Something was happening inside him, an unfamiliar transformation he couldn’t comprehend. It frightened him. He didn’t let Johanna see his fear, but lifted her high and kissed her in return, hard enough to remind her who was master.
Even in that he lied to himself.
He put her down and looked around the room. Boroskov was coming, he could sense it. But he had Johanna. He could still win.
“I’ll save you,” he told her. He threw his weight against the door, and the rotten wood cracked. Another blow tore it from its hinges. He seized Johanna’s upper arm and pulled her out into the hallway. “Boroskov won’t find us again.”
Her weight dragged against his arm. “We can’t leave, Fenris. You know we can’t, for May’s sake.”
He spun about and snarled at her defiance. He could force her. He was so much stronger than she was. But she was strong in a different way, and he’d never seen it until now.
“You know everything Quentin knows,” she said, making no attempt to free herself from his grasp. “He has been running all his life, and you’ve helped him by hiding his own darkness away where he’s never been forced to face it. Now he must recognize you, Fenris, and you must help him make a stand against Boroskov. For the sake of you both.”
“Not for me—”
“Yes, Fenris. For you.” She turned her hand to cup his arm in a tender touch. “Quentin needs you, but not in the way he once did. He needs you to be whole, as you need him. Your division was never meant to be. It’s time for the rejoining. Time to begin living again.”
He didn’t want to hear her. “You love me,” he insisted.
‘”Yes. As I love Quentin. But I can’t choose, Fenris. Not if you are both dead. Neither one of you is strong enough to defeat Boroskov alone. You and Quentin must confront him as one, or he will win.”
“Quentin will win.”
“Trust me, Fenris. Look into my eyes, and know that you can trust me.”
“No.” He yanked away from her, but she caught him and held him fast.
“Let Quentin out, Fenris,” she said, her cheek pressed to his chest. “Let him share your body, just for a moment, and I’ll show you that there’s nothing to fear.”
He closed his eyes, feeling Quentin within him. Quentin was aware, already sharing Fenris’s consciousness. But he could not come out unless Fenris let him.
Fenris knew how to take control from Quentin, but not how to release the Other without losing himself.
“Let me help you,” Johanna said. She took his hand and began to speak low, like a mother to her child. He hardly heard the words. But in his mind a door swung open, and his rival, the weakling, the one he’d always despised, walked through.
They stared at each other, reflections in a distorted mirror. Quentin was smooth and handsome and refined, everything Fenris was not. He flinched and crouched as if he might flee at a whisper.
“You’re afraid,” Fenris said contemptuously. “You’re always afraid.”
“Yes,” Quentin said. He held up his hand. It was trembling. “But you’re afraid, too.”
“I’m stronger than you are! I’ll win. I’ll take Johanna.”
“Maybe you could. But you won’t win her heart, Fenris.”
“She loves me!”
“She has a great heart. And she loves what we can become. Together.” He smiled raggedly. “I could have met you long ago, Fenris, but I was a coward. Johanna taught me to be brave. She has shown me that you are a necessary part of me, as I am necessary to you.”
“I don’t need you.”
“You can go on living half a life, Fenris. You might even take my half away from me. But Grandfather will have won. Grandfather and Boroskov. They created you as much as I. More than I. They made you into a killer. You were helpless, just as I was. But you aren’t helpless any longer.”
Helpless. Fenris choked on a howl.
“Make your own choice, Fenris,” Quentin said. “Let us defy Grandfather and all his schemes. Let us do battle… together.” He held out his hand. “You are my strength, the part of me that survives and goes on fighting. Without you, I can’t defend the woman we both love.”