Page 168 of Reign
I look at him. “Too late.”
His mouth tightens. “Yeah. I know.”
Then he steps back.
Finally, Arseniy. The hall seems to understand and holds its breath.
He stands with the papers in one hand and the weight of the family already settling over him like an old coat pulled from a grave. He looks like he did years ago, and not at all like that.
The brother who was supposed to hold the blade. The man I ruined. The only one left who understands that duty is not a choice until one day you decide to walk away from the altar and learn whether the sky falls.
I stop in front of him. “I’m sorry, Senya,” I say.
Arseniy’s face tightens. I haven’t used that name in years, and I know what he hears. Not for this moment only, for all of it. His wife. His child. The exile. The years. The fact that I can apologize and still never undo the choice. The fact that he can accept the throne and still never forgive me.
He nods once. “I know.”
That is all, and it is enough.
I turn back to the room.
“Arseniy is Pakhan,” I say. “You will follow him as you followed me. Anyone who can’t stomach the transfer can leave before sunrise. Anyone who tries to fracture the structure during transition will be treated as a traitor and buried without ceremony.”
Arseniy’s eyes sharpen at the name. Good. Let him have something to bite.
“I have been your Pakhan for five years,” I say. “Most of you followed me because you feared me. Some because you believed I could build something stronger than what came before—and I did. A few followed because you were smart enough to know which way the blood was moving. Whatever your reasons, you served. That debt is recognized.”
No one moves, and I lower my voice.
“The empire survives. The name survives. I don’t need to.”
Arseniy says my name then, very softly. “What do you want us to tell people?”
I think of headlines. Rumors. Illness. Strategic retreat. Private mourning. Men will make up whatever story serves them best anyway.
“Tell them that The Blade has left Moscow.”
A faint ripple moves through the hall. Not quite relief and not quite fear. Recognition. They have their structure, their new center, their line, and I have nothing left to give, so I leave before they can watch me hesitate.
My room is dark when I return to collect the only things I’m taking: the ring, a handgun, clothes I don’t care about, and the folder with the details about the last summit. I put the folder in my bag because grief can sit beside revenge for a while longer. They are familiar enough companions by now.
At the door, I look back once.
The room does not look different, and that feels insulting. I close it anyway.
The car is waiting in the courtyard when I step outside. Cold air bites at my face. Snow hangs in the clouds but hasn’t started falling yet. Saint Helena rises behind me, old and severe, and full of people I love badly.
At the top of the steps, Tatiana stands with Kai, Maksim, and Arseniy. They don’t come down and I’m thankful for that. If theycome any closer, this becomes harder, and I have no appetite left for harder.
I touch the ring in my pocket. “Take me to the airstrip,” I tell the driver.
“Yes, Pakhan,” he says.
I pause with one hand on the car door, then I look back at the steps, at Arseniy holding papers that make the title his now, and say, “Not anymore.”
The driver’s face shutters, but he is smart enough not to comment.
I get in, and the car pulls away. Saint Helena recedes behind me stone by stone, window by window, ghost by ghost. I watch the entire time until it finally disappears. I owe myself that much. I owe them that much, too, maybe.
