Chapter 55

When I heard the rush of the rapids plunging over the waterfall in the Between, I remembered to scrunch my eyes closed, keeping the painful godsight shut tightly away. Alone in the dark of my mind, I tried to orient myself, listening to where the falls were, hearing them echo off the back wall of the cave.

"You can do this," I whispered. "Kill the king and save the kingdom. Kill the king and save the kingdom."

I let out a long, calming breath, then took my first step toward Merrick's cavern.

"Kill the—"

"Hazel, wait!" When a hand fell on me, gripping my upper arm, I let out a shriek and involuntarily opened my eyes.

"What are you doing here?" I asked Leopold, aghast. "How didyou—"

I had to stop, had to close my eyes as I crashed to the ground. My head pounded, too heavy to keep upright.

Looking at him through a god's eyes was the most terrible thing I'd ever done.

I could see every potential path his life might take, every iteration he could become. Every version of Leopold was superimposed upon another, magnifying his silhouette into an infinite image of possibility. He was a king: a good one, a bad one, one that was not much of either; he was a captain: at war, at peace, triumphant, imprisoned. He was a playboy, a father, a drunk, a monk, a widower, without family, so much in love. He devoted himself to the crown, to the gods, to earthly pleasures, to scholarly pursuits. On and on and on it went. It was too much to take in, too enormous for one mind to process or understand.

I let out a sob, feeling as if my head was about to burst.

"What's wrong?" he asked, kneeling beside me. He rubbed my back, offering comfort when I couldn't explain. "Hazel, what's happening?"

I leaned against his body, trying to ground myself in the solidity of his frame. There was only one of him here now—there was only this Leopold, my Leo—but I couldn't shake the memory of his multitudes.

"Why are you here?" I cried, fumbling to find his hand. His fingers were warm and rough and here with me in this moment. I gripped them fiercely, tethering myself to him. "How did you gethere?"

"I couldn't let you do this alone. I didn't want you…I didn't want you to face whatever this is alone. When Félicité began to snap her fingers, I just grabbed your hand and didn't let go." He bent over my supine form, his lips brushing the nape of my neck. "Hazel, what's wrong? What's happening to you?"

"It's the godsight." I shuddered. "I see what they see. I see… everything. It lets me know the lives of each candle, lets me find who I need to find. But with you here right before me…" I winced, feeling as though I might throw up. "I see too much with you."

His arms encircled me, his chest a comforting weight against my spine. I wanted to stay there, wrapped up in him, until my sight was once again mine, until this whole mess was over. But I couldn't. I was the only one who could end this. I was the one who needed to right the wrong.

"We have to get to the cavern before I lose the sight, before we lose this chance," I said, struggling to sit up, struggling to stand when all I wanted was to sink. Everything felt harder with my eyes closed. Every task took too long. But I couldn't bear to open them and see all those Leopolds again. "There's a crevice along the back wall. Do you see it?"

"Yes."

"Can you take me to it? Will you be my eyes, at least for a bit?"

He kissed the top of my head. "For as long as you need me."

We made our way into the tunnels. Leopold kept one arm tightly around me, guiding my steps, and every so often, I'd risk a peek through lowered lashes, making sure we were on track, making sure we took the right path.

I knew we'd reached the cavern when his breathing changed, growing sharper, full of wonder. "What is all this?"

"Lives," I said simply, squinting against their brilliance. "All of our lives."

There were fewer than I remembered, and my heart panged, thinking of those lost in the war, those who'd succumbed to the Shivers. The placement of the candles looked different too, and the aisle I recalled King Marnaigne's candle being down was no longerthere.

"Stay behind me and don't touch anything," I warned. "If you should cause a wick to go out…"

I heard him swallow hard before he murmured his understanding.

We waded into the sea of flames.

With Leopold positioned squarely at my back, I dared to more fully open my eyes, inspecting individual candles as I searched for the king's. I led us down row after row, desperate to find someone within the king's orbit, but all I found were strangers living out their lives, completely unaware how quickly peril could topple their entire existence.

"What will you do when you find Papa's?" Leopold asked as I took us down a fourth aisle.

"I'm not sure," I replied, answering honestly. "There's so much I need to tell you, so much I need to explain, but there's not time. Just know that he was never meant to be saved. He's been living on borrowed time."

"Your time," he said, somehow understanding, if only a little.

"Yes," I whispered.

"I heard what you said to the gods. There's a deathshead?"

I bit my lower lip. We were going to have this conversation whether I was ready or not. "It's part of my gift from the gods. My curse, really. I see cures, but sometimes I also see the opposite. Sometimes I see when it's time for a person to die. Sometimes…I have to kill them, before they kill others."

He absorbed this. "You're going to kill Papa, aren't you? Blow out his candle here, killing him there."

I stopped in the middle of the aisle, feeling him at my back. I reached for him, finding his arm. "Yes. I'm sorry."

He was so quiet I nearly risked turning to see him.

Then, a small helpless noise.

"I…I didn't tell you before, but…Bellatrice has left the palace."

Relief rushed through me. "She got out?"

"I ran into her and Mathéo leaving the ball. She said Papa was after her, that Papa wanted her dead, and I didn't believe it—I couldn't—but then that god said the same thing, that Baudouin is her father. Do you think it's true?"

"It is."

Leopold sucked air through his teeth. "Papa will hurt Bells. If you allow him to live, he'll kill her, won't he?"

It hurt to answer. "Yes."

"And then you. And then who knows how many others."

Mutely, miserably, I nodded.

"What about Euphemia?" he continued. "Can she be saved?"

Tears began to fall. "I saw the deathshead on her too."

His intake of breath was sharp. "It was there? You really saw it?"

I glanced back, confused. "Of course I did."

Several versions of Leopold frowned, struggling to find their words, and I had to look away, feeling nauseous.

"I just wondered…With Margaux's gift…her chaos, her confusion…She said she wanted me to drink that poison so you'd use your candle to save me. Couldn't she be the one behind Euphemia's deathshead? What if it's not your gift you saw but hers?"

I froze, the possibility filling me with wonder. I'd never considered that the deathshead could have come from anyone but the Holy First.

My gaze fell upon the candles in front of me, and I caught glimpses of the strangers' lives. None of them was the king, and with a sigh of frustration, I went down another aisle, my insides feeling squirmy with indecision.

Could Margaux have made me see a deathshead?

"I don't know, honestly," I admitted. "I don't know how Margaux's gift works, but…I want to believe she could. I can't possibly understand why the Holy First would want me to kill Euphemia. It doesn't make any sense."

"It doesn't." Leopold jumped to agree. "So if it's not a real deathshead, not one of the kind you usually see, you could save her, right? Euphemia could get better."

I frowned. "In theory, yes, but she doesn't have the Shivers, not the normal strain of it, and I don't know if the black agar would work. Usually I see what the person needs—a cure, a treatment, something —but all I saw over her was the deathshead."

"And she's very sick," Leopold said slowly.

I nodded, my heart aching as I remembered the dark Brilliance pouring from her lips as she writhed. "Very."

"Papa was very sick too, when you gave him your candle, wasn'the?"

A wave of goose bumps broke over my skin. My words were colored with hesitation when I spoke, unsure of what Leopold was getting at, of what he was asking of me. "Yes, but…"

"Oh, Hazel," Leopold said, his fingers dancing over the curve of my shoulder blade. "No. I didn't mean that we should use your candle for Euphemia. That's not— I would never— No! No. You've given far too much of yourself for our family already. I only meant…if your candle once saved Papa…and that candle is going to be put out…couldn't we use his candle—your candle, truly—to save Euphemia?"

I hazarded a glance his way. Every one of the Leopolds looked so hopeful, so earnest.

It was an intriguing solution, one I wouldn't have thought of. Could a partially burnt candle be used to save another's life? Marnaigne's flame hadn't been burning for even a year yet. There was plenty of wick and wax, plenty of time left for Euphemia. And if it hadn't been a deathshead sent from the Holy First, if I had only seen some terrible vision that Margaux wanted me to see, then Euphemia didn't need to be killed, she needed a cure. One the king's candle would instantly offer her.

"We could try," I began. "But there's no guarantee it would work."

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 this moment 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 eye to 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.

I froze, the magnitude of what I was about to do crashing over me like a wave.

I was about to make Leopold a king.

Without warning, Marnaigne's candle changed, its flame flaring, a burst of heat exploding from it. The taper instantly melted, turning to a river of scalding wax that ran down my fingers, burning my hands. I cradled the fiery liquid, trying to salvage something of my candle, but it was impossible.

"Leo!" I didn't know what I was asking of him, didn't know how he could help.

But before he could reach me, the flame winked out, and the king was gone.