is alive, I think she made a decision to be taken in and not just to stop the massacre.”
“The only thing worth that would be Senshield,” Nick said, “You think she realised something in that square?”
Maria broke her gaze and looked to the doctor, “Yes. In fact, I’d bet healthily on it.”
“We can’t stake the whole Mime Order on that.”
“Perhaps not. But I’m voting for a little faith.”
Arcturus felt the familiar beckon of hope, ready to embrace him. It took a great effort to temper it. He opted to hold his tongue in the wake of his outburst.
“Well.” Eliza rose and smoothed her down the front of her pants, “I think we all have faith in Paige. But for the moment, we should hold fast. If we don’t hear anything from the Archon by the night after next, we will begin the plan to usher the syndicate sects further afield.”
Nick bowed his head, “Seconded. We will meet Beneath in seventy-three hours. Sooner if there is news.”
He and the Glym Lord rose to their feet so that only Maria and Arcturus remained sitting. Nodding to the mollishers, the Glym Lord flicked up the collar of his coat and turned for the door. Eliza followed. Maria held Arcturus’s gaze for another long moment, her eyes narrowing a little.
“Faith,” she said, depositing the aster back between her lips, “We owe her that much.”
Arcturus’s eyes stayed on the spot where she had been long after Maria had left the room, his heart still thundering in his chest as though straining the bounds of his ribcage.
“Is there more you know?”
He had noted Nick’s presence but did not lift his gaze.
“There is more I fear.”
And as if those words had opened the door, Arcturus suddenly felt pain seize through his chest, doubling over to clasp the table in his shock as pain ricocheted through his trunk.
First you steal my memories, and now you’ve put a spiritual leash on me.
“Warden? Warden, what’s wrong?”
He had felt this twice since Edinburgh but there was no preparing for it, no tempering the fury.
So get rid of it. Sever it.
It was gone as suddenly as it came and Arcturus reeled, unable to speak as he grappled for the golden cord which was once again stiff and silent and dull. Nick reached to touch him, reflexive, as was his nature, but Arcturus flinched away as he hadn’t done in more than a century. It would look like he was no better than his Ranthen-kinth, unable to stomach the supposed desecration of flesh.
In reality, he could barely tolerate the reminder of his corporeal form, useless as it was to Paige Mahoney.
“Warden,” Nick Nygård was kneeling beside him, weary eyes wide and searching for a wound he could not see.
Arcturus gripped the table so hard that he felt the wood buckling through the leather of his gloves.
“She lives.” He said, voice no longer cold and steady.
“Was it a vision?”
Arcturus closed his eyes, the void inside him where the pain had been seemed to throb in response, as though in phantom pain for something he had lost.
“Of a sort.”
“What did you see?”
Arcturus was familiar with pain. Even with the shock, he could have borne it. But coupled with the abrupt constriction of innards he was not sure he had…He could barely speak to the sensation, felt, as it was, so acutely by the human body at the other end of his tether.
“It was not what I saw but what I felt,” he said eventually, opening his attention to the familiar drowning pain of his scars as though shared physical suffering might bring her closer, “It will not serve you to have it detailed, Dr Nygård.”
“Please.” His voice was tight and choked, “If it’s Paige then I have to know.”
Arcturus waited a long moment to be sure he would not take it back.
“She is in pain.”
Nick took a ragged breath and hung his head, “What kind?”
“At a guess,” Arcturus spoke slowly, the words in his foreign language heavy on his tongue, “the sensation was consistent with torture. Paige faces the waterboard.”
When Nick looked up, there were fresh tears on his face, slipping down his pale cheeks. He held Arcturus’ eyes with his, agony in his very aura.
“I won’t ask how you know,” he said, quietly, “Only that you’re sure?”
So even if I left this place, you would be able to find me?
“I am sure. I will meet with Terebell for any news. If there is nothing by tomorrow, I will present myself at the steps of the Archon and face what comes.”
“Paige wouldn’t want that,” The doctor said again.
Arcturus rose to his feet, looking down as Nick straightened as well.
“I cannot do nothing.”
“You have not fed.”
Terebell stood in the doorway of the Ranthen’s safehouse, dressed in a thick coat and a snow-adorned hat, her hair tucked away.
Arcturus turned back to the hearth, lifting the wine to his lips.
“I feel the need to remind you of my orders,” she said in Gloss, moving closer, “We await Alsafi’s word on your theory. Before then, we must assume that the dreamwalker is out of reach.”
He wished she’d leave. If he could just focus enough, enfold himself in the aether, perhaps he could persuade the golden cord to let him in again; to let him find her.
“Has there been any development from the connection?”
Terebell stood beside him now, stoic and imploring, her worry leaching into the very meaning of her words.
“The golden cord remains blocked,” he replied, “Similar to that of a silver cord in spirit shock.”
“Do you think this is intentional?”
It was exhausting just to form the words, “I cannot be certain.”
Terebell was silent for a long moment, her aura brushing his and making the muscles in his back tense.
“You understand my inference.”
It was not a difficult leap. Arcturus found, however, that he could not stomach affirming it aloud.
“If the Underqueen has created a stay in the connection, whether intentional or not, it is not unreasonable to assume that she does not mean to outlast Nashira.”
“She would not have made a sacrifice of that magnitude for nothing.”
“Arcturus.” He felt her glove brush his jaw and resisted the urge to draw away, “I recognise the duty you feel to this human but it is not worthy of your suffering. The whims of mortals are fleeting and irrational. You cannot know what she intended.”
Keep telling me how I feel, and my patience with this golden cord is going to wear very thin, very quickly. Can you sense my growing irritation?
“You are mistaken, as I have said before.” He felt the unbidden rumble through the aether. Gloss was the language of spirits. It translated more than simply words.
“Think what you will,” Terebell removed her hand, “Either way, you must feed.”
Her Gloss left an impression in the air even after she had left. Arcturus could feel an ache of her pain, the mirror of his own scars. He had loved Terebell once, with the same kind of ferocity that she applied so liberally. She was a force like few others and he still felt a deep sense of connection to her.
But she would never know the vivacity with which the golden cord had once sung. Arcturus suspected that to humans, it may translate slower in one direction; the lethargy of Rephaim emotions in comparison to mortal ones. He had said as much to Paige when he’d discovered it but even now, she might underestimate the degree to which her emotions took hold of him.
What he’d felt in Edinburgh would outlive Paige herself.
Staring down the barrel of her revolver, the intensity of her had been enough to buckle his knees. It had been like standing amongst a cacophony of dying stars; heat and light exploding all around. He’d felt the depth of her fear, the strength of her resolve, the steadiness of both her grief and indeed, her love.
For a career criminal, Paige Mahoney was bursting with love.
But I will. I'll stop. I'll go out.
The golden cord had been lifeless from the moment that bullet had hit her; when Arcturus had felt the impact on his own body, the crumpling of his own soul. It lay thick in his dreamscape as if turned to lead. He’d felt it stir only thrice since, once rousing him from sleep with the shock of pain and terror. But when he’d reached for it, he’d felt the block at the other end, some kind of barrier.
After months of having her shadowing his thoughts, riding the flaring and tempering of her day-to-day emotions, responding the moment he felt enough fear or fury or even, very occasionally, joy…there was a deep emptiness to the silence.
It was an ache of which he’d never known.
The hours came and went and still Arcturus waited.
He would give it until he met with the syndicate; where he would hand over the last of his possessions to Nick and Eliza and entrust them with his letter to Terebell.
She would never forgive him but his spirit would have to live with that.
He reached again for the cord, gripping it tightly, closing his eyes as he did, begging for that pull that would spur him in the right direction.
So even if I left this place, you would be able to find me?
Nothing.
Arcturus changed his clothes, leaving the finer items for the others. He packed a rucksack of Ranthen supplies; as much money as he’d been allocated, some nonperishable food from the cupboards, a woeful medicine kit from under the sink. He tucked the music box into the top–finished months ago and hoarded, stupidly, for the right time to be gifted, along with the letter. He owed an explanation to many of the others as well but he had fallen short in the task of finding the right words. Pleione, Lesath, Lucida, Errai, Alsafi after all he’d risked.
He’d extracted some of his own ectoplasm, despite the weakness that came with his hunger. He hoped Nick would stretch it as far as he could.
Arcturus left the safehouse for the last time and descended into the bowels of London.
“We heard back from the outer suburbs,” Wynn said, crossing her arms over her chest, “Nothing. No noticeable increases in patrols and no word from the prison surrounds.”
“Those nearest the Tower said the same,” Cully nodded, “We don’t have enough intel to rule it out.”
“We’re still awaiting word from the Ranthen’s contacts as well,” Nick said, glancing once at Arcturus before moving on, “In the meantime, Jack’s team are working with the Toshers and couriers for more supplies and we’ve got amaurotic associates keeping an eye out for news of the White Binder.”
“Our focus from here is to extend our rations as far as they’ll go and to keep the violence to a minimum,” Eliza said, lifting her chin as she took her place beside Nick, “We dishonour Paige with anything less.”
“And the plan to return?”
Eliza hardened her gaze. “We cannot return while Senshield is active and we cannot make another attempt to disable it until our access improves. We should prepare to spend winter Beneath.”
The silence was terse and grim.
In the lull of discussion, Arcturus thoughts were suddenly seized again by a consuming burst of pain. He had been waiting, a coiled spring ready to act. This time, his vision winked out immediately and through the panic and the agony, he was flinging himself into motion, retreating first to his dreamscape and then grappling for the golden cord. It was pulsing, its light shuttering by the second, no longer leaden but writhing, erratic as it flailed about. He grasped it, running with it to the edge of his dreamscape.
If he could just focus enough, pour enough of his might into the cord, think past his own fear and Paige’s–
Come on!
“Warden?”
He shoved aside the call, straining to hold onto the golden cord’s light, even as it flickered and died in his hands.
“Warden?”
“ Quiet !”
It was leaden again but he’d been able to hold it. The room around him slowly came back to his attention. He was standing, towering over the humans. Nick was closest, standing right before him, paler than even his normal complexion accounted for.
It was an agony not to be able to leave immediately, not to know where he should go. But the cord had been weak and heavy. It was poisoned and silent, not broken; not strained .
Paige had not left Scion England.
“We have been attempting to reach the Underqueen through the aether,” he said when his tongue found the strength for translation, “Such efforts require focus.”
There were members in the room who held no faith in Paige's survival. Arcturus paid no mind to the confusion on Cully’s face or the tight grief on Wynn’s.
“Did you learn anything?” Nick asked, barely a whisper.
“I believe she is in London.”
Chaos became the syndicate in a way only humans were able to permit. Voices vyed for purchase over one another, demanding answers or spitting accusations.
Arcturus was deaf to it all.
He took up the rucksack and strode from the room, entering the passageways of the deep shelter where he was forced to duck his head under piping and crouch through doorways.
“Warden!”
“ Oi !”
His arm snapped back the moment Maria’s hand made contact and Arcturus felt a wave of his own emotions, too complex and encompassing for the limits of his English.
“I know what you’re doing,” Nick heaved, his chest ragged with the intake of befouled air, “And I know Terebell would never have permitted it. You can’t go to the Archon.”
You’re not a prisoner any more, Arcturus.
“With respect, Dr Nygård, I am not governed by your syndicate and cannot be compelled by your order.”
“How’s this for compulsion?” Maria’s face was warped with anger, “You hand yourself over and who gets the blame? Do you think we have any chance of sustaining an alliance with the Ranthen without you? It was you and Paige who broke Oxford and without her, we rely on you!”
Arcturus knew she was right. Terebell would try as well as she could but the Ranthen’s prejudices ran as deep as the Sargas’. And yet, Paige was in enough anguish that the golden cord had been neutralised. She was being tortured; waterboarded if he was correct. And he could not abandon her to Nashira’s clutches.
“I leave you with this,” he pushed the rucksack into Nick’s hands, “It has all the supplies I was allocated and though I wish I could bequeath you more–”
“Warden, please.” Nick’s eyes were watery again, “Please, don’t do this.”
“Nashira would keep her close,” Arcturus implored him, “I must go to the Archon.”
Maria was glaring at him, “You remember that night in Edinburgh, Warden?
He looked at her, wondering whether her question was sincere.
“What did you see when she fled?”
“Do you mean to mock me?”
Maria shook her head, “Only to understand. Answer the question.”
“I watched Paige present herself into the hands of Hildred Vance.”
“Sure, all of Scion saw that.” Maria flicked a hand dismissively at him, “What did you see?”
Arcturus was still trying to decipher her meaning when Maria sighed, impatiently.
“Paige knew it was a trap and she knew the only way out of it was to follow us. You were in Oxford when she was incarcerated there. Even at the mercy of others, did Paige ever once give in?” The question settled over the three of them like a weight, “When you gave her an instruction to stay put or keep quiet, did she ever do so without question?”
You said I was in no fit state to leave. You should be more specific.
Maria looked from Arcturus to Nick and back again, “I might not know Paige as well as you both but I know that feeling. If she went into that snare willingly, she means to achieve something from it. We must not interfere until she has had a chance to do so.”
“How long do you propose we wait?” Arcturus asked, “Nashira means to kill her.”
“Knowing my Underqueen, we will hear of her progress, successful or otherwise.”
Patience. He was being prescribed patience by a mortal.
Nick offered him the rucksack but Arcturus pressed it back at him.
“Keep it safe here. There are things inside that you may find a use for.” He looked to Maria, “I commend your faith but I do not intend to wait forever. You should continue your preparations without me.”
Maria scowled at him but said nothing further.
Arcturus slept for the first time in over a week and his gift wandered of its own accord.
He had petitioned Lucida, one of his more sympathetic Ranthen-kith, to present herself at the next few meetings Beneath. Terebell herself would also make an appearance the day after next to discuss ongoing financing and training for the voyants.
Arcturus, meanwhile, had finally fed, pushed to pray on aura in the hollows of London before his blood thickened with starvation. Taking just enough to go on, he’d returned to the safehouse where Pleione had been resting and allowed himself a glass of wine and a meagre drop of amaranth before settling on a daybed to rest.
Sleep was fitful and felt like an insult.
His dreamscape self wandered through memories old and new, foreign and his own.
He watched Terebell in graceful momentum, a great sword catching the light with every swing. He saw Gomeisa hauling Rigel across the marble floor, shining ectoplasm dragging behind him. Then there was a poppy field and a poltergeist and agony across his back and Errai’s screams thick in his ears. The Rookery was burning and then all of Oxford was and then the Emim were everywhere, tearing the humans apart and suddenly he was back in that grove in the Netherworld. Terebell was not there, nor were any others.
From the trees around him came striking lengths of red; unfurling like sails from the branches, their velvet hems dragging and pooling in the grass until he had to reach out and draw them aside to be able to see anything in front of him.
And then there was Paige.
Her curls were escaping a chignon his own fingers had styled. She was wearing the white tunic from the first time he’d ever laid eyes on her.
In his anguish, his memories were melding together like boiling silver. He knew them each distinctively but they were rising so fast and falling away again out of reach that the way through which he walked was as unique as if he were experiencing something new.
Paige reached for him, opening her mouth as if to speak and then everything dissolved and the pain was back, shocking him awake, lurching him upright and after the golden cord.
He had barely touched it when he felt a pulse reach him.
The only way to survive is to believe you always will
Arcturus froze.
Amongst the burden of never forgetting nestled the privilege to never question his own perception. He had heard his own words, whispered back to him along the cord.
Maria had been right.
Paige faced the waterboard. And she meant to fight.
Waiting had long been a condition of immortality but even amongst the Ranthen, there was an air of impatience and the spur for action.
Arcturus applied himself with renewed vigour and when the Domino proposal arrived, he sympathised with the incredibly human urge to weep.
Everything moved so quickly from that moment forward.
The Mime Order kept floundering but the violence had subsided. The Ranthen continued their training, their bargaining, and their hunting for cold spots. Errai took a wound to his thigh and spent two tense nights fighting infection. Nick Nygård and Ognena Maria signed over a year of service and Alsafi made contact. His message was printed on the stub of an Underground ticket for a train to Westminster Station, departing at midnight. On the back of the stub were three words.
Forsythia. Stephanotis. Bells-of-Ireland.
Anticipation. Desire to Travel. Good Luck.
Arcturus was there, bundled into the back of the lorry, sitting idle for so long while the snow thickened around Whitehall and London burrowed herself under Yule’s heavy thicket. Alsafi’s network had wanted a Rephaite on what the amaurotics would only refer to as ‘the receiving end’. He’d been accurately aware as numbness had ebbed from the golden cord. He’d felt the jolt of adrenaline, the heavy drag of pain, the shock of injury.
And he felt the moment the golden cord hummed with proximity, its light shuttering still but alive, alive as it hadn’t been in weeks and before anyone could stop him, he was flinging open the back doors of the lorry to the light of a scarlet aura and blood-dappled snow and she was there, Scarlett Burnish was holding her up and her consciousness was fading but he had her, he had her, hehadher by the elbows and drawing her into his arms.
And then Burnish was speaking quickly to her associates and the masked medic was leaning over Paige, guiding Arcturus to lay her down on the floor of the lorry.
“--to me like that but the Suzerain knows and will act quickly. She needs to be in a position to move as soon as possible.”
“From Command,” another of the masked amaurotics said, handing her paper file which Burnish snatched and then quickly flicked through, “Do you know what they did to her?”
Burnish didn’t raise her eyes, even as the lorry took a hard corner, “No, I couldn’t even say where she was being kept. You must be the auxiliary?”
It took Arcturus a long moment to realise she had been speaking to him but he nodded when she finally prompted his attention.
“Yes, I am the Ranthen representative,” he said.
Burnish gave him an assessing look, “You should know that your contact within the Archon has been compromised. I’m sorry.”
Alsafi.
Arcturus looked down at Paige. She was illuminated by the headlamp of the medic who was feeding a needle into the bruised hollow of her elbow and counting her pulse by the face of his battered wristwatch.
“He was involved in assisting her?”
“So she said,” Scarlett Burnish handed back the file to a compatriot who tucked it away into a coat and resumed their tender hold of a shotgun, “Your sovereign-elect will be notified.”
Terebell would grieve, as would they all. Pleione would become the Ranthen’s sole Warden of the Sualocin. It was a tremendous loss.
And Paige would know it.
“She’s stable for now,” the medic raised his masked head, “You said the handover includes someone with medical training?”
“Yes, a doctor apparently.”
“First concern is the wound on her arm here,” the medic gestured to the bloody bandages on Paige’s bicep, “I’ve pulled the shard and cleaned it but the dressing will need replacing once the drugs are on board. I’ve given her an antibiotic and a light pain-relief but nothing more. Everything else will have to wait until after the crossing. She needs to be monitored for infection or anything else that will signal a quick decline.”
“I will inform the doctor,” Arcturus said, “She will be closely watched.”
From behind a partition, the driver knocked twice on the lorry’s wall and Burnish took a rucksack from one of the others.
“Prepare for handover,” she announced and then looked at Arcturus, “Can you carry her a short way?”
He didn’t even reply, just reached down immediately for Paige. Her injuries were everywhere but Arcturus could do nothing but remain as gentle as he possible as he pulled her limp body into his chest and tucked his coat around her. Her skin was pebbled by the cold, turning blue where it wasn’t already black or red with bruises.
When the lorry eased to a stop, Burnish and her colleagues wasted no time in opening the doors and ushering Arcturus through them. He saw a large closed over space that looked like a shed or an airport hangar before he was led through the side sliding door of another vehicle.
“You’ve got her? Warden, have you got her?”
A curse filthy enough to make any Bulgarian flinch and then the dim overhead light illuminated him enough for Nick and Maria to see and they were immediately beside him.
“Have you got medical supplies?” Arcturus asked him and Maria pulled up a leather satchel as Nick took Paige from his arms, his hands running over her swiftly, assessingly, even as he held back tears.
Burnish leant over to the driver before pulling quickly back, “Get comfortable everyone, we need to get moving.”
“I can’t believe it,” Nick said to himself, as he leant back against the side of the van, pushing matted curls out of Paige’s eyes and checking the pulse of her wrist, “Warden was right. She was alive all that time, I just can’t…”
“Nick,” Maria shuffled to his side, pulling the satchel with her, “Nick, I think she’s waking up.”
Arcturus was rooted to the spot as he watched Paige’s fair lashes tremor and her eyes ease open, looking up at her closest friend.
“Nick.”
The word was a broken hiss through torn lips and a raw throat.
She was alive. Arcturus leant back against the van, gripping the golden cord tightly to stem his drowning relief.
“Yes, sötnos. It’s me.”
Nick was smiling through tears, holding Paige with such tenderness that Arcturus’s heart ached. He watched as Paige tried to form more words but emotion consumed her and he let it, releasing the cord and feeling the ignition in her set him alight, letting those embers burn him away to nothing. There was no name for it in English as there was in Gloss. Paige just felt everything.
But I will. I'll stop. I'll go out.
Not this day. Not yet.
“It’s going to be okay, sweet,” Maria was crying too, rubbing a hand along her back, “It’s going to be okay.”
Every sob released more through the cord and Arcturus could only weather it, sitting heavily and watching as her friends fell into place around her until exhaustion overwhelmed it all and Nick fed scimorphine into her ruined vein. He pressed his forehead to Paige’s long after she’d faded back in unconsciousness. Then, he and Maria lowered her down onto a threadbare blanket and tended her wounds as Scarlett Burnish explained what had happened in the Archon.
Arcturus took up a pair of tweezers and set about checking the skin of her right side for glass shards. It wasn’t long before he held a small, bloody pile of them.
“...an alert throughout. I thought it was to signal her escape but…well. It’s hard to tell whether they were more concerned about her or Senshield.”
“What?” Maria snapped up and Burnish frowned.
“Senshield.” She looked between them, “I assumed that had been her plan all along.”
“You’re saying she did it,” Nick’s voice was hardly more than a whisper, “She disabled it?”
Burnish gave half a smile, “Disabled is not the word I would’ve used. Obliterated more likely, given the state of her.”
Maria laughed, breathy and choked, “That’s my girl.”
Nick was stroking a hand over her head and smiling. Arcturus longed to reach out for her hand.
“That’s right, quite a wreckage she’s left in her wake,” Burnish smirked, “Settle in, you lot, we’ve got a few hours ahead of us now.”
When she woke again, Nick and Maria leant against each other, dozing nearby. Burnish was reading through a file near the driver. In the quiet, Arcturus had moved as close as he’d dared and he watched her eyes twitch and her body shiver.
“You are a fool, Paige Mahoney.”
Aren’t you used to it by now?
Perhaps he should be. She was incomparable in her quest to do as she pleased.
Sorry for pointing a gun at you
Laughable. The apology was not hers to give but to accept.
In the quiet and in the dark with her eyes open and seeing and on him, he’d interlaced his fingers with hers and stroked her dirtied curls. He’d drawn a light touch down her cheek, missing the flecks of blood and broken skin.
She fell back to sleep with her hand still in his.
“She is human. And we all have our limits.”
Burnish was watching him with uncomfortable scrutiny but he could not help it, his gaze remained on Paige as he sat so closely beside her. He felt her consciousness stir through the cord and knew she could hear them, even if she wasn’t really listening.
“I will do my utmost to persuade Paige of the sense in resting for a month. But in the end, she must make her own choices, even when they hurt her. I am not her keeper.”
It was the truest thing he knew. He’d never truly been her keeper, even in Oxford. He could not stop a force like Paige Mahoney but he would be there, beside her, for as long as she allowed. She was alive, indomitable, a blazing wildfire of defiance. Nashira Sargas and the whole of Scion had been bested by the will of one mortal woman and Paige Mahoney had found her way back to him. She was alive, she was alive, she was alive .
The only way to survive is to believe you always will
And yet, even in those first few hours, he could see the cost. He had felt it like the coupling of an old film score, accomplice to the scene. And Arcturus knew that for as long as he lived, he would mourn the choices that this woman had been forced to make; her love and her fight would not allow for the quiet submission of her world.
Arcturus Mesarthim had never felt anything like this.
Weeks later, he would stand in the Underqueen’s wake and be asked a question that took him a little by surprise, the way Paige so often did.
Do you mind it? Being linked to me?
And Arcturus would have to find words in the language that had once been foreign to them both. Words that would fall short of what he had felt inside that lorry, holding her to his chest and wishing that there were not a force left in this world or any other that might be able to hurt her again.
Because he did mind.
He minded a great deal.
After being tied to her for months, the severance of light in the golden cord had felt more like death than anything he had yet experienced. Perhaps it would be the closest he ever came to the aether’s eternal lullaby.
Nashira Sargas feared death the way only immortals do; as certainty and finality and end. When the day came that mortality withered and the spirit of Paige Mahoney entered the aether, it would not be with any of those things, Arcturus knew. And it was this difference, the one the Rephaim so despised, that gave her power over immortality.
Her spirit was a rising song, an order in chaos, a bearing of truth beneath a mask. She was a chorus of autonomy and his favourite of all dreams thus far.
And he knew, as he had known on that platform in Oxford, that he would love her for it until the day the aether finally claimed him too.