Page 160 of The Thirteenth Child
Leopold frowned, not understanding. “Blowing out Papa’s candle here might not kill him there?”
“No. I know that part will work,” I said, offering no further explanation.
I remembered the curl of smoke from Kieron’s spent candle dancing into the dark of the cavern. I’d watched it until it had completely wafted apart.
Leopold studied me, questions burning in his eyes. “When all this is over,” he finally said, with considerable care, “I can’t wait to hear each and every one of your stories.”
“They’re not all happy,” I warned.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I want to know them all. I want to spend the rest of my life, however many years my candle has left, learning everything there is to know about you.”
My eyes, already so full, began to grow wet with tears. Before I could think better of it, I grabbed his collar and pulled him to me, pressing my lips to his. I closed my eyes and kissed him deeply, thoroughly. I couldn’t bear to look at any of his futures, to see him age and grow old with someone else at his side, but I could claim thismoment as my own. I kissed him now, leaving my mark on every one of his futures.
My mind’s clock, forever ticking the passing of each second, finally made me pull away. “Thank you,” I murmured against his mouth, stealing one more peck, certain it was the last kiss I’d ever share with Leopold.
When all this was over, I was leaving Martissienes, leaving its court, leaving everything, including this beautiful boy who could never be mine.
“Please tell me exactly what I did,” he said, his voice low with appreciation. “I need to make sure to do it over and over again, as often as possible.”
“Leo…” When I opened my eyes, I didn’t see as many versions of him as I had before. The candles’ lives didn’t stand out to me as bright or consuming. I sighed. “We’re running out of time.”
“We haven’t tried this aisle yet,” he offered, pointing.
I led the way, passing my gaze over each of the burning tapers, catching snippets of so many lives. When I saw Cherise bent over a set of Bellatrice’s stockings, I wanted to cheer.
I stopped in front of the wide table. “Here. It’s Cherise. There’s Aloysius.” I pointed to a candle, noticing with a pang that there was only an inch or so left of his wax. “Bellatrice,” I said, finding a tall taper. I paused fretfully on hers. “She’s not at the palace.” I focused on her image. “She and Mathéo are in a carriage. They made it out. They escaped.”
Leopold leaned against my shoulder, searching for a sign of his sister. “You can see her? Right now? Does she look all right? Is she safe? Is she scared?”
I watched her tip her head back as Mathéo kissed his way down the column of her neck, his hand sneaking under her skirt.
“She’s fine,” I said, quickly looking away.
I scanned the table, searching for King Marnaigne. It should have been easy to spot him, his candle was so tall and new, but it eluded me.
“Here’s Euphemia.” I pointed, seeing the princess writhe and struggle against her sodden bedsheets. Her flame burned high, making the wax run.
“Phemie,” Leopold whimpered, watching his little sister’s life burn up before his eyes.
“This is you,” I murmured, gesturing to the candle beside hers. It was disconcerting to see Leopold in the flame, watching him move as he did beside me now, bending down to examine himself. Both versions moved in perfect unison.
“We have to find Papa,” Leopold pressed, his eyes darting around the table as if he could make out the lives himself. “Phemie’s candle is so thin.”
I started at the top of the table, looking over each candle again, methodically, logically. I could feel the godsight leaving me, leeching from my system, and every last moment of it needed to count.
“Wait! Here he is, I found him,” I said, catching a flash of the palace once more.
He was in the throne room. King Marnaigne looked furious, his face nearly purple with rage. He was yelling things I could not hear, stabbing his finger into a chest of blue brocade.
Margaux.
“He’s upset with Margaux,” I murmured, watching the scene play out. “He’s shouting at her. She’s crying.”
“Good,” Leopold said. “Maybe he’s finally seen her for the snake she is.”
The king grabbed her robes, hoisting her up till they stared eyeto eye, her hands dangling loosely at her sides, trembling in terror. His face reddened, his mouth curling into a snarl as he called for the guards.
I pulled myself out of the vision and picked up Marnaigne’s candle. It didn’t matter what happened to Margaux now. Leopold could deal with her later, when he was king.
