“There is much I could have avoided if I had been permitted to read that book. A great many people now dead would still be alive.”

  “Are you still so naive, Alwyn? Her rise was always inevitable, but the birth of your son was not.”

  There was a weight to her words now, an emphatic note that caused me to lean forward, brow furrowed in realisation. “Stevan. He was the reason you kept it from me. You wanted him to be born.”

  She met my gaze, her expression that of a woman forcing herself to confront deserved censure. “It has never been a question of wants, Alwyn. Just necessities. Speaking of which, your son will need your guidance for what lies ahead.”

  “And what is that?”

  “I know you won’t believe me when I say this, but I simply don’t know. All I can say is that the world will turn upon his fate, as it turned so long ago when the veil between the worlds was pierced.”

  “You expect me to watch you burn and stay at Evadine’s side?”

  “We both know you won’t stay with her, whatever the outcome tomorrow. But yes, I do expect you to watch me burn. So, please forget any daring plans or schemes of escape you may be hatching.” She drank again, and to my astonishment I saw the goblet tremble in her hand.

  “You’re afraid,” I said. “Why would one who can’t die be afraid?”

  “Why would you imagine I can’t die? You placed yourself in this peril to save me, did you not? Or was there another reason you came?”

  “I came for you!” My vehemence had me shifting in my chair, causing its weakened limbs to give way. I stood before it could deposit me on my arse, kicking the treacherous bundle of sticks away. I tossed my now empty goblet aside and reached for the bottle, resting an arm on the lintel above the fireplace and drinking deep. The Sack Witch allowed me a short interval of indulgence before speaking again.

  “Do you hate me, Alwyn?”

  I looked at the bottle in my hand, finding it half empty even though I felt not the slightest bit drunk. Muttering a curse, I threw it into the shadowed recess of the inn, hearing it shatter. “Would there be any point to it, if I did?” I asked her. “For I fancy hating you would be like hating the rain or the wind. You simply are.”

  She rose to her feet and came to my side, voice softer now, coloured by a need for understanding. “I searched for you for such a long time, always wondering who you would be. A king? A prince? A mighty warrior famed for both mercy and fury? I’ll admit I never expected you to be an outlaw, one I first saw running from men intent on hanging him from the nearest tree, no less.”

  “Then it pains me to have been such a disappointment.”

  “No, Alwyn.” She reached for my hand, squeezing it hard. “Never that.”

  Looking at her open, pleading face, I was struck once more by her beauty, ageless and undimmed by her bruises. “I have an inkling of what the Eithlisch is,” I said. “For he is but a child next to you. But I have no notion whatsoever of what you truly are.”

  She squeezed my hand again before sinking back into her chair. “A question that will be answered on the morrow.” Lifting her goblet to her lips, she frowned at finding it empty. “I find this doesn’t irk me so much as it once did. Do you think you could find me some more?”

  So, we sat together as she drank and talked of many things. I asked her no more questions, even though I had many. Demanding answers now felt out of place, almost insulting. Instead, she talked of the lands she had walked in her vast span of years. Some were peaceful and rich in wonders, others even more riven by strife and misery than Albermaine, yet no matter how far she travelled, she found one trait common to all cultures.

  “The Fall,” she said. “The Ealthsar to the Caerith. The Scourge to you. In the Satrapy of Uhlmesh they call it the Shattering. In Ishtakar the Saluhtan’s archive has an entire vault wherein lie the preserved accounts of what their scholars call the Dawn of the Shadow Age. A singular lesson I’ve learned is that, if there is one thing that unites humanity, it’s catastrophe.”

  Although I had resisted asking more questions, there was one I found I couldn’t contain. “Were you there? Did you witness the Scourge?”

  “Even I am not so old. No, I was born in the years that followed, when the Caerith were still a broken, scattered people. We were degraded, reduced in spirit and number. Yet, I could see the vestiges of what we once were, what we could become again. Guiding them was the work of decades, for they had fallen so deeply into the mire of ignorance. In time, as I found others who shared my peculiar abilities, the Caerith changed, they grew. And so, I reasoned, if such a thing could be done for the Caerith, why could it not be done for the world? But I was not fully prepared for what I would find when I ventured forth. I thought myself wise, for was I not ancient and steeped in lore? But I was an innocent lost amid a vast and confusing ocean. I came to understand that my mission was absurd, an infantile and arrogant conceit, but in coming to that understanding I uncovered a deeper truth. As I laboured to remake the world, something else laboured to bring it once again to ruin.”

  “The Malecite.” I shifted on my perch atop a footstool found among the wreckage, recalling the entwined, inhuman corpses in the crater beyond the petrified forest. “How can it have lived? I’ve seen its corpse.”

  “The smoke of a candle flame will linger after it’s snuffed.”

  “So, it’s a spectre, like so many I’ve seen recently. Incidentally, it would have been courteous of you to warn me what carrying the stone feather entailed.”

  “Would you have carried it if I had? And, if you hadn’t, would you be standing before me now?”

  I said nothing, seeing no sign of contrition in her bearing. I understood then that her compassion was matched, or perhaps even exceeded, by her ruthlessness. She cared for me, I knew that. But I also knew, should her design require it, she would forfeit my life in an instant.

  “So, the Malecite lingers,” I said, turning my gaze from her. “Formless yet potent enough to twist Evadine to its purpose.”

  The Sack Witch nodded. “For generations I hunted it, finding only traces. It has journeyed as far as I, yet always insubstantial, denied a vessel for its ambitions, until, two decades ago, it found one, in her.”

  My mind returned to the sight of Evadine gazing upon Stevan in his cot, the intensity of both love and need I saw in her. “My son, does he carry it too? The Malecite’s… essence. Its soul.”

  “His blood is hers, but also yours, Alwyn. That is why, after tomorrow, you must remain at his side. Only you can keep him on the path he must follow.”

  “The path to where? To what?”

  She shook her head, a sad smile of apology on her lips. “I have been given only glimpses. It’s like looking at a mountain in the far distance, one you know must be climbed but the route and the goal are hidden.”

  “And if he can’t climb it? If he strays from the path?”

  The smile faded from her lips and she looked away. It was all the answer I required.

  “I would let the whole world fall to ruin before I did such a thing,” I told her, my words hard and precise. “You chose your mission. I chose none of this.”

  “You chose to ignore the evidence of what she was becoming. You chose to march at her side through one needless war after another. You chose to love her. Your son is the result of those choices. Some responsibilities cannot be shirked, Alwyn.”

  “When did I ever shirk anything? I came here for you, fully expecting death as a reward.”

  “You stood and watched as Deckin Scarl tortured captives, did you not? Sometimes to the death. You stole from the beggared and the destitute so that your band might have full bellies for the winter. And you did murder at his behest.”

  “I was an orphaned, unwanted bastard cast into a forest. A child who knew no better.”

  “Did he? Being so clever, so insightful. A clever boy could have found another way, could he not?”

  I glared at her, heat building in my chest, even though I couldn’t deny a word she had said. “If I am guilty then so are you. We saved her, remember? I didn’t know what she would become, but you did. So why?”

  “Because your son needed to be born. His presence in this world is worth all the blood that flowed from our act. In time, you will understand. But I will not shy from your anger, for I deserve it.”

  Suddenly she seemed weary, slumping in her chair, the goblet dangling from a listless hand. She blinked tired eyes at me as I took the vessel from her and set it aside. For a second I caught a glimpse of her true age in those eyes, the depth of experience and knowledge behind them shining bright.

  “Is that why you came?” I asked her. “To face the punishment you feel you deserve?”

  “As you came for me.” She reached out to stroke a hand across my face. “So I came for you.” She huddled into her chair, concealing her hands in the sleeves of her robe. “I think I will sleep for a while. Something I haven’t done for such a long time.”

  A rush of panic gripped me then, a desperate realisation that I couldn’t allow any harm to come to her. “I can get us clear of here,” I said, gripping her arm. “That idiot sergeant won’t be hard to take down. We can light a fire in here, the smoke will shroud our escape…”

  “No.” Her ancient eyes stared into me, halting my scheming with inarguable resolve. My distress must have shown in my face for her gaze softened and she smiled again. “Just let me sleep, Alwyn.” She settled back and closed her eyes, voice dwindling to a soft murmur. “I’m curious to see if I’ll dream…”

  It was Supplicant Ildette who appeared some hours after dawnlight glimmered through the shattered windows of the inn. The door slammed open from the weight of her kick before she strode into view, flanked by a pair of impressively tall Covenant soldiers. The Supplicant and her escorts were notably cleaner than the unwashed mob I had been led through the night before, their polished breastplates emblazoned with an unfamiliar crest: a white shield flanked by columns of flame. The Lady’s Shield, I recalled Evadine saying when this fanatic and her brother had turned up in Athiltor. The Ascendant Queen has her own personal guard. From the hungry anticipation on the Rhianvelan woman’s face, I concluded that they also had another role in this army: the queen’s executioners.

  “Bind the traitor!” she snapped, quick to notice my unfettered hands. “And the witch!”

  My companion had remained asleep until roused by the slamming door, while I had spent the intervening hours veering from hopeless, infuriated despair to yet more panicked scheming. Many times I went to rouse her, intent upon forcing her to follow as I orchestrated our escape. Yet each time I reached for her, my hand shook with such violence I quickly abandoned the attempt. I couldn’t tell if it was the result of some arcane agency on her part, or if I was simply unable to act against her will. She was determined upon submitting to the fire this day, and nothing I could do would prevent it.

  I stood and allowed my wrists to be bound once again, to the front this time, watching one of Ildette’s guardsmen loop rope around the Sack Witch’s slender frame. His forcefulness in drawing it tight to fasten the knots provoked a pained gasp from her, causing me to lurch towards him, snarling insults only to be brought low when his comrade delivered a kick to my legs.

  “No trouble from you now, Scribe,” Ildette said, crouching to purr into my ear. “The queen decrees no harm to you, but that doesn’t stop me fixing a gag in that shithole mouth of yours.” She stood back, snapping brisk instructions at the guards. “Get them up and let’s be about the day’s business. You have leave to use your blades if that lot outside gets too bothersome.”

  A twenty-strong contingent of the Lady’s Shield awaited us outside, their swords drawn. Beyond the ruins of Ambriside I saw the ground before the siege works was thick with people, all faces turned in our direction and the air pregnant with hushed expectation. Rising above the multitude stood a tall conical stack of timber, a pole rising from its centre. I could see workmen busily dousing the timber with oil and shoving wooden kindling into the cracks.

  Turning to the Sack Witch I saw neither the serene calm I expected or the terror I feared. Instead, her demeanour was one of concentrated interest, her gaze surveying the scene as if intent on recalling every detail. Had my hands been free I know I would have snatched a dagger from one of the guards and plunged it into her chest in that moment. Better that the death that awaited her atop the bonfire.

  “You can still stop this,” I said, uncaring of the thin, pleading desperation in my voice. “I know you can. Please!”

  “Got a spell up your sleeve, have you, witch?” Ildette enquired with a harsh chuckle. “Do you imagine those of us bathed in the light of the Risen Martyr have anything to fear from your tricks?”

  The Sack Witch spared her only a brief, irritated glance, before nodding at the waiting crowd. “Best not keep them waiting,” she said.

  I watched the humour on Ildette’s face stiffen into anger before she reached out to grab the ropes about the Sack Witch’s midriff, dragging her forward then shoving her so she stumbled to her knees. “No,” she hissed, “let’s not!” Hauling the prisoner upright she pushed her on, calling out a loud command, “Make way for the heretic!”

  In contrast to the vocal hatred of the night before, this time the assembled mass of the Covenant Host was silent. They parted before the procession without complaint, or any shouted insults or hail of spit. Still, I could taste their bloodlust, it hung over them just as thick and potent as the stench of their unwashed bodies. I fancied that the siege lines must have been abandoned for the day, so numerous was this unspeaking mob. The reason for their quietude was obvious in the person of the Ascendant Queen herself. Evadine sat mounted atop Ulstan, viewing the proceedings from the elevated position of a rise where her banner fluttered from a tall pole. She was clad in full armour, a gleaming contrast to the besmirched throng of her soldier congregants. Clutched to her breastplate was a small bundle swaddled in white coverings.

  It is often opined by the lazy of mind that love and hate are but two edges of the same blade. I tend to think of them as the same sea but with an ever-changing coastline. In the good days the waves wash gently on sun-kissed beaches beneath cloudless azure skies. When strife inevitably arrives, they pound and roil against rocky inlets and sheer, rain-lashed cliffs. Sometimes, calm will be restored, sometimes not. The sight of my son in the arms of a woman about to do gruesome murder forever changed what had existed between myself and Evadine Courlain. Only a soul transformed beyond all human conscience would have brought a child, no matter how young, to this atrocity. The shreds of reluctance that had dogged my intent since the destruction of Couravel vanished in that moment. From here on, there would only be storms between us.

  A cordon of more guards from the Lady’s Shield had been established around the stacked timber, creating a circle of bare ground between crowd and bonfire. Ildette gave the Sack Witch a final shove upon reaching the cordon, sending her to her knees once more and drawing a hungry murmur from the crowd.

  “Tie her to the pole,” Ildette instructed a pair of guards who dutifully reached down to haul the captive to her feet. However, as their hands touched her woollen robe, they both froze. For a second they remained in the same stooped position, faces turning a sickly shade of white. Then, unbidden, they retreated several steps, limbs trembling. My heart gave a hopeful lurch at the sight. Finally, the Doenlisch was about to unleash her power. Instead, she merely got to her feet and began to climb the piled timber.

  “What are you doing?” I demanded of her, suffering a punch to the gut from Ildette. Plainly enraged and unnerved by the odd behaviour of her subordinates, the Supplicant drew her gauntleted fist back for a strike at my face, then stopped as the voice of the Ascendant Queen was heard for the first time.

  “Abide by your faith, Supplicant.” As ever, Evadine’s voice carried to all ears present even though she appeared not to shout. Also, her tone was mild, chiding rather than critical. Still, it sufficed to cause Ildette’s raised arm to fall to her side, her own features now a similar shade to the pair of trembling guards.

  Something is at work here, I knew, barely feeling the ache in my belly, my attention now fixed upon the Sack Witch. Her progress to the bonfire’s crest was swift, despite her bound arms. Upon reaching the pole, she turned and rested her back against it, casting her gaze over the rapt, staring multitude before her. I thought she might say something, assail them with either castigation or sage insight. She did neither, merely frowning in sorrow before shifting her gaze to the mounted woman on the rise, her expression becoming one of stern, almost insistent expectation.

  If Evadine was disturbed by her victim’s absence of terror, she failed to show it, although I noted how Ulstan tossed his head and snorted. The Ascendant Queen returned the Sack Witch’s regard with a signal absence of emotion, her visage more glacial and statue-like than I had seen before. Then, expression unchanging, she turned to address her congregation.

  “Look upon this woman, friends,” she said, casting a hand towards the Sack Witch. “What do you see? A heretic? Certainly, for she is of the Caerith breed and therefore forever deaf to the Martyrs’ example and the Seraphiles’ grace. Do you also see, I wonder, a witch? If so, then you are correct once more, for this is yet another spinner of baubles and meaningless cants. Is it for these transgressions that I have ordered her just execution? No, friends. It is not. You look upon her and see something merely human. Vile and heathen, to be sure, but still a mortal body fashioned as we are. In this, you are wrong. So very wrong.”

  The child in her arms began to cry then, unleashing a loud wailing that said much for the strength of his tiny lungs. Evadine drew him closer to her breastplate, rocking him until his cries diminished. Her audience surely missed it, but I saw the brief tightening to her features as she quieted Stevan, the resentment and irritation of a performer irked by an unwanted interruption. Still, even in her more rational days, she had never been one to forsake an opportunity.