Page 69 of Mortal Things

Étienne shakes his head. “That rainy afternoon in New York, when you first met her? She was sent there by Raven.”

No. This can’t be true. I want to step away from him, deny that any of this is possible. I start shaking my head again.

Suddenly, I’m reminded of Étienne’s home, of that shelf filled with gifts. I recall the vinyl album, the one that had reminded me of Laine.

Was it a gift from her? Science doesn’t support coincidences. I’ve never believed in them. But …

“None of that makes sense,” I say numbly.

“You were the longest, cruelest assignment that Raven ever gave her,” Étienne says. “And she hated every minute of deceiving you. She wanted to tell you. She spent sleepless nights trying to puzzle out how she could defy Raven’s orders.” He shakes his head. “But there’s no way around them, is there? The orders are the order of things. And we just hang in the balance.”

Everything in me feels numb. That day in the rain, so many years ago. The sight of Laine rushing up the stairs. “Why? Why would Raven send her?” I ask faintly.

“He wanted you as his Harbinger,” Étienne says simply. “Always has. And he knew that, when the time came for you to lose your human life, you would not fight for yourself. You would not beg him for more time. You would not agree to work for him in exchange for staying alive.” Étienne closes his eyes, lashes curving against his cheeks. “So he sent Laine to you. You wouldn’t fight for yourself. But he knew you would fight for her.”

A memory of Laine manifests, seared into my mind as scarlet as a brand. Blond, frizzy hair, that quick smile, those bright eyes.

All this time, I had seen her as my lifeline, my dearest friend, the person I was willing to sacrifice everything for. I had been willing to give up my mortal existence for her—but for her, I was just an assignment.

The world feels like it’s tilting. I keep waiting for something to interject, tell me that this is all a lie. For my ring to flash a warning, to burn against my finger. But it doesn’t. And when I look at it again, it just stares somberly back at me. Maybe it has always known, too.

“You’re lying,” I whisper, because I don’t know what else to say.

“You know I’m not, Rose,” Étienne snaps. A flash of anger suddenly sparks in his eyes. “We’re all pawns. You know that, right? We do as our gods command because they know why we became their Harbingers, that each of us has someone in the real world anchoring us. Friends, families, lovers. We’re all in the same trap.”

“But why would Raven conspire with Thorn on that?” I shout back. I shut my eyes and press a hand against my temple. “He sent Laine to become my friend, so that someday, years later, Thorn could send you to attack her?”

“What are years to a god?” Étienne says.

I know he’s right. The gods frequently work together on missions, sending their Harbingers to complete multiple parts of a job. They do it as often as they clash with one another.

“But, it doesn’t make sense,” I say.

“You know it’s the truth.”

“I’m just a Harbinger, Étienne! Raven has hundreds of Harbingers!”

“You’re not a normal Harbinger, Rose,” he says angrily.

I blink at him, confused, and he looks away, running his hands through his hair. He paces once along the wall, and then comes back to face me. He takes a deep breath.

“Do you know why your patron god chose you?” he asks. “Why he spent so much effort finding and claiming you? Do you know why Raven wants you so much?”

I don’t know what to believe anymore. “To keep the balance of the universe,” I say faintly.

“The balance of the universe was upset before you came along,” he says angrily. “That’s the entire reason why you’re here.”

“What are you talking about?” I snap at him.

Étienne just shakes his head again. And even before he says it, I find myself wishing he would lie this time, tell me anything other than the truth.

“Your soul contains the most powerful thread that the universe has ever seen.” He grips my shoulders and gives me a hard stare. “Rose, you are the first light.”

FIVE YEARS AGO, on a day heavy with rain, Laine waited at the end of the street, her archery backpack slung across one shoulder.

She was in her Oasis sweater, the headphones looped around her neck still playing one of the band’s songs. If you’d walked past her, you would have heard bits of the lyrics. And if you’d lingered with her, you’d have noticed that she stood there for almost an hour before the school bell finally rang and students poured out of the front doors. They popped their umbrellas open and huddled under them together, friends looping arms with friends, laughing and talking.

Laine ignored them all. She was on duty, waiting for her mark to appear. Rose.