He was wearing an outfit that might have come straight from the closet in the fake boy’s room Ophelia and Balthasar had made him, aged up appropriately: expensive ironed trousers and leather shoes and a crisp shirt. The only wrong fashion note was the watchbands on both his wrists, as if she’d decided they needed a bigger pipeline going to the mana store. But Orion was all wrong, inside it: his shoulders were rigidly stiff with tension, his jaw clenched and his hands shoved deep inside his pockets, a figure held together by wire.
Every last Dominus of all those enclaves was eyeing him with the same exact calculation as every kid in the Scholomance ever had, in the library and the cafeteria and the classrooms, trying to think about how they could get him to sit down at their tables. And he was paying them exactly as much mind as he had then, which was to say none. Less, really; they were all saying things to him, I could see their mouths moving, and Ophelia was trying to introduce him round, but he wasn’t even being dutifully polite. He turned his back on all of them and went to the edge of the platform.
I could see him more clearly with every passing moment: they were getting closer. Ophelia’s arrival had been a signal to their side. Ruth had stood up from her folding chair with her palms towards the ground, concentrating in real effort. She was shrinking the cave, reeling all of us in closer for the fight that was clearly about to start. The fight New York was sure they were going to win, with their new unstoppable weapon.
“We knew that you had to exist,” Shanfeng said, next to me. “Some power in the world that could balance what she did. That would have the power—”
“To kill Orion?” I spat, wheeling on him in rage: I wasn’t patient enough to wait until he got round to saying it himself, after all. “To murder the person who saved all your kids, everyone who came out of the Scholomance—”
“He is already dead,” Shanfeng said, steady, gentle; not an ounce of malice, and as brutal as if he’d slapped me hard across the face.
I stopped. My ribs were a cage around my chest as I tried to keep breathing. There wasn’t enough air in this cavern, in the whole world.
“I was six years old when the maw-mouth came to my home,” Shanfeng continued, and there were tears trickling down his face, along with that horrible, unbearable sympathy: the weapon he’d found that could be used against me. “My father carried me in his arms. My mother ran on ahead, holding my sisters’ hands. And then the maw-mouth reached out of a corridor between us. My father turned and ran the other way. Over his shoulder, I saw it take them. El, I would have given everything I had, I would have left all Shanghai enclave to fall into the void, if I could have brought my mother and my sisters back out. But I couldn’t. There is only one gift that you can give to the devoured. The gift only you can give him.”
I could have beat Shanfeng’s face in with my fists. Because he was right. Orion was the hero Ophelia hadn’t wanted, the hero who had understood finally what she’d done to make him—and wouldn’t go along with it. Who wouldn’t agree to feed a maw-mouth just to keep the rest of him alive. I can’t be all right, he’d said to me. Not unless Ophelia could undo what she’d done.
But she couldn’t. The parts of him that loved me, and wanted to be a hero, and had asked for help, couldn’t be separated out from the rest. Because those were the parts of him that had been fed to a maw-mouth in the very beginning, the parts that the maw-mouth was holding up in the void, like a horrible which-came-first puzzle where the answer was it didn’t matter, because in the end, it all went into the pit.
Ophelia had gone over to talk to Orion, a small frown on her forehead, a hint of mild concern. I could imagine the conversation they’d had when he’d come home to her. She’d been completely straightforward and honest in that letter after all. She trusted him. She had confidence in him. She believed he’d use the power well, the power she’d gone to all these lengths to give him. She’d even been honest with me, too. She wanted exactly what she’d told me: she wanted to stop wizards cheating, and she wanted to stop new enclaves—with their unique costs—from being built, and she wanted the ones already out there to share.
All the very best ends in the entire world, only she’d used them to justify the very worst means. And when Orion had come home and begged her to undo them, I was sure that she’d explained to him very kindly but firmly that she couldn’t, and then she had probably told him that he oughtn’t fuss, and to think about the greater good. As if the bloody wanker had ever once in his entire life stopped to think about anything but the pathetically small good directly in front of him: the child that needed saving right now, the mal that needed stopping.