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DESTINY RULES US ALL—INESCAPABLE and immutable, it is often unkind.
—Madame Verona, soothsayer
* * *
GWEN RAN AT AN ANGLE toward Catrin, who stopped just short of the two dead bodies lying in the pasture. The color in the girl’s face had drained, and Gwen knew she would faint. Limp, she’d be easy to shove out of the way. Rolf wouldn’t anticipate a stationary target suddenly moving. He could not have seen her knees buckling. Gwen had time to make amends with the only man she’d ever loved, to save the girl Benjin loved more than his own life. Just as she reached Catrin, she felt the fabric of her robe parting with a ripping sound, and Gwen didn’t need to look down to see the blood staining her smock. Using a technique she’d hoped never to need, she numbed her body, except for the one finger she’d pressed to Benjin’s lips. That she let herself feel, and it warmed her very soul.
Daylight dimmed quickly, which surprised her, and the last thing she saw in the fading light was Catrin’s shocked expression. She wanted to reach out and hold her, to comfort her and tell her everything would be fine, but her arms wouldn’t move. Then everything turned dark.
* * *
IN THE DISTANCE, GWEN saw a pinpoint of light, and it seemed to reenergize her limbs. She stood and walked toward it, and it grew brighter and larger with each step. Just before she reached it, she heard the crunch of boots on snow behind her. She turned around, expecting to see Benjin. Instead, Rolf stood there, his face that of his boyhood.
“I’m sorry, Gwen. I swear I didn’t see you.”
“But why, Rolf? Why would you try to kill Catrin? She’s just a young girl, not the monster the Zjhon have made her out to be.”
“I’m not proud of what I done, but I didn’t do it out of hatred. The Zjhon have my daughter, Bonita. They threatened to kill her if I failed, and now I suppose that’s exactly what they’ll do. I messed it all up, Gwen, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please forgive me.”
Her heart ached for him. She knew what it was like to hurt someone without meaning to. She’d done the same with Benjin and, by extension, Elsa, Wendel, and Catrin. “I forgive you,” she whispered.
“Not necessarily.” A voice Gwen knew but couldn’t name came from the light. She turned to see who was there, and the white robe Mother Seema wore rippled in a breeze. “There’s still a chance we can gather enough energy to help Bonita save herself. We’ll need an archer and a monk, though, and a few more helpers. And then we’ll have everything we need.” She motioned behind her, and more figures stepped out of the light hand in hand—Sister Brunhilda, Gwen’s grandmother, and finally, Margaretta, her mother.
Mother Seema gave Gwen the same warm and affirming smile that had driven away grief. “Welcome home, my dear, dear Gwendolin.”