“Then,” and now Kit’s voice was a croak, “I heard about your bounty. A million Rhoda. All that money … for the Tide. I told myself I had no choice. I had to track you down, to finish the horrible job we’d started with your parents all those years ago.” Kit whimpered and reached out a trembling hand. “I’m so sorry, Anji.”

“That’s how you found me,” Anji said, eyes wide. “On the streets … in that tavern … Sheertop.” She flexed her mangled hand, the phantom pain still present, still an aching loss she’d bear forever.

“Anji, I didn’t—”

Anji stumbled to the edge of the boat, to the rail, to the endless sea bearing down on their little craft, felt her gorge rise and pushed it down. If not for the Hawk, for the Menagerie, she would never have set foot in the castle, would never have killed Rolandrian. She’d still have her fingers. She’d still have her parents.

“Anji,” Kit said, her head lolling on her neck. “Anji, I’m so … I’m—”

“You,” Anji sputtered, “you! You—”

Anji screamed. She tore at her scalp, her remaining fingers digging filthy streaks down her cheeks.

“Please, Anji,” said Kit, her voice a whisper. “It hurts. I can’t—”

Anji rushed forward, ignoring the pain, the obstinate agony in her half-healed hand she’d never escape as long as she lived. She took up her father’s dagger in one shaking fist and slammed it into Kit’s heart.

The sea seemed to freeze, the sloop’s tattered sail drooped above, caught in a pocket of empty air. Anji locked eyes with the Hawk, pushing her weight into the dagger’s hilt, tears and snot and spittle dripping onto those leathers, mixing with Kit’s blood.

Kit convulsed under her. Warm blood gushed along the dagger’s blade. It ran down to join the pool. Anji choked a sob and felt something release in her throat, in the depths of her chest, like a knot untying and laying limp around her heart. She lowered herself to lay beside Kit and draped an arm over the Hawk, monster of the Menagerie. Would-be hero of a revolution.

Kit twitched, and Anji met her eyes again. In those glassy red wells, she could see a lifetime of murder and sorrow and regret. Years of remorse, of the needle-sharp knowledge of what she’d done, stared at Anji through those heavy lids. Kit’s lips parted, as though to say a final word. She lifted her taloned hand to touch Anji’s cheek, then the hand went slack. Her eyes reflected the milky gust of emerging stars overhead.

Chapter 45

45