As Winola had guessed, Tuschait Station stood on the far side of town. The terminus was overgrown and deserted; when they arrived, the only other person present was the station manager. The woman sat alone inside her musty office, and sniffed disapprovingly when Lindlee wafted through the door to buy tickets. Panlo hovered like a thundercloud behind his young charge, teeth grinding audibly. Lindlee seemed too happy to notice.
They had all travelled down from the lodge in the old green awrig painted with elephants. Panlo insisted on accompanying them, and spent the full duration of the trip watching Karys with undisguised mistrust. She ignored him. Her jaw had started to ache again, less sharply but more persistently than before, and she did not want anyone to know about it. Lindlee chattered away about Eludia.
They stopped briefly in the town so that Panlo could send a letter, most likely a complaint addressed to Lindlee’s parents. Haeki wandered off alone, claiming that she wanted to stretch her legs. Still prickly, she had been distant ever since Ferain’s return. Karys waited with Winola and Lindlee under a tree in the town square.
“Most of my friends live in Eludia,” said Lindlee. “During term time, we all board in Notea, of course, but over the holidays that’s where they go. There’s Esa, the twins, Moore, Quinn, Treshi…”
If the teenager was still bothered by what had happened in the kitchen earlier, she did not show it. She kept adjusting her ridiculous hat, apparently finding it impossible to sit still, her excitement bright and irrepressible. While Karys had never met anyone who talked as much, she also couldn’t help finding Lindlee’s expressiveness rather endearing. There was something sensitive and unguarded about the girl, an open desire to please.
Haeki returned a few minutes before Panlo, and they all rode the awrig the rest of the way to the station. The building wasn’t much to look at from a distance. As they drew closer, Karys realised she still could not see any tracks.
“Do the trains run under the hills?” she asked.
Panlo scoffed as if the question were ludicrous.
“It’s not that sort of train,” said Lindlee, more patiently. “It’s worked. One of the famous northern heralds made it. Narcalis? That was before, you know…”
Winola leaned forward. “A prismatic train? I didn’t realise they still ran in this region.”
“Just between some of the smaller towns and Eludia.” The awrig coasted up to the station, and Lindlee pointed. “Over there is the light catcher. I don’t really understand how it works. I’ve only made the trip twice.”
The light catcher was a diamond-shaped metal cage that surrounded a floating black orb. It stood just past the end of the platform; Karys had initially taken it for some kind of emergency stopping mechanism. A single set of tracks lay half-buried in the grass, ending fifty feet beyond the station.
Lindlee went off with Panlo to organise the tickets. The morning had warmed, and flies buzzed around the dusty wooden benches along the platform. A line of ancient bulletin boards still featured yellowed posters and advertisements, now scarcely legible—lodges, tours, musical and theatrical shows. Handwritten letters had been pasted over the older notices; most seemed to be requests for employment. The whole place was empty, eerily quiet. Winola wandered to the edge of the platform, and leaned out over the tracks to study the light catcher. Then she craned her neck upwards, squinting against the sun.
“It was busier when I was fifteen,” said Ferain. “Lindlee was born later that year, I think.”
Karys scuffed her shoes on the weathered floor tiles. Weeds were growing through the grouting. Behind her, she could hear Lindlee asking whether any food was included in the fare. “Did you see the Auric?”
“I did. Sightings were more common back then.” He hesitated. “Is Haeki all right?”
Karys gave a minute roll of her shoulders. Haeki was slouched on the bench outside the office, methodically cleaning her fingernails with a metal file. “I don’t know. Better than yesterday morning, but it might take her a while to forgive you.”
“Because I told Winola not to wake her.”
Karys moved her head slightly in acknowledgement. Ferain sighed.
“It was the right choice,” he said.
“She feels like a burden now.”
“She told you that?”
Another tiny nod. Inside the office, Lindlee was counting out cret, cheerful as ever. A dry wind rattled through the station, tugging at Karys’ hair. She tucked it back behind her ears. Her shadow shifted slightly at her feet.
“Ciene wanted Winola for a vessel,” he said, voice low. “I’m sure you worked that out. You would have been mine, Winola would have been hers—but Haeki wasn’t accounted for. She meant less than nothing to Vuhas; he would have killed her without a second’s hesitation. So yes, I kept her out of harm’s way. You would never have forgiven me if I hadn’t.”
Karys fixed her gaze ahead. “True. But my forgiveness isn’t the problem.”
“Tickets!” Lindlee emerged from the office, waving a small stack of papers. “We’re all set. Oh, Winola, you shouldn’t stand there; the train is going to arrive at any minute. I heard about a man who got decapitated leaning over the tracks like that.”
The scholar stepped back smartly.
Lindlee’s warning proved unnecessary: the train did not appear for another quarter of an hour. While they waited, she passed out stale sandwiches from a brown paper bag. Panlo continued to glower at everyone, and, after a few awkward minutes, Haeki got up and walked along the line of bulletin boards, pretending to read the posters.
Winola, who had been periodically glancing at the light catcher, was the first to notice the change. At her exclamation, Karys turned and saw the orb inside the cage shift from black to a deep, molten red. Then the air creaked. A line appeared across the blue sky: a searingly white band that grew brighter as it extended downwards to meet the light catcher. The orb turned pink, then tan, then yellow, while the band expanded until it formed a fifteen-foot wide tunnel through the air.
The train melted into existence. Gaining substance as it descended, it glided to the ground, and its wheels met the tracks with a ghostly whisper. It was not much like an ordinary train, more of a grey stone tube. Its sides tapered smoothly, windows shining black in the sunlight, and a lush sprawl of green vines sprouted from the network of hairline cracks covering its exterior surface. It slowed, slowed, and came to a quiet stop alongside the platform. With a rumble, a door near the front of the vehicle opened.
Winola gave an appreciative sigh.
“Wonderful,” she said.
Curious, Karys followed Haeki to the door. The vehicle’s interior resembled a cave. Pale lichen dressed the walls, while seaferns and saltmoss grew along the narrow channels of water scoured into the floor. It smelled earthy and briny and damp. Irregular stone formations formed sheltered alcoves, dividing up the space into a series of smaller chambers.
“I really thought all prismatic vehicles would have been decommissioned by now,” said Winola, climbing aboard. “Even minor damage to light catchers has been known to cause itinerant material to fall out of interstitial suspension.”
Karys eyed her. “You’re saying the train could drop out of the air while we’re in it?”
“Well, yes. But that probably won’t happen.”
Lindlee still stood on the platform. Panlo was talking to her, his expression strained and serious. As Karys watched, he leaned forward, kissed the girl’s forehead, and then straightened her hat. Lindlee looked embarrassed, but nodded in agreement with whatever he was saying. She picked up her suitcase, gave him a quick hug, and then hurried over to join them.
“All ready?” she asked.
A deep vibration thrummed through the floor, and the door juddered closed. From the platform, Panlo gave a dignified wave. Karys suspected that he could not see them through the dark windows, but Lindlee waved back. Her gaze flicked toward Karys and Haeki.
“You know,” she said, “I’ve heard that people in Mercia ride around inside giant spiders worked by their false heralds.”
“Sounds heretical,” said Haeki.
The train rolled sedately sideways along the rails. The floor tilted and then, without a hint of resistance, the vehicle slid into the air. Karys steadied herself against the wall. Panlo and the station vanished as the view outside the window dissolved into a white haze. Winola drew closer to the glass, captivated.
“I’ve always wanted to travel in one of these,” she said. “I wonder where the navigation working is situated.”
“Please don’t upset the train,” said Karys.
“Probably near the front of the vehicle. That would make sense.”
“Winola.”
“Oh, don’t be so grim.” Winola turned from the window. “We’re almost at Eludia. Shouldn’t you be happier?”
“I would actually like to reach Eludia.”
“If you’re interested, I think there’s a historical exhibit near the back of the train,” said Lindlee. “Old papers about Narcalis and some other heralds who gifted us transport workings. I remember reading the plaques.”
“Oh?” said Winola.
“I can show you, if you want. It isn’t very exciting, though.”
“No, I’d like to see. Karys, Haeki?”
Haeki shrugged. “I don’t mind.”
Karys’ jaw was throbbing in time with her heartbeat, hot and insistent. “I’ll pass for now. Try not to break anything important.”
“Why would I break a historical exhibit? How would I break a historical exhibit?”
Karys moved toward the alcove nearest the train door. “Just stay away from whatever is keeping this thing in the air.”
“Baseless mistrust,” Winola called after her.
The alcove formed a sheltered nook; the stone extruded to serve as a comfortable bench beside the window, and a soft bed of greyish-green saltmoss carpeted the floor. Karys reclined against the slope of the wall, the surface pleasantly cool against her shoulders. At her feet, water trickled along the channels scored into the rock. It smelled clean and damp, faintly minty. Through the window, the pale light of the tunnel spun in rainbows, and the spectrum played across her skin. She absentmindedly kneaded the muscles of her neck with her fingertips.
“Stiff?” asked Ferain.
“Hm.” Karys let her hand fall. “Slept wrong, I guess.”
Her shadow stretched out across the opposite end of the bench, extending up the wall so that he appeared to face her.
“Strange to think we’re almost there, isn’t it?” he said.
“Mm-hm.” She studied the lichen on the wall beside her head. It looked as delicate as folded paper.
“What is it?”
“Nothing.” She made an effort to relax her shoulders. “Yes, it’s strange. Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I could ask the same of you.”
The pain in her jaw was settling, fading once more. Before they left the lodge, she had made doubly sure that Rasko’s parcel was still in her bag—whatever that box contained, she needed to deliver it as soon as possible. She had also stowed Ferain’s stolen relic, although she was uncertain what to do with the old phial. Selling priceless artefacts in an unfamiliar city seemed complicated.
“Can’t really complain.” She touched the lichen with one fingertip. Felt like feathers. “I’m about to get a lot richer, assuming you haven’t conned me.”
“You don’t believe that.”
“No. But I’ve been wrong before.”
By his voice, Karys could tell that Ferain was smiling.
“Oh?” he said. “You have?”
“Shut up.” She tried to suppress her own smile, not entirely successfully. “What did Winola ask you this morning?”
“You do realise that she spoke in Toraigian for a reason?”
“Yes, so that I wouldn’t understand her.”
“Very astute. I’m glad you picked that up.”
“You seemed upset.”
He shook his head. “I wasn’t, not exactly. Just surprised.”
“Ferain, come on. Tell me.”
“I’ve been formally trained to resist interrogation. You aren’t going to draw it out of me.”
“What if I reduce the interest on my travel expenses?”
“It’s intriguing that your next angle is bribery. Still no.”
She huffed and crossed her arms, although she wasn’t really upset. Her shadow sat across from her, unmoved and at ease. He really is all right. It was difficult to forget what Vuhas had said, but Ferain seemed so comfortable, so normal. The tension inside Karys unwound. If he was in pain, I’d know. I’d be able to tell.
“Can I ask a question?” she asked.
“Another one, you mean. Go ahead.”
“While we were—while you were in my head?” She wavered, then pressed on. “I could see things. I think they were memories. Your memories. I wasn’t trying to pry, but—but I couldn’t really control it. Did that happen to you too?”
Her shadow’s head cocked to one side.
“A little,” he said.
“What did you see?”
“Haeki when she was younger. A boy I assume was Oboro. Your father. Miresse. I wasn’t going to bring it up.”
Disquieting. Karys shivered. “Right.”
“It was only fragments.”
“No, I…” She unfolded her arms. Doesn’t matter, he already knew anyway. “I just wondered. Who is Ilesha?”
Ferain flickered, startled. “That’s who you saw?”
“Amongst other people. She stood out.”
For some reason, that answer amused him. “You liked her?”
“What?”
“Ilesha was my fiancée.”
It was Karys’ turn for surprise. “You had a fiancée?”
“Why is that so shocking? Yes, I had a fiancée, and I hope you’ll get to meet her. What was the memory?”
The scene remained all too vivid in Karys’ mind. She could feel her face warming, and strove to keep her voice casual. “Oh, just the two of you talking about Toraigus. I could feel … I could tell you liked her a lot.”
“Figures. We were engaged for five years before she broke it off.” Ferain’s tone turned fond. “The circumstances were impossible, although I refused to admit that at the time. She wanted to stay in Eludia, I needed to leave it, and marriage is a slightly hollow promise when you’re living hundreds of miles apart. In the end, neither of us wanted to hold the other back. So we separated.”
“That’s sad.”
“It is, and it isn’t. I’d still go to war for Ilesha if she asked. We’re best friends.”
The last statement gave Karys an unexpected pang. Somehow, she had not imagined Ferain having a best friend either—she had foolishly assumed that his life mirrored her own. A recluse diplomat—very likely. “So, what is she like?”
Her shadow considered the question for a moment, deliberating.
“Formidable,” he said. “Clever. Very perceptive; you can’t slip much past her. Decisive, quick, tougher and more principled than people assume. Keeps her true opinions close to her chest. Good at making people feel comfortable, even when they shouldn’t. Generous to a fault, very little patience for fools. Terrible cook.”
Karys absorbed that, trying to square his description with her brief impression of the woman. “She seemed protective of you.”
“I suppose she can be. Not that I deserve it. You mentioned other people; who else did you see?”
She raised her gaze to the ceiling of the train. Her recollections of the night had grown jumbled: some memories crystallised, others blurred. There was the Sanctum and the dark, the party in Toraigus. Vuhas in his study, Winola with blood on her lips.
“A woman with white hair,” she said slowly. “She was tied to a chair, looking out a window. I—you brought her flowers, I think. Red flowers. Something was wrong with her.”
“My mother.”
Karys looked down, hearing the change in his voice. Ferain sounded calm and open; possessed of the same rare and unflinching sincerity that she had come to trust.
“She died two years ago,” he said. “Her caretaker made a mistake, and she got away. Jumped from the roof.”
The statement was simple and matter-of-fact. Karys felt at a loss.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Her shadow made a small gesture, as if to brush away her concern. “Thank you, but it’s all right. I knew it would happen eventually. She made the first attempt when I was eight, and after that it was … well, inevitable. That’s the family inheritance, courtesy of Ambavar—an irrepressible tendency for suicide.”
There was no trace of self-pity or anger in his words, only a touch of irony. He sounded older, and tired. Karys remembered his claustrophobic loneliness—Ilesha in the sunlit bedroom asking who he was trying to impress.
“You miss her,” she said.
Although her shadow did not react visibly, Karys immediately knew that she had misspoken. There was no way to take back the inane, inadequate comment once it had left her mouth, but Ferain replied without a hint of reproof.
“It’s senseless,” he said. “Grieving an empty shell. There was never any chance of recovery. She hadn’t recognised me in twenty years, didn’t speak, didn’t hunger, never reacted to anything around her. I hated her, and I miss her constantly.”
The water trickled along the moss. The light through the window remained bright and constant.
“It mostly manifests in the women of my family,” he said, after a moment. “Not all of them, obviously, and it’s much less common now. My mother was the first in three generations. The worst part is that there’s never any warning—one day, they’re fine: planting flowers in the garden. The next, they crack and try to cut their throat with a letter opener. And once that first break happens, there’s no return. Everything else empties out, except for death.”
Karys touched the stone bench where her shadow lay. Ferain made a rueful sound.
“Sorry,” he said. “Morbid. It’s part of the reason why I dislike my heritage. Not that I actually believe I’m related to Ambavar, but he did Favour one of my ancestors, and that came at a cost. Please stop looking at me like that, Karys.”
She spoke softly. “I’m sorry I saw something so personal.”
“Don’t be stupid. Besides, I don’t mind if it’s you.”
A strong feeling rose up within her. She could not identify the emotion, but her head felt lighter than it should, and her body seemed too warm, and the world had narrowed down to the curving slope of the wall opposite her.
Then the floor of the train tilted, and the feeling was swallowed by a rush of alarm. Karys pushed herself up from the bench.
“I told Winola not to go near the train’s workings,” she snarled. “If she drops us out of the sky, I swear—”
At the sudden lurch, her shadow had gone dark and tight, but now he relaxed. “It’s fine.”
“It is not fine.”
“Karys”—Ferain was clearly trying not to laugh—“we’re descending to the next station.”
It took a second for his words to sink in. She subsided back onto the bench. “Oh.”
The train flowed down through the air, and the light of the tunnel dimmed, growing translucent as they slowed. The landscape here was greener, more pastoral than the hills around Tuschait. Orchards of citrus trees appeared from the haze, and then the station came into view: a square, redbrick building surrounded by neat grass lawns. With a barely perceptible clink, the train met the rails alongside the platform. The floor levelled, and they drew to a gentle halt. The door rumbled open.
“I think there were five or six stops along the route,” said Ferain. “But I slept through most of the ride last time, so I don’t really remember.”
A few people were boarding the vehicle. Karys could not see them from inside the alcove, but she heard their footsteps. One of them coughed. A few seconds later, the door rolled closed once more, and the train began to move. Her shadow fell into the correct shape at her side.
“Ferain, I’ve been thinking,” Karys said in an undertone. “Once we reach Eludia, when you get your body back—”
A young woman appeared in the mouth of the alcove, and Karys stopped talking immediately. The stranger smiled at her.
“Sorry,” she said. “I hope I’m not bothering you. The station manager said that there was some sort of exhibit aboard? Do you know where that might be?”
Karys straightened up. “I think it’s down the—”
The woman moved like lightning. The knife came down hard—the blade black, edged with pondscum green—but Ferain was faster. He caught the woman’s wrist inches from Karys’ face. Without a second of hesitation, he snapped it.
Bone cracked, and the woman shrieked in pain, dropping her weapon. The drawing hit Karys like a body blow; a gasp left her mouth, but she was already scrambling for the knife, snatching it up from the ground. Ferain shoved the woman out of the alcove to give Karys space. The drawing hit again, and she staggered.
“Stop,” she choked.
Ferain snarled and fell back to her side. Karys used the bench to rise. Her head was spinning, but she held the knife in front of her. Shit. The woman clutched her arm and whimpered, her right hand hanging limp. A tall man appeared in the corridor behind her; he thrust the woman out of the way, and stepped into the alcove. There was another knife in his hand.
“Karys,” said Ferain tightly.
She shook her head, breathing hard. Not yet. If Ferain burned through all her energy, she would be left helpless to defend herself.
“Her shadow,” moaned the woman. “Unnatural…”
“Shut it,” said the man.
Karys pulled open the Veneer, and the strangers lit up with workings. Body modifications and worked tools, all Ephirite-derived. New Favour. They’ve found me.
The man lunged. Instinct moved her; Karys raised the stolen knife to shield her face. Simultaneously, her shadow pushed away the man’s weapon, causing him to stumble. Her blade nicked his cheek.
The man jolted as if shocked by an electric current. A heartbeat later, Karys’ vision went dark, and she slumped sideways into the wall. Couldn’t keep this up, not with Ferain drawing constantly. Someone was screaming. Her vision cleared, and she found the man reeling away from her—cursing, scrubbing at his face. His blood glowed through the Veneer; between his fingers, the tiny cut on his cheek grew rapidly, his flesh splitting open and peeling back. With a dull pop, his left eye burst. He howled.
“Fuck,” Karys whispered.
Ferain threw himself in front of her, blocking her view, but she could still hear the man as his screams turned to wet gurgling and then a clicking, crunching noise.
“It’s the Construct’s effect.” Her shadow cursed. “The knife, they’ve done something to it.”
Karys looked down at the blade in her hand. The edge was barely red; she had scarcely touched the man. A gossamer-like web of light glinted where the metal was slicked by the bright green liquid. Her voice came out high and strangled. “Ferain, move. I need to see.”
“Not this,” he said.
She could hear the woman’s rapid, panicked breathing outside the alcove; nothing now from the man. That would have been me. That would have been me if either of them cut me. Karys bit the inside of her cheek, tasting blood. Needed to keep her head.
“How did you find me, saint?” she called hoarsely.
The woman did not answer.
“I don’t want to hurt you.” Karys stepped through the black wall of her shadow, out into the passage. “Talk.”
The woman stood with her back pressed to the train wall, her face grey. No trace of the man remained except for his dropped knife. Karys kicked it out of reach. The woman flinched and shrank, crushing the lichen behind her. She could not have been much older than twenty.
“I didn’t know it would look like that,” she whispered. “Oh. Oh, Embrace.”
“Talk.” Karys lifted her knife. “How did you find me?”
“The Constructs woke.” The woman’s words emerged garbled, her accent Mercian. “They had lost your trail, but then they roused for half a day, and led us to the Riddled Gorge. We found the bodies there and spoke to them. We learned you were headed for Tuschait, and from there to Eludia—we knew there was a chance we could intercept you, so we paid the station manager to alert us when unfamiliar women boarded the train.”
“How many more saints are waiting?”
“It was just us, I swear. If we’d held out for reinforcements, we would have lost you. There wasn’t enough time.”
“But New Favour will send more. What are the Supremes so afraid of?”
The woman swallowed, eyes wide. “The last harbour, the reeker you bound. If they survive, everything that New Favour sacrificed will be for nothing. War—it means a war of vengeance with Varesli.”
“New Favour assassinated an ambassador and blew up the embassy. If the Supremes want peace—”
“Only because Mercia holds the advantage.” The woman’s voice was imploring, frightened. “Varesli won’t attack from a position of weakness. We had to stop them from regaining power, disarm them while we still could.”
“What power?” Karys stepped closer. “Why was the retinue attacked?”
“It’s not about them, it’s about what they—”
Something cold wrapped around Karys’ hand, and jerked her arm forward. The knife pierced the woman’s stomach, sliding smoothly into her flesh.
Karys stopped breathing. The woman blinked, shocked. Her eyes were a deep brown flecked with amber, and up close she smelled of sweat and something floral, sweet. She gazed at Karys without accusation; she looked lost and scared and small.
“Kill me,” she said.
There was a roar in Karys’ ears. She still held the knife, and she could not move. I didn’t …
Her shadow swept forward, curled around the saint’s throat, and snapped her neck. The woman crumpled, body folding inward even as she fell.
The world went black. Karys dropped, her body giving way completely as the roar turned to a terrible ringing. Her knees hit the floor of the train, and the knife clattered. I didn’t … I didn’t … Everything spun around her, echoes deafening.
“Karys? Karys?”
Ferain’s voice. The train swam back into focus. She was on all fours, shaking uncontrollably, her shadow draped over her shoulders. Her body felt freezing cold.
“I didn’t!” she gasped. “I wasn’t going to hurt her.”
The woman was gone, leaving only crushed lichen and broken ferns behind. Karys could feel the knife sliding in: the gentle resistance, the moment of give. She lifted her trembling hand. Her skin was wet. Not with blood. Water.
“Karys!”
She flinched at the sound of Haeki’s voice, and pushed back onto her heels. The world tilted in her vision, light flaring like white fire across the walls. The resistance, and the give. She tasted bile in her mouth. Haeki, out of breath, dropped to a crouch beside her.
“Nuliere said apostates were trying to kill the Son of Night.” She spoke in a rush. “She said—”
“Saltmoss,” whispered Karys.
All along the channels in the floor, dull and grey and familiar. It grew in seawater; it had been everywhere in Boäz, common to the coast around Psikamit. The Bhatuma’s words resounded in Karys’ head: Where there is salt in the water, so am I. The floor and the walls of the train ran with brine—Karys had smelled it, but given it no further thought.
“Oh, you monster,” she said, voice low. “You craven, cowardly piece of shit.”
The water in the channel made a sound like waves lapping sand.
“Am I not to expect gratitude, then?” asked Nuliere.
Karys struck the channel, grazing her palm. Her body would not stop shaking; she gritted her teeth to keep them from chattering.
“She was scared,” she hissed.
Nuliere made a derisive noise. “The apostate attempted to kill you and the Son of Night. I acted to protect—”
“She was too frightened to move! You … you used me.”
The Bhatuma was unperturbed. “You are a daughter of Boäz and fall within the sphere of my influence.”
“Now I’m yours again? You turn me into a murderer, and now you claim me back?”
“I do not claim you, apostate. I do what is necessary to safeguard my kin with the tools that are available to me. If I must guide your unworthy hands, so be it.”
Karys let her head fall. She did not know what to do with her fury, with her horror, with her despairing hatred of the herald. Her entire body felt numb and weak; she had no reserves left. Two people dead by her own hand, one after the other. She knew they had meant to kill her, but for it to happen so quickly, for it to be so brutal and so close—
“Convenient timing,” said Ferain.
He spoke without expression, distant and polite—but there was a sharp edge to the angles of Karys’ shadow. The water in the channels stilled to mirror flatness.
“Son of Night?” enquired Nuliere.
He did not answer her, instead shifting to cross Haeki’s shadow.
“Can you help her?” he asked, softer. “I took too much. She needs warmth, and if Lindlee has any more food, that would probably—”
Before Haeki could touch her, Karys forced her legs to work. She stood up on her own.
“Don’t treat me like a child,” she said harshly.
“Then learn to ask for help,” Ferain snapped back. “And by the way, I think you’ll find that I killed that woman, not you.”
“She was already dead.”
“Funny, it didn’t feel that way when I broke her neck.”
“Son of Night, have I given offence?” asked Nuliere.
Silence. After a moment, Karys’ shadow loosened, dark angles giving way.
“No,” he said. “No, but in future I would prefer if you didn’t … guide her hands.”
Karys made a sound of disgust. She shambled back into the alcove, and bent to pick up her bag. The effort almost unbalanced her.
“Of course,” said Nuliere. “My apologies, kindred. My exertions in repelling the last apostates resulted in a momentary weakness, and during that time I was unable to shield you from the enemy’s sight. I regret this, and in future will keep them at bay.”
Karys found the thin coat Marishka had given her, and tugged it on. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Haeki stooping to retrieve the dead man’s knife.
“Don’t touch that,” she said sharply. “If it cuts you, you’re dead.”
Haeki hesitated, before taking the knife by the handle and lifting it up to the light. “Then I won’t let it cut me. Is this Ephirite-worked?”
“Ephirite-derived, I think. There’s a second one by the door.”
“I saw it.” Haeki lowered the knife again. “You should sit down. I’m going to talk to Winola, and we’ll tell Lindlee you got sick. Are you hurt?”
Karys scoffed. “Not at all. Your herald made sure of that.”
“Then you should be thanking her.”
“Oh, my gratitude is boundless—I get to watch as she culls apostates one by one. When do you suppose it will be my turn?”
Haeki’s forehead creased.
“Stay here,” she said. “I won’t be long.”
Even exhausted, Karys wanted to lash out. She needed Haeki to react, to get mad, to admit the truth, to acknowledge the lines drawn between them. To hurt her. Not to walk away, steps light and swift, as if nothing had happened. Karys sank down onto the bench, and hugged her arms close to her chest. Although her relentless shivering had eased, the bone-deep chill remained. Ferain pooled at her feet, watchful and unspeaking. Angry. She shut her eyes.
“Thank you,” she muttered. “For what you did. Sparing her.”
A long silence. The water in the channel moved soundlessly.
“I don’t think I deserve thanks,” he said. “It felt like the only choice.”
His voice was controlled and calm. Karys did not like it.
“At least we learned something,” she said bitterly. “It seems like your heritage had nothing to do with—”
“Not now,” he interrupted.
She was spent. The sliding sensation of metal parting flesh lingered in her hand. “I’d have thought you’d be happy.”
Her shadow did not reply. The train was quiet, and the echoes of the man’s screams reverberated inside Karys—the awful noises of his body rupturing and folding, tearing itself inside out. Ferain said that was the Construct’s effect. She had seen how Coren Oselaw died, but that violence had been swift. Gruesome but total. Slower was so much worse, slower was near unspeakable, and the idea that the same end awaited Ferain was beyond her. And for him to see it up close, intimately, for him to recognise that horror …
“We’ll stop it,” she said. “That won’t be you.”
“Enough, Karys.”
His sharpness stung, but she could not stay silent. “Whatever it takes. Not this, not you. I’ve broken promises before, but this one I’ll keep. Not this, and not you.”
He made a frustrated sound. “You aren’t listening to me.”
Something about the way he pronounced the words, a slight shift in his cadences, penetrated the fog of her exhaustion, and she finally understood. Nuliere. Although the herald had gone silent, she would still be present, still able to eavesdrop on their conversation. No doubt she had been listening all along.
And, for whatever reason, Ferain did not want the Bhatuma to hear them talking.
“Right,” said Karys softly. “Not now.”