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480 pages, Paperback
First published August 15, 2016
“How, I wondered, was one meant to live without killing, when killing sought one out at every turn? The world made its monsters indeed.”




He appeared in the mouth of the alley, and I made myself look at him. I looked at him, and I saw him, really saw him. The boy I first glimpsed in a boat out at sea, the one who turned me into a fighter, made me see what mattered in life. The boy who kissed me first, made love to me first, proposed to me first, planned to spend the rest of his life with me first. I had all my firsts with this man, this young, charming, flippant creature, this smiling creature, this laughing joking sarcastic impatient obnoxious generous creature. This was a man who died for his people, who was killed doing something foolish and brave and whose eyes had turned gold for me as he died.
‘Avery,’ I said, reaching for him, everything collapsing within. No walls remained, not even the skeletons of walls.
He was here with me, in my arms, his lips finding mine at last and I was wide open, my heart his. ‘I never kissed you enough,’ I whispered. ‘I never had enough of your laughs. I never got the life we planned, but I got a different life, one without you, and you got no life, you just got to watch mine. And that’s not fair.’ Here it was, flooding from me in a wave of guilt. I had a perfect, wonderful life, and he had nothing. He had the eternal loneliness of watching that life and not being able to share it. He deserved so much more. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’
‘I love you,’ Avery said urgently, holding my face and hair and cheeks. ‘I love you and I love your husband and your children. I love every moment of your life, I love it like it’s mine. You don’t understand how empty it would be there without your happiness. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t stop – you keep me there by the veil. Your love, petal, and Ambrose’s, too, it holds me close always.’
My hands trembled from clutching him so tightly. I exhaled in a rush. ‘I’m not a petal anymore. I’m nothing like one.’
‘You’re better,’ Avery said, kissing me again.
He was so real in my hands, against my mouth. He felt warm and alive and he tasted like my childhood, like my adolescence and my memories of first becoming a woman. He tasted like the fish we caught and tasted off each other’s bodies, and he tasted of the salt in our tears.
And then he tasted of nothing, no longer warm and alive because he was gone again, leaving nothing but the echo in my ears of his last word, my name on his lips.
King Thorne
‘Da?’ I whispered, barely daring to believe.
And he was saying over and over again, ‘My boy. My boy.’
The Slaughterman of Pirenti. Most feared and loathed man of a nation. My father. Here. Saying, ‘My boy,’ over and over like a prayer, like it was the only thing that mattered or would ever matter.
I felt my arms come up and around his mighty frame, so tentatively. And like the thawing of a great glacier I felt my heart – this heart that had grown up hating him for all that he’d been and all that he’d failed to be, hating him for leaving me to be feared just as he was, for his legacy that meant I could never be forgiven, and hating him most of all for being absent – I felt this heart fracture like a fine sheen of ice over a winter river, cracks snaking out and out and out until the whole broken surface sank. I was submerged in his scent, my father’s scent, in the magnificent physical presence of him, his size and strength, and more than that. Ambrose spoke often of giants and never once described a giant as being large in size, but in spirit. Even this most fallible of men, this person who had fallen prey to his most monstrous side, even a boy who’d been so easily manipulated by his mother … even such a man, Ambrose called a giant. I had never understood it. Not for a second. Violence, in my mind, had never meant spirit. And yet here he was, holding me like I had always in my most secret heart of hearts wished my father could. Once upon a time I’d asked my uncle, who raised me, how he could love such a monster. How he could forgive such a monster. And he said that his brother had one quality more than any other, and that I would realise one day how much that quality meant. He had been right – it was my wife, in the end, who taught me how much it meant. Taught me so that now, in the grip of his trembling fingers, I knew how to recognise it, could feel and understand it, could be awed by its power. Here in the grip of a giant I had never met, in the unexpected love of a slaughterman, I felt it: loyalty.
Avery
My first thought when I opened my eyes was that I had died.
Because I was lying across the spine of a flying pegasis that was not Migliori, and I was in the arms of a person with long, black hair, golden eyes and dimples when he smiled.
‘Sorry I’m late, petal,’ Avery said. ‘I had a long way to come.’
Jonah
Buildings were burning and I couldn’t tell if the flames were real or not. It was all over, and falling, and the blood from my stomach was spreading from my center out and out and out and as I watched, utterly powerless to stop it, Jonah fell to his knees, and his eyes found mine, and he said through the blood in his mouth, ‘Tell my sister I love her best of all,’ on a whisper, on a breath, and then he was dead. I could see the life go from him, the buzzing lights of fireflies rising and coiling out of his chest with unbearable loveliness.
Penn
Count the seconds now. Count the moments that pass as she grows wearier, as she grows older. She is heavy with the weight of greed, the burden of magic. She gave in to that burden long ago, let it crush her into something small, small, too small for a soul to fit inside. So I’ll count the seconds until she is free, until I can use the strangeness of fear to release what hides within her. And I’ll count the seconds until I go, too. I’ll count until I can’t count anymore, can’t count all of my favourite things, like Finn’s stories or Jonah’s jokes or Isadora’s words. I’ll just keep counting, and the numbers will fill me up and quiet the buzzing, and they’ll be gentle and sweet and they’ll fill my one single heart to bursting.
Finn
A sound left me, a low groan, and I had to catch myself on the balcony. ‘Come back,’ I gasped. ‘Come back.’
Finn shook her head gently. ‘I shouldn’t have tried to bring anyone through. We live and we die, and that’s as it should be. I’ve had three births already – I need no fourth.’
‘I need you,’ I said. ‘Either you come back or I follow you. That’s as it should be.’
‘Thorne. If you love me –’
‘If?’
‘Because you love me, you will live. You will live, and it will be such a life. Precious and rare and full.’
But that wasn’t my life. Not anymore. Life was abruptly too long. Impossibly long. It stretched out unendurably before me, filled only with loneliness.
‘No,’ she murmured, ‘life is a blink. Less than. I can see it now.’ Her legs swung back and forth. ‘Don’t tell anyone yet. Leave it a while. Let them … be.’
Grief made a shell of me, a husk. I didn’t care about anyone else. My beast was howling and howling and howling within. He would never stop.
Then my wife turned to me and smiled again, and I could see the freckles on her nose as she whispered, ‘It’s beautiful here, Thorne. It’s filled with the most beautiful music. Shh … if you close your eyes and listen, I’ll show it to you.’
And so I did, and she did. Through the deep binding between our souls, the one that would never break, not even in death, I heard the soft humming voices of the dead, and it was. It was extraordinary. It was the meaning of it all. It was love.