Lark Ascending (5 page)

“What changed?” A breeze stirred, parading a few errant leaves and petals down the path between us.

Kris's mouth twitched, as though at some joke I didn't understand. “I met you.”

I realized he was still gazing at me, and abruptly my throat constricted. Even half starved and beaten by exposure, Kris was every inch as handsome as he was the day he first teased me in the Institute.

“Kris—” I began, my throat dry. But he shook his head, cutting me off with a gesture.

“Don't misunderstand me,” he said, with one of those disarming smiles, “I wouldn't try to edge my way in now.”

I was about to speak when Kris stepped forward, closing the distance between us to just a pace and a half. “I think you're more important than that,” he added.

I slipped my hands into my pockets, hoping warmth would calm my tingling fingers. “More important?” I echoed stupidly.

“Gloriette and the others were right—you're going to save us.” Kris let his eyes move past me, watching some distant moment unfold in his mind's eye. “You really were the one we were waiting for—we just didn't know what to do with you when we had you.”

“But I don't know what I'm doing,” I protested.

“Knowing what you're doing is overrated.” The corner of Kris's mouth lifted a little, though he was still not quite meeting my eyes. “Look where all my plans got me.”

My thoughts crowded in again. I couldn't help but see faces half-forgotten, imagining the people I used to know as they must be now—desperate, hungry for a savior. The fears I couldn't tell Oren came rattling out of me in a rush, eager to find harbor in Kris's faith. “I don't know if I'm ready.”

Kris reached out, his warm fingers encircling my wrist and pulling one of my hands free from my pocket so he could hold it in between both of his. It felt strange to be touched by hands that weren't Oren's—to feel no current of magic between us, no constant reminder of what he was. I could feel only the warmth of Kris's hands, the tiny flutter of his pulse at the base of his thumb.

Kris kept his eyes on our hands as he spoke. “This is what I meant. You're more important than me, more important than Oren. This goes beyond any of that. You're going to lead us; I believe that with all my heart. They'll follow you like an army. And I—” His eloquence faltered, and he stuttered to a halt. There was no sound, as if even the breeze had stopped to wait for him to finish. “I want to follow you,” he said finally. “I'll be your soldier. I just wanted you to know that.”

Though this section of the ruins wasn't as overgrown as the outlying districts, spindly trees had grown up through the cracks in the paving stones, and vines had overtaken the street lamps. Spring had prompted blooms to open here and there, and they glowed a pale gold in the morning light, framed by the young green of newly budded leaves.

The muddy remains of Kris's red architect's coat seemed even shabbier in comparison with the glorious morning, but he stood there with such dignity, watching me, waiting for me to remember how to breathe. He still had my hand cradled in his, and abruptly I realized it was no romantic gesture, but one of supplication, of respect. Of hope. My eyes burned; the blood roared in my ears.

A noise from a few paces away, sharp like a cracking twig, startled us apart. Kris dropped my hand and I flew back, whirling. Oren stood there, clearing his throat a second time. He didn't look at Kris—his eyes were on me.

“We're all clear.” Quiet, terse. Revealing nothing. “We should go before any of them circle back around.”

The walk back to the perimeter of the Wall was a silent one. Even Nix was quiet, nestled underneath my hair, as though demonstrating its loyalty. Oren walked in front, picking our path through the empty streets and alleyways—I could see nothing but the set of his shoulders, tense but unrevealing. Though I didn't turn around, I knew Kris was close behind me. I could hear his steps, nowhere near as quiet as Oren's, or even mine now that I'd learned better how to move quietly in the world outside the Wall.

My ears were still ringing with his words, with his loyalty and faith. Half of me wanted to scream that he was wrong, that he needed to learn as I had that heroes never lived up, that the more he relied on me, the more I'd disappoint him. I'd spent years longing for my brother to return, to make everything better, only to discover when I found him that he wasn't the hero I remembered. He was just a boy—just as I was only a girl, one girl against the entire city. I wished I could pound the truth of it into Kris's trusting heart—and yet something held me back.

True, Basil wasn't who I'd built him up to be in my memories. True, my faith in him was misplaced. But it had gotten me there. It carried me across a wilderness I couldn't have imagined and through a city I'd never seen. Maybe Kris needed the promise more than he needed
me
. Maybe all of them did.

•  •  •

We reached the Wall again by midmorning. Oren found us a section clear of obstacles, the harder for any errant shadows to sneak up on us. Kris dropped his pack next to ours and stretched, spine popping. “Once we get inside, we might not get a chance to rest for a while,” he warned us. “I've been gone for weeks now; there's no telling how things have changed in there.”

I glanced at Oren, who was crouching over his pack and taking inventory of the supplies inside. He still carried that tension, though, and didn't look up even though I knew he could feel my eyes on him.

“Kris—” I said hesitantly. “I'm going to need some time. To get ready.”

Kris's eyes flicked from my face to where Oren crouched. “Right. I'll go keep watch. Nix?” His eyes met mine again briefly as the pixie launched itself off my shoulder to go to his. Kris's mouth curved in a small, quick smile. There was a broken-down, rusted-over walker machine not far away—he turned and made his way toward it, inspecting its legs and eventually starting to scale the machine for a better vantage point.

Oren and I would be able to sense any oncoming shadows long before Kris would be able to see them, but I appreciated the gesture. If this was the last time we were guaranteed a moment to rest, it was also the last moment Oren and I would have alone.

I waited until Oren had finished his inventory and cinched his bag shut again with a savage jerk. He stayed in a crouch, elbows resting on his knees and hands dangling.

“Regretting coming with me on this suicide mission yet?” I asked lightly.

His eyes flicked up to meet mine, though I could barely see them through the messy hair falling down over his brow. “Give it time.” His voice betrayed nothing, and his face gave away even less.

Still, a flicker of relief coursed through me. A joke meant we were okay. I moved toward him until I could run my fingers through his hair, brushing it away from his eyes. “I'm going to need you in there.”

Unmasked, his pale blue eyes were more telling. His brow furrowed as he gazed up at me, silent for a long time. “You're going to need him too,” he said finally. “We're lucky he found us.”

He was telling the truth. We needed Kris's information—without him we'd be going in blind. But there was something else there, a deeper wound Oren was hiding. And no one hid wounds better than Oren. I reached out toward his face again, but he straightened before I could touch him and my hand fell away.

“I saw your face,” he said softly, unprompted. “Back there, with him.”

My heart stuttered a little, remembering how it had felt watching him with Olivia in Lethe, even when nothing was going on between them. “I'm not—”

“I know. That's not—” It wasn't like him to stutter or hesitate, but he stopped, his gaze searching mine. “I mean that I saw the way you held his hand. He felt normal, didn't he? He didn't feel like a shadow.”

Oren knew that every time we touched I could feel the tingle of magic flowing from me to him. It was a constant reminder of what we were, that neither of us was quite human, that there was a part of him that was and always would be a monster.

“That doesn't matter,” I said fiercely.

For once, Oren's face wasn't hard to read. There was a naked longing there in his expression, one that cut me so deeply I struggled to breathe. “Of course it matters.” He lifted a hand as if to touch my cheek, but his fingertips just traced a lock of hair and then fell again, avoiding the skin-to-skin contact that would trigger the flow of magic.

It doesn't matter to
me, I wanted to say. But that wasn't what he meant. It mattered to him.

I could still sense the shadow in him, even when he wasn't touching me—but it wasn't as visceral a feeling. I could ignore it, and so could he. At least, we could pretend to ignore it. I let out a slow breath, willing my heart to slow too. His wasn't the only presence I could sense, anyway. “I think there are some shadows out there, way in the distance. I should—I should get to work.”

I let him go to get Kris and Nix back and turned to face the Wall. I pulled the chain around my neck over my head so I could inspect the vial in my palm. My brother had given it to me when I left Lethe, saying it was what the architects had given him when he crossed the Wall, fully expecting to return.

The stopper was made of lead, and I reached for the knife in my boot as the others returned. Kris came up to look over my shoulder, fascinated. “What is it?”

“You don't know?” I asked, pausing to look up at him. “It's something the architects gave my brother.”

“Before my time,” Kris replied. “Basil was long gone before I became involved in the Iron Wood project.”

“It was supposed to help him get back inside the Wall once he'd located the Iron Wood,” I said, sliding the tip of the knife underneath the edge of the lead.

“Maybe some kind of magic amplifier,” Kris mused aloud. “Or a signal that'd alert the architects to come get him when he got back.”

“A signal?” Oren echoed, straightening. The last thing we needed was to bring a dozen architects to meet us when we entered the city.

“Unlikely,”
said Nix, trying to land on the smooth metal surface of the Wall, legs scrabbling awkwardly for a moment before the pixie gave up and buzzed off again to hover.
“And even if it was a signal, the odds that anyone is still looking for it now are low. Your brother was pronounced dead years ago.”

“True.” I wiggled the edge of the knife cautiously until the lead loosened, then slid free with a clink of metal on glass.

Nix surged forward and landed on my hand, crowding the edge of the vial. It had no sooner stuck its head over the edge of the glass than it jerked back, stumbling and buzzing in alarm.
“Some form of acid,”
it said.

“Let's hope it works like they thought it would six years ago.” I stepped forward and, taking a deep breath, upended the vial along the Wall.

The liquid hissed where it hit the metal, clouds of noxious fumes rising up and away. I dropped the vial as I jerked back, coughing, eyes streaming. The glass shattered when it hit the cobblestones.

Oren leaned forward, waving away the fumes. The acid had left deep grooves in the metal exterior of the Wall, turning a small section of its smooth, reflective surface into a scarred, pitted mess. He shifted his weight and gave the section an experimental kick, but the metal didn't budge—didn't so much as creak under the blow.

“I don't understand,” I croaked, lungs still protesting the acrid chemical smell lingering in the air.

“It is six years old,” Kris pointed out. “Maybe it's just not as strong as it was then.”

I took a few steps away from the acid-scarred section, getting some fresh air—and a fresh stretch of iron Wall. “Well, there was always a chance I was going to have to do this the old-fashioned way.”

Oren caught my eye, his brow furrowed, but I waved away his concern.

Gingerly, remembering what had happened the last time I'd tried to explore the Wall by magic, I leaned forward and rested my palms against the cold iron. Closing my eyes, I let my senses flow over the Wall, searching for any weaknesses. There was nothing—even the section of the Wall I'd scarred with the acid held fast. The Wall itself was magic, but the architects had made it absolutely impervious from the outside.

Every time I tried to push through, my magic just slipped and slid away, unable to find purchase. Sweat gathered between my shoulder blades and dripped down the small of my back, the blood pounding in my ears as I strained—for nothing. I took a few deep breaths, trying to clear my mind and start again. I pushed and pushed until spots floated in my vision, and it was only the sharp, sudden tingle of a drain on my resources that jolted me back, gasping.

Both Oren and Kris were dragging me backward—it was Oren's touch that had jerked me out of my concentration. One of them was saying something, but my ears were ringing so much that I could only hear his voice as a strange buzzing, like a low-frequency version of Nix's wing vibrations.

I shook my head, still gasping for air. My hearing cleared a little, and I could make out Kris's voice. “—just follow the harvester machines, they have to come in from somewhere. Maybe we can sneak in that way, through the Institute's warehouses.”

Oren was half supporting me with a hand under my elbow, his attention on Kris. “That could work,” he said slowly. “It'll just take more time. There'll be shadows there, no doubt. They'll be attracted to the noise the machines make. It'll be risky.”

I shook myself free, staggering away half a pace. The boys were so distracted by making their plans that they let me go, and I was grateful for the air. As I regained my breath, the Wall swam into view in front of my wavering vision again.

Without warning, my mouth flooded with the taste of copper again—another anomaly, as Kris had called it, was about to sweep through the Wall. Last time it had shocked me so hard it had knocked me flat, and then I'd been at full strength.