Thunderhead (Arc of a Scythe Book 2)

When he took her in his arms, it suddenly didn’t seem to matter what was going on outside of their tiny, sealed universe. In these terminal minutes of their current lives, it was just the two of them finally, finally giving in to their ultimate act of completion. The binary at last becoming the one.

To him, she looked like a goddess. The only thing that could ever do her justice would be the brush of a mortal-age artist, capable of immortalizing the world with far greater truth and passion than actual immortality could.

Then he took Cleopatra’s robe, made of peacock feathers and silk. Citra let her own robe fall to the ground and he gently slipped the great founder’s robe over Citra’s shoulders.

He went to the mannequin that wore Supreme Blade Prometheus’s violet and gold robe, and put it on. He looked regal—as if he were born to wear it

Rowan looked to the vault around them, and the lavish robes of the founders. “Hey,” he said, “how about you be Cleopatra, and I’ll be Prometheus?”

Then, when only the scythes were left, and the sea was roiling just a few floors beneath them, Scythe Curie said, “Finish it.”

She bore witness to these, the last scythes on Endura invoking the seventh commandment, and gleaning themselves, and then she held her blade above her own heart. It felt strange and awkward to have the hilt turned inward. She had lived a long life. A full life. There were things she regretted, and things she was proud of. Here was the reckoning for her early deeds—the reckoning she had been waiting for all these years. It was almost a relief. She only wished she could have been here to see Anastasia revived, when the vault was someday raised from the ocean floor—but Marie had to accept that whenever it happened, it would happen without her.

She thrust her blade inward, directly into her heart.

From the moment they were thrown into apprenticeship together, they were bound to one another. The two of them against each other. The two of them against the world. Everything in their lives was now defined by that binary. If they had to die today in order to live, it would somehow be wrong if they didn’t do it together.

She put her arms around him and he held her tight. In Rowan’s arms, she found she was no longer Scythe Anastasia. She was Citra Terranova once more. It was the only place in the world where she still could be her former self.

She didn’t want to face him. She didn’t want to see his eyes, because what if there was betrayal there, too? If Marie could betray her, then anyone could. Even Rowan. But when her eyes finally met his, there was no betrayal there. Only acceptance. Acceptance and understanding.

And when Anastasia looked back, Scythe Curie wasn’t there anymore. And the vault door was swinging closed!

“No!”

She and Rowan raced to the door, but by the time they got there it had already closed. They could hear the grinding of the locking mechanism as Scythe Curie sealed them in from the outside.

Anastasia pounded on the door, screaming Scythe Curie’s name. Cursing it. She pounded until her fists were bruised. Tears filled her eyes now, and she made no effort to hold them back or conceal them.