But he’d meant everything he’d just said to Penrose. The way he felt about Anton was the needle of the compass that guided him. He had tried, futilely, to resist its pull before. What was the point of pretending he could do it now? What was the sense in closing the gates when the walls themselves would just as easily crumble?

He caught Anton’s hand and drew it to his lips, kissing the soft center of his palm. Anton’s fingers curled, brushing Jude’s cheek.

“You too,” Jude said, folding their hands together. “You can tell me anything, Anton.”

Perhaps it was just his imagination, but Anton’s smile seemed a little dimmer.

21

ANTON

Anton woke up alone. He was used to waking alone—what he wasn’t used to was the fact that he had gone to sleep curled against Jude in the tiny barracks bed. It was a tight fit, but Anton had slept in far worse places in his life. He had hoped being near Jude might mean a reprieve from his nightmares.

But instead, Anton’s sleep had been plagued by dreams of Jude dying. Dreams where he drowned in the lake behind Anton’s old home in Novogardia, dreams where the Witnesses gutted Jude in the Archon’s villa in Pallas Athos, dreams where Jude was trapped beneath the rubble of Behezda. And the worst ones, where Jude sacrificed himself to kill the god, and no amount of pleading from Anton would make him change his mind. They left Anton raw and hollow, because he could never shake the feeling that they weren’t just dreams.

He rolled off the narrow bed and managed to calm his shaking hands enough to pull on his clothes before emerging into the misty morning. He knew it was irrational, but he wouldn’t feel right until he saw Jude.

He could feel Jude’s esha like a low rolling thunderhead, and he set out to follow it, winding his way through the fort, over the many footbridges that crisscrossed the river. Finally, he climbed up the hill and through the trees until he heard the rushing sound of a waterfall joined by the ring of swords clashing.

As he rounded the bend, he was struck with the sight of the morning sun glinting off the falls, illuminating everything in fractal colors. He had been here before, he realized. Only, not really. Jude had dreamed of this place, and Anton had walked into that dream. This place meant something to Jude.

At the foot of the falls, bathed in mist, Jude and Hector fought on a rocky outcropping, swords flashing between them. Anton had seen Jude fight countless times, but always in situations where one or both of them were in grave danger. He’d never really gotten a chance to simply watch, to appreciate how beautiful Jude looked in motion. Every strike controlled, every feint and dodge fluid, instinctual.