When he asked me what had happened, I thought about lying to him. For a moment I really considered hiding the truth to protect my mother. Nobody else needed to know what she'd done, that she'd failed at her job and it had gotten her killed.
But Tamerlane Fayette was still out there, and he wanted to kill everyone who knew he was alive, which now included me, Oona, Asher, and Asher's grandmother. Not to mention any other innocent people who got in his way.
So I told Samael the truth. I told him, and I watched his expression change from shock to horror to disappointment to horror again. I didn't leave out anything, even the parts I wanted to, and he listened patiently.
"We need to keep this quiet," he said once I'd finished, and the air had gotten so cold, I could see his breath when he spoke. "I can do that, and I will. No one outside of this room can know the truth. Not yet. Do you understand?"
I nodded. "Yeah, I do."
"Do you have someone you can go home with?" he asked. "I don't think you should be alone."
I motioned to Oona, who'd been standing beside me the whole time, but Samael looked at her like he'd forgotten she was there. This was all a lot to take in for him, I supposed.
He nodded, then, brusquely, he reached out and hugged me, pulling me close to him. I closed my eyes for a moment. He smelled of autumn leaves and campfires, and his arms were so warm and strong. I realized that I couldn't remember the last time my mother had hugged me, or what she smelled like, other than cigarillos.
"I'll take care of her," he promised me, then he let me go. "You go home and take care of yourself. We'll talk soon, okay?"
I nodded because I didn't think I could talk without crying, not anymore, and I let Oona take me out of the apartment. I don't remember leaving or walking or any of the way home, but I know that eventually we made it home. The first thing I said was that I didn't know if I was an orphan or not, because my mother had never bothered to tell me much about my father. That never seemed like a big deal before, and I was always fine that it was just the two of us, except now it wasn't just the two of us.
It was just me, and it would only be me from here on out.
"That's not true," Oona insisted as I stared out the window at the vast city below us. "You have me. You'll always have me."
"Nobody really has anybody," I told her. "We all must die, and we all die alone."
THIRTY-THREE
I lay on the sofa in my living room, staring blankly ahead. Bowie kept nuzzling my hand, trying to get me to pet him, but I couldn't muster the energy.
"You need to eat something," Oona told me, standing before me with a bowl of harira soup. The scent of savory tomatoes, ginger, and lentils was usually enough to whet my appetite, but right now it only made me more nauseated.
"No, I don't," I said.
"Mal." She sighed and set the soup on the kitchen counter. "You've been lying on that couch since we got home yesterday. You can't just stay there forever."
I rolled over, burying my face in a throw pillow, and muttered, "Watch me."
After a long silence, Oona gently said, "I can't even begin to pretend to understand how you feel."
"Then don't try," I snapped.
"Fine. I'll leave you be. But when you want to talk, I'm here."
I heard her footsteps retreating to the other side of the apartment, toward her bedroom, but a knock at the front door halted her progress. I didn't bother to roll over and instead just lay buried in the couch, listening as she answered it.
"Asher," Oona said in surprise.
"I heard about Marlow, and I wanted to see how Malin was doing," he said.
"That's how she's doing. You can try talking to her, but I don't know if she'll talk back," Oona offered bleakly.
I rolled over to see Asher standing in the doorway. His normally handsome face had aged under the burden of remorse. Dark circles under his grave eyes, deep creases of worry on his forehead, and lips pressed into a grim frown.
"How'd you hear about Marlow?" I asked.
He took that as an invitation and stepped into the apartment. Oona closed the door behind him before quietly retreating to her room, giving Asher and me some space to talk alone. There was an awkwardness about him, a tension that hadn't been there before, and it wasn't from Marlow's death.
I could almost feel him wanting to reach out and comfort me, but he managed to suppress the urge, instead restlessly rubbing at his thumb as he stood in front of me.
"I have some friends who are on the Vordr force," Asher explained. "They said they're keeping it under wraps how she died, but it's still big news on the inside that a Valkyrie was killed."
I sat up on the couch and, without the potency it deserved, I mumbled, "Tamerlane killed her."
For a moment Asher said nothing. Slowly, almost weakly, he sat down on the couch beside me and gaped at the floor. "You found him?"
"Yeah, but only long enough for him to kill Marlow and then escape again."
He grimaced. "I'm sorry I dragged you into this."
"You didn't drag me into anything. This was all Marlow's fault, remember?" I said. "And besides that, Tamerlane admitted he was in search of Marlow, so it was only a matter of time until he found her. Her death was inevitable."
My mind went back to the conversation I'd had with Sloane Kothari, where she admitted that she didn't believe in free will, and that meant the whole world moved in predestination, with someone--or something--controlling everything.
I wondered again if that was true, and if there was anything I could've done to prevent Marlow's death, or if this was the way it was always supposed to be.
Maybe she'd broken free from her track, and her punishment had been death. Because if the whole world exists rotating in a perfect order, there is no room for someone going rogue. Eventually she was bound to be ground up and destroyed inside the machine.
"I'm still sorry it happened," Asher said, pulling me from my thoughts.
I shrugged emptily. "Yeah, well, you know how it goes."
"When my mom died, it was the worst day of my life. I didn't know how I would ever get through it," he said.
I rubbed my eyes and snapped, "But you did, and I know that I will, too." I was in no mood for a pep talk or an inspirational speech about the strength within or how I'd always carry memories of Marlow with me.
"I never doubted that you would," he responded. "You're strong and resourceful."
"Thanks."
"But it does make it easier if you let people help. My grandma--"
"You had a family to help you," I cut him off. "I don't."
"Family doesn't have to just be blood," Asher contended. "You have your friend Oona. You have me. I'm sure you have others you can count on."
"Marlow told me that Valkyries didn't do well with long-lasting relationships," I replied, and even as I was arguing against him, I knew there was truth in Asher's words. Oona had been my best friend for years, and I'd always be able to count on her.
But at the moment I didn't feel like agreeing with him. I wanted to be isolated in my pain. That's what Marlow would do.
"I don't know about all Valkyries, but that is true for some," he admitted.
I laughed hollowly. "Good to know Marlow wasn't wrong about that."
"But you can make your life what you wish. My mom did."
Asher looked at me--really looked at me, for the first time since he'd come over today. Before, his eyes had been focusing just off to the side, as if looking at me directly would spur an awkward conversation about our kiss the other night and how that played into our relationship, which was now further complicated by my mother's murder.
He was now stuck in the terrible position of comforting me over the death of someone who had caused the death of his own mother. But when he looked at me, there was no anger, no sense of justice or retribution. Only compassion and hurt and warmth.
His normally stormy eyes were like a calm sea, inviting me to join him in peace, where the two of us could cling to each
other for comfort. So, when he reached over, taking my hand in his, I let him. It made me feel ... safer and less alone.
"Well, your mom sounds more progressive than mine," I said.
"Marlow seemed like a very complicated, strong-willed, independent woman." He spoke slowly, as if choosing his words carefully.
"She was. She was all those things and so much more," I agreed. Then, rather abruptly, I said something that had been digging at me since she died, since before then, really, but since her death it had been a sharp dagger twisting inside my chest: "I don't think she loved me."
The realization of that coupled with Asher here, attempting to comfort me and care for me, only compounded the brutal truth that I didn't think anyone had ever really loved me. Maybe Oona had. Probably, actually. But sometimes I needed more than one solitary friend in the whole entire world who really and truly loved me.
"I..." Asher took a deep breath. "I honestly didn't know her. I want to tell you that she did love you, in her own way, and I think that's probably true, but I don't know."
"It's okay," I lied as tears welled in my eyes. "I think I always knew that she didn't love me. And I was okay with it, because I thought, That's normal. Valkyries can't love. This is just what we are. But deep down, I always knew that was a lie. Because I loved her."
Asher put his arm around me, pulling me close to him and letting me cry into his shoulder. He held me fiercely in a way that I couldn't remember anybody else ever holding me, and he kissed my hair.
"I know nothing I can say will take your pain away," he whispered. "But I promise you that I will do everything in my power to avenge Marlow and my mother. Tamerlane Fayette won't escape death again."
THIRTY-FOUR
In the Rosehill Cemetery, bodies were piled on top of each other. The population explosion of the last few centuries had created the need for alternative burials, with cremation and shared graves becoming the top affordable options.
Fortunately for me, that was one thing I didn't have to worry about, thanks to my mother's status as a Valkyrie. All Valkyries--whether they died in the line of duty, by accident, or simply from old age--were buried in the Mausoleum av Veteraner Fran Kriget Mot Ododlighet.
The crypt sat on a large hill in the center of the cemetery, surrounded by rosebushes, which had already begun to wither and die with winter around the corner. It was a large square building made of white marble, with the only decoration being the coat of arms above the door--a shield emblazoned with the three horns of Odin and nine swords fanned out behind it.
Inside the mausoleum were hundreds of white marble drawers, all labeled with simple gold letters stating each name, year of birth, and year of death. Nothing more, nothing less. Near the end of the hall, in a spot four rows from the bottom, was my mother.
MARLOW GRACE KRIGARE
Her letters were brighter and shinier than the others', since they were newer. Fresh flowers stood on a pedestal near her tomb, and an Eralim in a black uniform stood to the side, presiding over the funeral.
It was a sparely attended funeral, the way many Valkryies' funerals were, but Marlow had even fewer connections in life than most, I suspected. There might have been more mourners, but Samael was doing everything in his power to keep the news of her death from spreading.
Valkyrie deaths could be rather public spectacles if allowed to be, but in Marlow's case that would only lead to questions and suspicions and unwanted attention for myself and Asher. So Samael kept it quiet, and only eight people had shown up, including Samael and his two guards, Atlas and Godfrey.
Oona had come with her mother, Rhona, and they stood on one side of me, while Asher and his grandmother Teodora stood on the other. Both Oona and Asher seemed ready to reach out and steady me, should I need it, but I held strong throughout the service, and never shed a tear.
The Eralim presiding spoke of living a life of honor and virtue and dedication, and I wondered if any of those words even applied to Marlow. He finished up by talking about how Marlow was at peace now, and I hoped at least that part was true.
"I'm so sorry about your mother," Rhona said after the service had ended, and she squeezed my hand tightly. "I can't imagine how difficult this must be for you."
Atlas and Godfrey offered similar sentiments, giving me their sympathies for my loss, and I realized that nobody really had said anything about Marlow. I appreciated that. I didn't need them lying to me about how kind or generous she was. She didn't need her memory to be exalted higher than how she lived her life.
Teodora smiled thinly at me, pulling her black cloak around her. "I know your mother and I had our differences, to put it lightly, but I would never wish this upon you. Losing a loved one is never easy."
"Thank you for coming," I mumbled, because I didn't know what else to say.
Asher looked like he wanted to say something, but Samael stepped up, edging his way in.
"Mind if I speak to Malin alone for a moment?" he asked.
Asher looked to me, his gaze protective and warm, and I nodded to let him know it was okay to leave my side. "Sure, of course," he said, squeezing my hand gently before turning to take a few steps away. The other guests had gone outside, leaving the three of us alone in the mausoleum, and Asher lingered nearby with just enough distance between us that he wouldn't be eavesdropping.
Samael's eyes were red-rimmed and his umber skin was unusually pale, and though I don't think he could ever really look bad per se, this was the worst I'd ever seen him. Even his lush curls seemed lifeless today. He fidgeted with his handkerchief and stared down at the floor, which was covered in petals from the dying flowers left on the doors of other tombs.
"What do you want to do?" Samael asked finally.
"What do you mean?" I asked.
He lifted his aquamarine eyes to meet mine. "About Tamerlane."
"I plan to kill him," I replied honestly.
"You don't have to," Samael said, then he hurried to correct himself. "I mean, I can take care of him. I will, if that's what you want."
"I appreciate that, but I think I would rather handle it myself," I said.
Samael nodded. "I thought that's how you would feel. But I wanted to let you know that I'm here to help you as much or as little as you need. I want to end this bastard just as much as you do."
"I do need help finding him," I admitted.
I'd spent the twenty-four hours after Marlow died numb and unable to think of anything, really, and then Asher came over and woke up the pain inside me, and it all came tumbling out. Since then, I'd only really been thinking of one thing--how to find Tamerlane and kill him.
The only speed bump in that plan was that I had no idea where to look. Marlow was the one who had connections--she'd introduced us to Cecily Stavros, who was able to point us in the direction of Tamerlane.
But without Marlow, I didn't know where to start.
"I'm already on it," Samael assured me. "I have feelers going out as far and wide as I can, and as inconspicuously as possible, of course. And just so you know, I'm also having a few off-duty Vordr keep an eye on you and Oona, in case Tamerlane comes looking for you."
"I don't really think that's necessary," I objected.
"I'm not doing it for you," Samael said with a pained smile. "It's what Marlow would've asked me to do. She wanted you safe."
I lowered my eyes, since I couldn't argue with the wishes of a dead woman. "I'll just keep a lookout for them, then."
The clacking of heels echoing through the mausoleum caused me to look up, and I saw Quinn Devane walking slowly toward us. She wore all black, and managed to somehow look beautiful, even on a day when I didn't think I'd be capable of finding beauty in anything.
"I'm not interrupting, am I?" Quinn asked, chewing her lip.
"No." Samael shook his head, then touched my arm gently. "I'll let you know when I found out anything, Malin. Take care."
"Thank you," I said, and I watched him walk away, disappearing outside into the overcast afternoon
. Only then did I finally force myself to look back at Quinn.
With her silver hair cascading around her shoulders, she had an extra ethereal quality to her to beauty, and I realized that I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her in the daylight. So much of our relationship had been done clandestine, with stolen kisses in dark bedrooms, both of us with busy schedules and me afraid of what the higher-ups at Ravenswood would think.
Seeing her here like this reminded me of seeing a teacher outside of class or an actor out of costume. It was disarming, and suddenly I felt uneasy. I looked over at Asher, who still lingered down the hall, reading the plaques on the wall, and just knowing he was nearby gave me the strength to face Quinn.
"What are you doing here?" I asked finally.
Her eyes were filled with sympathy as she softly said, "I heard about Marlow, and I wanted to make sure that you're okay."
"I'm fine."
Her shoulders sagged, and her lips twitched slightly. "Malin, I know you're hurting. Why do you have to shut me out like this?"
I ran my fingers through my hair and tried to think of all the things I wanted to say to her, all the emotions I couldn't form the words for. The contradictions of missing her and being afraid of her. Wishing she hadn't come here and also grateful that she still cared.
Feeling edgy, I glanced from Quinn to Asher, and I realized the key difference between the two of them--Quinn left me breathless and invigorated and pushed me too far so that I never felt safe, and Asher left me breathless and exhilarated and made me feel ... certain in a way that she never had.
Quinn was always a question, and Asher was the answer.
But right now I couldn't deal with it, so I just looked up at her and asked, "Do you really think now is the best time to do this, Quinn?"
"No, of course not. I'm sorry." She lowered her eyes and shook her head, her fair cheeks reddening subtly with shame. "I only wanted to ... I wanted to let you know that I'm here for you, if you need me. For anything at all."
"Thank you, but..." I began, but then I realized we weren't alone. A man was wandering through the vast halls of the mausoleum, carrying a large bouquet of flowers. It was so big, it looked like he might nearly topple over.
"Sorry," he said as he approached us. "I have a delivery for the Krigare funeral?"