He didn’t even know that man now. The old Liam was obedient to Quill’s high priest. He didn’t dream. He didn’t express emotion. He followed the law and never had an original thought. From the time he was thirteen, when his friend Claire was sent to her death, until he and the other Restorers attacked Artimé and he’d seen her there, alive after all these years, Liam had given his entire self over to the power of Justine—the power she had to take away a best friend without anyone objecting. The power to make a person give up everything and obey, because obeying was easy, and standing against her seemed impossible.

And even when he saw Claire, and knew she was alive, he still did those horrible things to her because the high priest had more control over him than his own conscience. What a weakling.

It’s too late to change, he’d told himself back then. It’s the only way to get by. And then later, Aaron forced me to do it. That’s the weak excuse he offered himself whenever the guilt pushed its way to the surface of his bland, recycled thoughts.

How he wished he could take it all back. How he regretted the man he had become. How he longed to go back in time and live his life the right way, even if it meant he’d be put to death for it. Anything would be better than living with this torment.

But he had done all of those things, and he had made those mistakes. There was no one else to blame for his own bad decisions. He knew that now. Boy, did he know it.

And if it truly was too late for forgiveness from Claire and from Haluki and from all of Artimé, too, well, then Liam would get what he deserved. But he wasn’t going to stop trying to fix things. Eva Fathom had given him another chance. Another life. A new life.

He was going to live this one right, even if it killed him. But he had to go about it the right way if he was going to make a difference, make things better. He had to pretend for a while. He couldn’t lose Aaron’s trust—Eva was counting on him. All of Artimé was counting on him, though they didn’t know it yet. He couldn’t mess this up.

Ugh. Poor, stupid Aaron. Making all the same mistakes Liam did, and more, for the sake of an errant goal.

Liam leaned forward and cupped his face with his hands.

» » « «

After a while he rose up out of his chair and walked down the winding, uneven tower staircase, down the hall past Aaron’s closed office door, and down the main staircase to the door. He left the palace and continued down the driveway. His steps were firm and his jaw was set, and the guards opened the portcullis without question for the governor. They trusted him, though they shouldn’t.

He walked toward Artimé in the shadow of the wall, which would soon be coming down. When he drew near to the most desolate part of Quill, he could hear the distant sound of workers assembling, preparing to begin deconstruction. And when he reached the gates of Artimé, he weaved through the crowd of Necessaries and Quillitary and stepped inside the magical world. He presented himself to the girrinos, and behind them, hundreds of Artiméans had gathered on the lawn when they noticed the commotion in Quill.

An authoritative-looking young woman with reddish hair and freckles came forward at the sight of him.

“Greetings,” Liam said. Hadn’t she been the one who rushed past him in the palace a few days ago? He wasn’t sure.

She folded her arms across her chest and glared. “What do you want?”

“I would like to request a meeting with Ms. Claire Morning.”

The first hammer slammed against the wall behind Liam. He ducked, glanced over his shoulder, and took a few tiny steps toward the girl, which he immediately regretted, as she did not move along with him.

“My name is Liam Healy,” he said as another hammer hit. Bits of rubble pattered on his back, and he lifted his shoulders to keep stones from slipping down his shirt collar. “And I am not with them.”

Ms. Morning Stands Her Ground

Oh, I know who you are, Governor Healy,” said Meghan, “and if I remember correctly, the last time you came here, my friend Samheed warned you never to come back or he’d kill you. Do you remember that?”

“I-I-I—ah, yes,” said Liam, beginning to stutter and sweat profusely, both of which he did frequently when nervous. “Actually, I do recall that. Is he,” he said, his eyes darting all around the crowd, “ah, is he here?”

Meghan glared. “Maybe he is and maybe he isn’t. I guess you’ll find out eventually.”

Liam swallowed hard. This wasn’t going at all how he’d planned it. “I s-s-suppose I shall. And—and what about Claire? Ms. Morning?”

“Do you really think she’d want to see you? Really?” Meghan asked. “You are quite an idiot, aren’t you?”

“I—yes. Yes, I am.” More rubble, including a large hunk of rock, showered onto Liam. He stood there, completely miserable, but not ready to give up.

Meghan laughed. “Well, at least you admit it. That’s certainly something.” She looked around him to the Quillitary. “What in the world are they doing?”

“Oh!” said Liam, glad for the change of subject. “Aaron has—that is, the High Priest Aaron—has ordered the entire wall to come down.”

Meghan stared. “You’re joking.”

“No, no, he’s done it. We Quillens don’t joke, you may recall. And it’s, ah, as you can see, coming down. Quite explosively, I might add.” He looked down at his feet. The rubble was beginning to gather around his shoes. “If I stand here long enough,” he said brightly, “your friend Samheed might not have to go through the effort of killing me. Or, ah, burying me, either.”