Ash the color of Jonas’s hair lies scattered on the ground, already dispersing in the wind.

“We didn’t… do anything… we just stood here….” Her voice is a ragged whisper.

William shakes his head, eyes somber. “Nothing stops the outcome of breaking an Oath. Oath magic becomes a part of a person’s DNA. The stronger the Oath, the more severe the consequence.”

“But…,” Alice falters.

“But what?” Sel jerks his chin at the ash. “This man did not deserve our mercy. He conspired with a Shadowborn to murder your best friend in cold blood. What part of that are you missing?”

“He…,” I whisper and turn to William. “He was coughing earlier.”

William nods slowly. “That’s what he meant about the Oath of Valor hitting him first. He’d planned to kill you before we arrived. The Oath was probably working on him when he picked us up at the airstrip.” His eyes flick to the goruchel. “But Kizia here was doing the dirty work, so his symptoms were mild.”

“His life ended the second he threw his dagger at Bree,” Sel says. “The direct attempt on her life pushed the magic over.”

“At his age, Jonas was close to Abatement,” William says quietly. “I don’t forgive him, or respect his decisions. I’m glad he can’t hurt anyone else. The Legendborn have so few choices about how we might leave this life. I wish he’d chosen another path.”

I watch the certainty on William’s face and feel the opposite. Inside, my heart is in turmoil. I am relieved that Jonas failed. Angry that he deceived me, deceived us. Furious that he injured Sel. Terrified that he could let a goruchel into what should have been a safe place for us to rest and recover. But when I search for feelings of vengeance against Jonas, or happiness that he is dead, I come up short.

Suddenly, Kizia wakes.

She surges against William’s hold, but he’s been ready, and Gawain’s strength is still flowing through him. He twists her around quickly and clasps both of her hands behind her back. She hisses in pain. “Let me go! Just let me go; I won’t touch your Scion.”

Sel pulls one of Jonas’s daggers out and kneels over the goruchel, placing it against her neck. “Nice nap?”

“Blood traitor!” Kizia snarls, but the pain keeps her still. Her shoulders don’t sit right in the sockets; the bones jut out alone at the ends of her shirt, and the arm muscles lie limp, an inch below where they should.

“You Shadowborn love calling me that, don’t you? You always say it right before I kill you.” Sel’s mouth curves in a slow smile. “How did you meet Jonas?”