—Sketch
Nova read through the message three times. The first time her thoughts were still tripping around the discovery of Ace’s helmet and the majority of the message lost all meaning in the mad chaos inside her head. The second time she picked up only that there could be side effects and the healers were trying to order her around, and they were using Adrian to do it, which she found remarkably annoying.
The third time, though, she could see the message not just as glowing blue text, but she could also hear it in Adrian’s voice, and by the time she got to the end she found that her irritation was gone, replaced with something almost like warm-hearted amusement. Because even if she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and didn’t need Adrian or the healers to watch out for her, there was something in his halfhearted attempts to disguise his concern that she couldn’t help but find charming.
Then she looked up again, and all sense of charm and amusement vanished, like a fire doused in ice water.
Leaving the message unanswered, Nova lowered her wrist, took in a breath, and made her way down the length of the corridor.
Spot lighting was installed in a track on the ceiling, and the glint of light off the helmet’s surface shifted as she came closer. She could see hints of her own reflection in the panels that curved around the face. The sharpness of the light snagged on the broken cranium where the Captain’s pike had long ago broken through, leaving a gaping hole and deep cracks emanating outward. The helmet was set on a thin dowel, so that from certain angles it appeared suspended in air, the open slit where Ace’s eyes had once peered through now nothing but a black hole. Unlike the artifacts in the main lobby, it was not protected by glass, but left out in the open. As if there were no fear of it ever being taken. As if no one worried that it might someday fall again into the hands of a villain.
And why should they fear it? That hole through the top was proof enough that it was destroyed. Whatever power it had once contained, whatever strength her father had worked into the fabric of this energy-turned-metal was long gone.
Nova stopped when she was an arm’s length away from the helmet, overcome with memories.
Uncle Ace standing over the sleeping form of a murderer, looking at Nova with both sadness and awe.
Ace making the bells of the cathedral thunder and chime, just to bring a smile to Nova’s face.
The moment she had seen the Council’s parade float come into view, with the Captain showing off this helmet like a hunter proud of his conquest.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she lifted her hand, letting it hover an inch off the helmet’s brow. She imagined faint vibrations coming off it, almost as though it could sense her presence. She felt sure some alarm would sound, but she couldn’t quite resist the slow inhale of breath as she settled her hand onto the cool metal.
There were no alarms.
And the helmet felt like … a helmet. No shock of energy was sent through her skin. No faint pulse could be felt against her flesh. Just cool metal.
Looking at her own hand placed reverentially against the golden surface, Nova’s eye landed on the slender bracelet dangling around her wrist.
Her brows drew together. Her head listed to one side. Reaching her other hand forward, she took hold of the delicate filigree and held it up to the light, wondering whether it was a trick of the shadows.
Her heart began to pound.
The bracelet and the helmet were not the same. There was a distinctive rosy tint to the bracelet, a beautiful but subtle vibrancy worked through the material that was missing from the helmet, which was itself a worn copper-gold.
Her frown deepened, as justifications worked their way to the surface. Surely the difference was because the helmet was ruined. Whatever power had once imbued the material was gone.
But then … her bracelet was broken too. The original clasp was missing entirely, and the prongs still hung empty, waiting for whatever jewel her father had intended for it. Should it not have also been relegated to this dull, muted tone?
Before she could doubt herself, Nova reached forward and plucked the helmet off its stand.
Still, not a single alarm blared. The corridor remained as quiet as ever as Nova pulled it closer, noting first how heavy it was, when she could remember her father’s creations seeming impossibly light.
Nova turned it from side to side. She inspected the rupture in the top. Felt the edges along the back. Flipped it over and peered inside.
An abrupt laugh burbled from her mouth. For there, printed on the inside of the cranium, were the words MADE WITH 100% RECYCLED MATERIALS.