dead women. Relad and Scimina begin shouting at Viraine, their faces distorted. I do not hear their words. Viraine, gazing down at me with a peculiarly empty expression, shouts something as well, and all of the Enefadeh are frozen in place. Sieh trembles, feline muscles bunched and straining. Zhakkarn, too, quivers, her massive fists clenched. Two of them make no effort to move, I notice, and because I notice, I see them up close. Kurue stands straight, her expression calm but resigned. There is a shadow of sorrow about her, hugging close like the cloak of her wings, but it is not something the others can see.
Nahadothah. The shock in his expression is giving way to anguish as he stares at me. The me on the floor bleeding out, not the me who watches him. How can I be both? I wonder fleetingly, before dismissing the question. It doesnt matter.
What matters is that there is real pain in Nahadoths eyes, and it is more than the horror of a lost chance at freedom. It is not a pure pain, though; he, too, sees other dead women. Would he mourn me at all if I did not carry his sisters soul?
That is an unfair question and small-hearted of me.
Viraine crouches and yanks the knife out of my corpse. More blood spills at this, but not much. My heart has already stopped. I have fallen onto my side, half-curled as if in sleep, but I am not a god. I will not wake up.
Viraine. Someone. Dekarta. Explain yourself.
Viraine gets to his feet, glancing at the sky. The sun is three-quarters above the horizon. A strange look crosses his face, a hint of fear. Then it is gone, and he looks down at the bloody knife in his hand and then lets it drop to the floor. The clattering sound is distant, but my vision focuses in close on his hand. My blood has splattered his fingers. They tremble just slightly.
It was necessary, he says, half to himself. Then he pulls himself together and says, She was a weapon, my lord. Lady Kinneths last strike at you, with the collusion of the Enefadeh. Theres no time to explain now, but suffice it to say that if she had touched the Stone, made her wish, all the world would have suffered for it.
Sieh has managed to straighten, perhaps because he has stopped trying to kill Viraine. His voice is lower in his cat form, a half snarl. How did you know?
I told him.
Kurue.
The others stare at her, disbelieving. But she is a goddess. Even as a traitor she will not yield her dignity.
You have forgotten yourselves, she says, looking at each of her fellow Enefadeh in turn. We have been too long at the mercy of these creatures. Once we would never have stooped so low as to rely on a mortalespecially not a descendant of the very mortal who betrayed us. She looks at my corpse and sees Shahar Arameri. I carry the burdens of so many dead women. I would rather die than beg her for my freedom. I would rather kill her and use her death to buy Itempass mercy.
There is a held breath of silence, at her words. It is not shock; it is rage.
Sieh breaks it first, growling out soft, bitter laughter. I see. You killed Kinneth.
All the humans in the room start, except Viraine. Dekarta drops his cane, because his gnarled hands have clenched into half fists. He says something. I do not hear it.
Kurue does not seem to hear him, either, though she inclines her head to Sieh. It was the only sensible course of action. The girl had to die here, at dawn. She points at the Stone. The soul will linger near its fleshly remnant. And in a moment Itempas will arrive to collect and destroy it at last.
And our hopes with it, says Zhakkarn, her jaw tight.
Kurue sighs. Our mother is dead, Sister. Itempas won. I hate it, toobut its time we accepted this. What did you think would happen if we did manage to free ourselves? Just the four of us, against the Bright Lord and dozens of our brothers and sisters? And the Stone, you realize. We have no one to wield it for us, but Itempas has his Arameri pets. We would end up enslaved again, or worse. No.
Then she turns to glare at Nahadoth. How could I have failed to recognize the look in her eyes? It has always been