But there was no hurt in her steady gaze. Nor was there disappointment or disgust. “It says you’re honest. It says you stand up for yourself. You didn’t get the family you deserved, and that’s
a shame. But you know what would be even more of a shame? If you let ‘everyone’ override what you know is the right thing for you.”
Ethan had heard something like that before, from Ellie. But she was his sister; she felt the same mixture of guilt and grief and anger that he did. When Destiny said it, he had to believe it, at least a little bit.
“And you are nothing like your father,” she went on. Now it was her voice that rose in anger. “He tears people down; you build them up. He was cold and unloving and I bet he never told a joke in his life—”
“You got that right. Never laughed, either.”
“And you’re warm and funny and—” She broke off suddenly, as if she had decided against saying something, then said, “Is Ellie anything like either of your parents?”
“Not remotely.” Ethan sighed. “It’s not that I’m afraid I’m going to turn into them. It’s that I’m afraid other people will think that if they know about my family. Especially if they came from a good one like yours.”
Destiny’s eyes shone as if she was holding back tears. She swallowed, but her voice came out thick with emotion anyway as she said, “You were right, earlier. I don’t think I ever really appreciated how much people loved me, and how important that was. My family. Friends. Even strangers. You should’ve had that too, Ethan. I wish—”
Once again, she broke off.
“Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”
It was strange how safe he felt admitting his own vulnerability to her now. He loved her so much, he should have wanted to impress her with his strength. But some barrier between them had gone down, and he knew she wouldn’t think less of him for his anger and his pain and his longing for a love he’d never had.
They were silent for a while. Then Ethan, restless, got out of bed and went to look out the window.
“Hey!” Destiny exclaimed. “You’re better! That stuff worked!”
Startled, Ethan stopped and assessed himself. He’d been so absorbed in her story and then their conversation that he hadn’t registered when it had happened, but he did feel much better. The pain was gone, he felt neither too hot nor too cold, and he could breathe easily. “Hey, yeah. Good job with the herbs. I can’t believe you remembered all that from when you were eleven.”
“You said it yourself, I was a kid genius.”
“That’s not exactly…”
“Kid. Genius. Your exact words. Play it back on video if you wanna prove me wrong.”
Much as Ethan would have liked to stay where he was and kid around with her, he had a feeling a clock was ticking. “A few days or a few hours,” she’d said. What if he collapsed in the middle of a fight because they’d wasted too much time here?
“We’d better get going,” he said, trying to keep his unease from his voice, and picked up the gun.
“I found an armory in the palace. How’d you like a sword, jarhead?”
“Oh, man, seriously?” Ethan couldn’t help grinning. “I’ve always wanted one. I used to play this video game, Final Fantasy, that had some characters with really big swords…”
“Nerd.” She poked him in the ribs. “If you’re hoping for something as overcompensating as Cloud’s, one, not practical, two, you couldn’t lift it, three, the armory doesn’t have anything like that because no one could lift it.”
“You not only know who Cloud Strife is, you know exactly what his sword looks like. It is you who are the nerd.”
Destiny rolled her eyes. “Weirdo nerd.”
They stopped by the kitchen first, where she stuffed some leftover herbs in her backpack, and then she led him to the armory. Ethan had seen a lot of impressive things recently that he’d have liked to spend more time looking at if he hadn’t been too sick to really appreciate them (the palace) or if they weren’t trying to kill him (the daeodon). But of them all, he most wished he could take his time and explore the armory.
It was a treasure trove of ancient weapons. There, neatly hung on the walls and arrayed in holders, were swords and daggers, bows and arrows, staffs and spears, and more unusual weapons like spiked maces, chains on handles, and tridents. With something approaching reverence, he took a beautiful sword from the wall and blew the dust from it. Its edge was razor-sharp, and the rippling pattern on the steel blade gleamed with highlights of blue and green.
Then he realized something odd. “These have been sitting here for three hundred years, right?”
“I think closer to two hundred, but yeah. Oh, you mean, why haven’t they rusted to bits? They must’ve been done with this special process that a genius swordsmith of the maharajah’s invented. Nobody’s ever been able to figure out exactly how he did it. Everything else he made is in museums.”
Ethan looked at Destiny and laughed.
“What’s so funny?” she asked suspiciously.