Page 112 of Remnants: Disruption
Neither woman speaks.
“I tried to slit my own throat—and that’s when Mary stopped me.”
Trish’s warm hand encompasses mine.
“When I woke up the next morning, it was like she’d never been there, but she’d cleaned me up and taken care of me. Then when Percy died, I nearly did, too. She was there again to pull me up and take care of me. Then when Darkrend nearly killed me—and I’d been so, so willing to let it happen—Mary prevented it.”
Tears prick at my eyes, and Marla pushes a napkin into my hand.
“She made me believe she actually cared aboutmeand not my powers. Arya had always just been this brief solace from beingthis.” I gesture down at myself. “It’s only because of Azazel that the darkness no longer hides faces.”
“At the end of the day,” Marla says, pausing, and Trish nods for her to continue. “The God Queen has Tempest’s best interests at heart.”
“I know that–”
“But,” Marla continues, cutting me off. “It’sTempestthat she and the other Councilors care about. The collective Remnants. And that’s how it has to be. Mary can’t simply care about every single one of us. She wouldn’t be the leader she is if she was so easily swayed into decisions. She’s insanely old and has fought hard for where we are.”
“I don’t know why she’s treating you this way,” Trish says, squeezing my hand. “You don’t deserve that. And I think you’re well within your rights to be pissed.”
“And we heard about the way you spoke to her and Loki at the last meeting.”
I find Marla’s eyes, and they glimmer with something like pride.
“If something were to happen to me tonight, and I were to die,” Marla starts, and I see Trish flinch out of the corner of my eye. “What would you do?”
“I—”
“Answer me, Arya. I’m attacked by some Darkrend thug on my way to get ice cream tonight. What would you do?”
“I’d kill them,” I say, surprised by the venom in my voice.
“You just met me, though,” she says, tilting her head.
“Doesn’t matter,” I say, confused.
“And then what?” Trish asks, and I glance at her.
For some reason, it feels like a test—yet it’s one I clearly know the answer to.
My eyes trace the room around us. The fridge with the chaotic drawings only intelligible if one is three years old and full of childhood delight. The pans and pots that dangle from the center rack, all worn with use. The markings at the banister, each a snapshot in time as Rey grows.
Marla grins, wide and toothy.
“I’d kill them all,” I whisper, eyes watering with the weight of what she means.
“We don’t begrudge the Council for their priorities,” Trish whispers, rubbing soothing circles along my hand. “But the normal people down here need someone looking out for them.”
I want to ask “why me.” To scream out that I don’t want this.
But it is how it is. And I already knowwhy. And, God, I can’t help but be thankful itisme who has this power. That I’m the one who was given it, not anyone else.
“So, your plan was to show me not everyone in Tempest is a cryptic god?” I ask, snorting softly.
“My plan was to make you a homemade dinner and ask why you were so desperate to die at the hands of Bloody Mary,” Trishsays, smiling softly. “You’re the one who provided me a way in to explain why we desperately need you to find a reason to stay alive.”
As if on cue, Rey skitters into the room, her little humanoid paws sliding on the tile of the kitchen. She careens into the dining area and nearly takes out her jaw on my knee. A shadow tendril catches her at the last second, dangling the small, feral child by the ankle.
She shrieks in delight, pointing wildly at the tendril to her nearest mom.
