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Dreams are deadliest for the dreamers.
“Thank you for the tea, Agga. Griff, shall we?” Agga’s knowing smile follows me out of the house, like I’ve just accidentally let her in on a secret. Which is stupid, because it’s no secret Delo’s— Delo’s what? Kind, thoughtful, and charming.
But when I set off for the Kraken’s arms, he follows, cursing. I can’t hear most of it, but I make out death wish and stubborn as a stormscourge. I pat Sparker’s flank affectionately at the remark and hug my pike tighter to my side. “Aren’t we?”
She flashes me that same knowing smile she gave the morning Delo visited. “Delo got your punishment waived. That poor boy, has he been pining since before Julia? I had no idea.” “What? He’s not pining—” “Griff,” says Agga, tapping my nose. “Try to be a fool about a limited number of things.” I close my mouth. “He always was my favorite of them,” Agga goes on merrily. “Kind and steadfast. Kept you out of trouble despite your best efforts—” I yank the covers off myself. “Delo and I have a strictly professional relationship.”
“And when we were younger, and you wouldn’t shut up about him? Agga, guess what me and Delo did today, Agga, you wouldn’t believe what Delo said to Ixion, Agga, Delo’s definitely the nicest of the lot—” “That was years ago!” “Well, he brought the aloe yesterday.”
“You got a girl waiting for you, Delo?” “Griff,” says Delo, like I just asked a really stupid question.
We stand as close as we stood the last feast day, when I leaned toward him and he jerked closer. And his breathing has gone light again, telltale light, and I’m alive as if I’m riding Sparker— “Griff, I don’t . . . I never wanted it to be like that.” His eyes are so close, close as Julia’s used to be. Except his are so dark they’re almost black. “It wouldn’t,” I tell him. Our voices are soft, barely a whisper, as I lift my fingers to trace the back of his neck, to snag the curls at the nape. “Why wouldn’t it?” he asks. “Because I want it.”
But the rest of it is entirely different. The way, with Delo, I want it so badly that even in the moment I want more. The way, in so many small things, he gives where Julia only took. I feel as though, with every touch and kiss and breath, I am relearning something I’ve learned wrong.
I hear myself do the automatic thing in return, the informal you. “You knew her?” His face darkens. “Aye. I knew her.” Griff uses a slightly different word for knew with an edge of fury that makes the hair on the back of my neck rise. He scrapes his fingers through dark curls and his whole face scrunches. He wipes carefully, applies pressure again. And then he murmurs, so quietly I wouldn’t hear it were he not crouched by my ear: “I’m glad you killed her.”
“But keeping power is so much more difficult than gaining it. You have to make sacrifices. You keep sacrificing until you realize the thing you’ve sacrificed is yourself.”
“They are hurting. This city is hurting. Hurt people hurt people. We must hold our heads above it.”
I don’t need Power’s encouragement to be strong. I don’t need anyone’s encouragement to be strong. Strength isn’t the problem. It’s what you do with it.
Some things you don’t have to see the proof of. Some things you just know.
Who are the most deserving? Not the smartest, or the fittest, or the wealthiest: the youngest. The future.
Delo’s voice is soft and shaking. “If you can’t see why I did it,” he says, “then I’ve no answer that will satisfy you.” I lift my head to look at him. He looks back at me. And that’s when I know: Delo didn’t tell them anything. Delo stands by me. Even now. I lower my head wondering if it’s possible for a body to contain such triumph or such love.