Page 61 of City of Stone and Silence

“The crew knew the risks. They volunteered.”

“They volunteered to follow me. That makes it my fault. That’s what being leader means.”

Meroe lapses into silence for a while longer. I want her to go away and leave me alone. I also want, quite desperately, for her to put her arms around me. The remnants of the powerburn fever leave my skin pebbled and scratchy under the blanket.

“Venius Acuitus has a saying,” she says, eventually. “‘To command is to sacrifice.’ My father likes to quote that, but I don’t think he really understood it. He thinks it means that when you command, sacrifices are inevitable in the name of the greater good.” She looks at me, sidelong. “I think Acuitus was talking about the burden of responsibility. To command is to sacrifice, not of others but of yourself.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“It’s not supposed to do anything—”

“Because it’s rotting garbage. They put me in charge to try to keep people alive. My ‘burden’ is I’ve done a rotting awful job at it.”

“Back on Soliton, you saved us all,” Meroe says gently.

“You saved us all. You got people to march, kept them fed, kept them going, kept them from killing each other. You and Shiara and Karakoa and even Zarun.”

“You stopped the Scholar and got the doors closed.”

“Right.” I look down at my hands. “I can kill things. And I can talk to ghosts, apparently. Why in the Blessed’s name did anyone think that would make me a good leader?”

“You know it’s not that simple.”

“I’m not sure it isn’t.” I shrug, still not looking up at her. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m finished.”

“That’s not true.” She leans closer. “The crew understands, Isoka. They—”

“It’s not about them. It’s about me. I’m done.”

Meroe stops. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean I’m done with this.” My heart hammers, driving a dull, throbbing pain in my head. “I should never have started it. The crew can take Catoria’s offer, go live with her or the monks or whoever will have them. I’m not making decisions for them anymore.” I close my eyes, fighting the tears building behind them. “My sister’s going to be dragged off to be tortured and there’s nothing I can rotting do about it and I’m done.”

“Ah.” Meroe rises, then grabs my hand. “Stand up, would you?”

Reluctantly, I get to my feet. She turns me to face her, beautiful as ever, eyes full of a kind determination.

“Right,” she says, gently.

Then she punches me in the face.

It’s not an expert blow, but it has surprise and passion behind it. I take a stumbling step back, my cheek stinging, as Meroe shakes out her hand and examines her knuckles for a moment. When she looks up, all her calm is gone, replaced with a cold, quiet rage.

“You don’t get to be done,” she says. “You can’t just abandon your responsibility. That’s what responsibility means. It’s not something you do because someone tells you to, or because you’re in the mood. It’s something you feel and can’t let go.”

“If I feel it, it’s your rotting fault,” I shoot back, spitting a gobbet of blood to the stones. “Do you know how much easier it was before—”

“Of course it was easier,” she interrupts. “Nobody said doing the right thing would be easy.”

“The right rotting thing for who? Not for Safiya. Not for everyone who died on the way to the Garden. Not for Tori.”

“You do what you can with what you have,” Meroe grates.

“And when that’s not enough?”

“It has to be enough.”

“Rot.” My lips curl in a snarl. “Maybe the problem is I can’t live up to your rotting standards. Maybe no one can.”