The last thought that crosses Dorian’s mind before he reaches the illuminated ground below, as he tries to move so that he might hit it bare-feet-first, the thought that wins its place as the final thought of a long, thoughtful fall is: Maybe the Starless Sea isn’t just a children’s bedtime story.
Maybe, maybe beneath him there will be water.
But as the fall reaches its end and Dorian crashes into the Starless Sea he realizes no, it is not water.
It is honey.
ZACHARY EZRA RAWLINS stares at Mirabel as she stands impossibly in the doorway. She is covered in dust, powdered stone that blankets her clothes and her hair. Her jacket has a rip along one sleeve. Blood blooms red over her knuckles and in a line down her neck but she seems otherwise unharmed.
Mirabel puts the ginger cat down. It rubs against her legs and then walks back to its preferred chair.
The Keeper murmurs something under his breath and then he walks toward her, navigating his way through the piles of books without taking his eyes off of Mirabel.
Watching them look at each other Zachary feels suddenly that he is trespassing in someone else’s love story.
When the Keeper reaches Mirabel he pulls her into such a passionate embrace that Zachary turns away but turning away puts him face-to-face with the painting again and so he closes his eyes instead. For a moment he can feel, sharply and strongly, within the air in his lungs, precisely what it is to lose and find and lose again, over and over and over.
“We don’t have time for this.”
Zachary opens his eyes at the sound of Mirabel’s voice to see her turn and walk back through the door to the office. The Keeper follows.
Zachary hesitates but then follows them. He hovers in the doorway, watching Mirabel kick the desk chair toward the fireplace. One of the jars on the mantel topples, scattering its keys.
“You didn’t think I had a plan,” Mirabel says, climbing up on the chair. “There has always been a plan, people have worked on this plan for centuries. There have simply been some…complications in its execution. Are you coming, Ezra?” she asks without looking at Zachary.
“Am I what?” Zachary says at the same time that the Keeper asks “Where are you going?” and the questions overlap into What are you? which Zachary thinks is also a very good question.
“We have to rescue Ezra’s boyfriend because apparently that’s what we do,” Mirabel says to the Keeper. She yanks the sword from its display over the fireplace. Another container of keys shatters and spills.
“Mirabel—” the Keeper starts to protest but she lifts the sword and points it at him. It is obvious from the way she holds it that she knows how to use it.
“Stop, please,” she says. A warning and a wish. “I love you but I will not sit here and wait for this story to change. I am going to make it change.” She holds his gaze over the length of the sword and after a long wordless conversation she lowers the sword and hands it to Zachary. “Take this.”
“?‘It’s dangerous to go alone,’?” Zachary quotes in response as he takes it, even though the completed quote is out of order, addressing it partly to her and partly to himself and partly to the sword in his hand. It is a thin, double-edged straight sword that looks like it belongs in a museum though he supposes that’s where it’s been, in a way. The hilt has elaborate scrollwork and the leather on the grip is worn and Zachary can tell that it has been held many times before by many other hands. It’s still sharp.
It is the same sword he is holding in the painting, though the painting version has been polished. It is heavier than it looks.
“I need something else to wear,” Mirabel says, climbing down from the chair and brushing dust off her sleeves, frowning at the torn one. “Give me a minute and meet me at the elevator, Ezra.”
She doesn’t wait for Zachary to respond before she leaves. She doesn’t say another word to the Keeper.
The Keeper stares out the door after Mirabel even though she’s m
oved out of sight. Zachary watches him watching the space where she had been.
“You’re the pirate,” Zachary says. All of the stories are the same story. “In the basement. From the book.” The Keeper turns to look at him. “Mirabel’s the girl who rescued you.”
“That was a very long time ago,” the Keeper says. “In an older Harbor. And pirate is not a proper translation. Rogue might be closer. They used to call me the Harbormaster until they decided Harbors should not have masters.”
“What happened?” Zachary asks. He has been wondering ever since he read Sweet Sorrows for the first time. This is not where their story ends. Clearly.
“We did not make it far. They executed her in my place. They drowned her in the Starless Sea. They made me watch.”
The Keeper reaches out and rests a ring-covered hand on Zachary’s forehead and the touch is that of someone—something—much more ancient than Zachary could possibly have imagined. The sensation moves like waves from his head down to his toes, rippling and buzzing over his skin.
“May the gods bless and keep you, Mister Rawlins,” the Keeper says after he takes his hand away.
Zachary nods and takes his bag and the sword and walks out of the office.