Page 233 of The Bone Season

‘Unless you fear Paige,’ he continued. ‘None of us could blame you for it. Beyond these walls, your city burns. Your façade of power is already dissolving – you who stole that power unjustly, long ago.’

‘We have not forgotten,’ Pleione said.

‘I do not fear the amaranth, nor these emissaries of Scion. They handed their world to us on a platter,’ Gomeisa said. ‘One night of fire will not break our reign.’

‘I’d tell you to go to hell.’ I rose. ‘But I’d say we’re already there.’

‘Indeed. Hell is for the dead, and we are death incarnate, 40. Where blood flows through your body, the æther itself is coursing in mine. Tell me, what fire can scald the sun? Who can drown the ocean?’

Gomeisa was walking along the gallery, his footsteps loud. Behind Warden, one of the newly arrived Rephs had appeared, along with Terebell.

‘I would like you all to reflect on our situation. Especially you, Arcturus,’ Gomeisa said. I could see him now, a silhouette in the gallery. ‘Given what you have to lose.’

Warden came to stand beside me. When he saw Liss, his eyes darkened.

‘He killed her,’ I whispered.

‘I want you to picture a butterfly,’ Gomeisa said. ‘Behold its ornate wings. See how it helps flowers to grow – graceful and beloved.’ He ran his gloved hand along the balustrade. ‘Now I want you to imagine a moth. It takes the same shape, but humans spurn it for its dullness; how it feeds on dust and rot.’

‘Maybe you’re the moths,’ I said. ‘You’re the ones who come out at night.’

‘A flawed comparison, to be sure. But your ancestors knew the difference,’ Gomeisa said. ‘They saw in us a greater rendering of themselves – divine beings, stronger and wiser. They gave us your world out of respect for the natural order. Moths, after all, cannot rule themselves. They see a fire and fly to it, unable to separate it from the sun. That is how we see your world, Paige Mahoney. A box of moths, just waiting to be burned.’

His dreamscape was in range. I readied my spirit, not caring how much damage it would do.

‘The Sargas family is your sun,’ Gomeisa said. ‘Let us be your guiding light.’

Before I could jump, Warden grasped my shoulder. His glove was back in place. ‘We can distract him,’ he said quietly. ‘Get to the meadow.’

‘He has to pay for this.’ My nose bled again, pressure building. ‘He can’t just—’

‘This is not one of your street brawls, dreamwalker. You cannot avenge your friend this night, but there will be others.’ Pleione never took her eyes off the enemy. ‘Go to the meadow. Ours is an old battle.’

Gomeisa was on our level now. When I saw his eyes – a rich purple, more red than blue – my stomach turned, my anger flaring. He must have fed on Liss as she was lying there.

‘If you survive this night, you will come to realise it was not so terrible here, 40,’ he said. ‘We offered you our sanctuary and wisdom. You were not unnatural here – lower, yes, but acknowledged. Here, you have learned to master your gift.’ He held out a hand. ‘The Sargas family is merciful. Even your allies know this. Arcturus betrayed us once, yet Nashira still allowed him to remain as blood-consort, respected.’

Nick was retreating towards the trap room. I glanced at the clock on the wall.

It was now or never.

‘I urge you not to risk Gallows Wood,’ Gomeisa said as I backed away. ‘It is an orchard of death, sown with mines. If they do not kill you, the Emim will – and we cannot allow you to waste your gift, a gift we had thought lost. Come back to the fold. This is your last chance.’

He knew his twisted logic well. The Rephs had relied on it for two centuries, using it to tempt the weak.

Pleione ran towards Gomeisa. Terebell and Warden went after her, both gathering spools. Nick seized the opportunity to tug me towards the trap room, but I hardly felt it. All I could feel was the æther.

The Rephs met in a great clash, like bells slamming together, making the planes of being ring. They fought not with guns or swords, but with the dead as their weapons. Each flex of muscle, each turn and step, sent a shockwave across the æther. They were dancing on the edge of life – a dance of giants, the danse macabre.

The spirits of the Bone Season still lingered in the hall. Terebell sent a spool weaving around the pillars – thirty spirits, all spinning and rising together, converging on Gomeisa. I waited for the blow to fall. By now, Nick was transfixed as well.

With a sweep of his hand, Gomeisa shattered the spool. Like glass shards from a mirror, spirits burst across the hall. As I watched, Terebell went flying into a wall, Pleione into a pillar. When the Reph I didn’t recognise charged, Gomeisa simply cut his hand upward. The motion flung his attacker on to the stage. The boards splintered under his weight, sending him into the trap room.

Gomeisa could use apport. For all intents and purposes, that made him a living poltergeist, able to move objects – and people – from a distance. My heart thundered as his gaze turned on me.

Warden stepped between us. He faced his enemy, unarmed and unarmoured.

‘Always a slave to the past, Arcturus,’ Gomeisa said. ‘Always last to give up.’

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