“Well, now you’ve got help,” she said.
They walked toward the chute. The crystals crunched beneath their feet, and glowed faintly, like snow.
“My son—he loves you, too?” said Sylvie.
“Yes,” said Zoe. “Can you believe it?”
“I can,” said Sylvie.
When they got to the chute, the flood had only just ended. There was still a dampness in the air. They peered down and saw, just barely, the top of X’s head.
Sylvie hesitated, and took a few steps back.
“My god,” she said. “There he is.”
“Don’t be nervous,” said Zoe. “He’s not going to disappoint you.”
“But he’s expecting a lord—a force of nature, an avenger,” she said. “What if I disappoint him?”
“That’s what he said about you,” said Zoe, smiling. “You’re definitely his mom. Will you tell me what you named him?”
“Of course, but he survived with no help from me,” said Sylvie. “He deserves to be called whatever he wants.”
Zoe knelt by the chute, readying to help Sylvie down. She accidentally kicked a few crystals into the hole.
“You did help him,” said Zoe. “Knowing you were out there, knowing how strong you were, knowing you loved him—it made all the difference.”
Sylvie massaged some color into her cheeks.
“Thank you for saying that,” she said. “You’re a very kind girl. I named him Xavier.”
part four
Ascension
twenty-five
X waited beneath the chute in agony. His stomach felt like a wet rag someone was twisting.
A handful of crystals tumbled down and landed at his feet. He looked up just as Zoe’s face appeared.
She was crying.
She must have failed.
He felt all hope leave his body.
“You could not find her?” he called. “It’s all right. I swear it. Do not trouble yourself about it.”
Zoe shook her head.
“I found her,” she said.
She disappeared from view. X heard murmuring and a rustle of clothing. A woman in boots and a long blue-and-white dress descended toward him.
His mother.
After a lifetime of waiting, he didn’t feel ready. He had to put his hands in the pockets of his pants because they were trembling.
Zoe guided his mother down the chute from above, pointing out where it was safe to put her feet. X heard Zoe say, “You’re doing good” and “You okay?”
The first word he ever heard his mother say was yes.
His mother’s back was to him, so he couldn’t see her, which made his stomach twist tighter. As she neared the ground, she reached a hand down for support. X took it. It was warm, and felt strong. She found the floor of the tunnel. She turned her head. Her face came out of the darkness, like the moon from behind clouds.
“Is it really you?” she said.
X nodded, afraid to speak. He didn’t want to cry in front of her.
He took the silver packet from his coat, and put it gently in her hands, like a gift. She looked confused. She opened it slowly as if the foil might crumble. X watched her eyes widen: Vesuvius’s collar, the comb, the shard of porcelain … His mother’s eyes got shiny with tears. She began touching everything softly, reverently. When she got to the broken drill bit, her finger hovered over it uncertainly.
“I was married to a man named Fernley,” she said. “I’m afraid to tell you what I did to him.”
“I have heard the whole of your story,” said X. “You did only what cried out to be done.”
His mother looked up at him.
“The way you speak …,” she said.
“Yes,” said X. “I’ll explain as soon as I have possession of myself again. Just now I am feeling overwhelmed.”
“Me, too,” said his mother. “Can I hug you? Is it too soon?”
“I’m afraid I might cry,” said X.
It felt good not to pretend to be stronger than he was.
“Go ahead and cry,” she said. “Your mother says it’s all right.”
She put her arms around him, and X—though he knew it wasn’t possible—recognized the sensation somehow. He felt as if he’d hugged her before. His mother began crying first. When X felt her shaking, he broke down, too.
“You came for me,” said his mother. “You found me.”
“I wanted you to know that—that I’m okay,” said X. “That I lived. That I’ve thought of you always.”
“I’m speechless,” said his mother. “I can’t believe I’m looking at you.”
“What should I call you?” said X.
“Anything you want,” she said. “Sylvie. Mother. You there. Anything but Versailles. I haven’t been her in a long time. And what should I call you? What does Zoe call you?”
Zoe had climbed down. She stood behind them.
“I call him X,” she said.
Sylvie turned to her, stunned.
“You’re serious?” she said.
“Yes,” said Zoe.
“Why is that so surprising?” said X.
“When you were born,” said Zoe, “she named you Xavier.”
X smiled for the first time.
Up above, the water was rumbling, so the three of them ducked into the dry cove, and sat. X lit the space with a sweep of his hand. Zoe apparently felt he’d made the cove too bright, because she darkened it a few degrees with a sweep of her own.
“Her eyes hurt,” she explained.
X couldn’t stop staring at his mother. In his entire life, he’d only ever looked in a single mirror: the one in the Bissells’ bathroom, which Zoe had painted purple and Jonah had decorated with stickers of bugs. Still, X recognized himself in Sylvie’s face. It made him feel less alone. It made him feel answered. It made something inside himself—something that’d always felt slightly askew—click into place.
Sylvie stared back at him even more intensely, if it was possible. She took his hand.
“Before we say anything else,” she said, “will you let me apologize?”
“For what?” said X.
“You really don’t know?” said Sylvie.
“I swear it,” said X.
“For giving birth to you in the Lowlands,” said Sylvie. “For giving you a life that wasn’t a life. For not staying with you, for not protecting you, for leaving you at the mercy of”—she gestured to the grim walls—“all this. I think I failed in every way a mother can fail.”
“Don’t, Sylvie,” said X. “Don’t.” It was the first time he’d said her name. “You had no choice. As for what’s happened to me, I’m not—I’m not broken. I found Zoe. Now I’ve found you. I’m not ashamed of my life—not the slightest bit—and I would not give it back.”
“My god, you’re kind,” said Sylvie.
“No,” said X. “Truly, I—”
Zoe nudged him with a foot.
“Stop deflecting,” she said. “You are kind.”
X grinned.
“You’re right,” he told his mother. “I am incredibly kind.”
Sylvie laughed.
“You two are sweet together,” she said.
Zoe nudged him again.
“We are incredibly sweet together,” said X. “No one has ever been sweeter.”
X wished they never had to leave the cove. He didn’t know what awaited them up in the stadium, and everything he wanted or needed was here.
“When you were born, I demanded to hold you a moment—did you know that?” she said.
Sylvie had the silver foil open on her lap. She was rolling the bloodstone button on her palm.
“No,” said X.
“I was surprised when Dervish agreed,” said Sylvie. “He probably knew it’d make it harder to give you up. He really wanted to torture me any way he could.” She paused, remembering. “I kissed your fontanel first, I think. Then your belly and toes. I may have the order wrong. I wriggled your fingers. I smoothed your little whorl of hair. Even now, I remember the weight of you in my arms—and I remember how empty my arms felt when you were gone. When Dervish shackled my wrists, I didn’t resist because after losing you, I—I didn’t want to hold anything else.” Sylvie was crying again. “I’m sorry. I’m not a weepy person. Not usually.” She pressed her fingertips against her eyes, and sighed. “Dervish and a guard brought me here—”
“I call him Tree,” said Zoe.
“Oh, he must like that,” said Sylvie. “He’s usually called Stick.”