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Sevro looks back at me, wide-eyed. “I hate space.” “You hate everything.”
He hands me a towel, which I blow my running nose into. He makes a face. “What?” “That was for your eyes.”
She puts a finger in the air. “No. Don’t speak. It’s not your turn just because I pause.”
“Does he really believe in magic?” I ask. “He says gnomes steal ear wax from him at night. Mother thinks he’s been hit too many times on the head.”
“Can I …” He gestures to it. “What?” Mustang asks. “Can I have it?” Mustang squints at him. “All yours.” He scoops up the eyeball and jams it into his pocket, grinning merrily. He runs to catch up. “Collecting the set, hopefully.”
“And who do you know that can kill me?” I say, that ridiculous Gold rage building in my voice so that it might impress all these hungry souls. “The Jackal failed. Antonia au Severus-Julii failed. Proctors Apollo and Jupiter failed. Cassius au Bellona failed. Karnus failed. Cagney failed. Aja au Grimmus and her Praetorians failed.” The hangman failed. The mines and pitvipers failed. “And now you fail.”
Apollo thought he was a god. Augustus thinks he is. A god is not what I should be. A god is something to serve, something to worship. I’ve never wanted that. Eo never wanted that. Sevro will have to learn. This is about freedom. Yet it seems like everyone just wants to follow.
what is the bloodydamn point of surviving in this cold world if I run from the only warmth it has to offer?
“The dead can always hear us, my love. Why else do you think we sing? We want them to know that even though they are gone, we can still find joy.” Cradling my niece, she turns to look at me as she takes the first step up the stairs. “That’s all they’d want for us.”
