He shrugged. ‘The need for organization demands attention, once the dust settles, or, in this case, once the blood sinks into the mud. Do I dislike the clerks, so crucial to civilization’s vitality?’ He let out a breath. ‘Probably. Scratching styluses instead of familiar faces, columns and lists instead of dreams and desires. Life’s sacred wonder, reduced to notations. What do we give up, Sorca, with this need to organize, categorize, summarize?’

‘Granted,’ she said, ‘mine is a soulless task, a task demanding soullessness, a task ensuring a soul’s surrender. You cannot imagine, Surgeon Prok, the soul’s slow death, in the repetitive twitching of a hand.’

Prok studied her for a long moment, and then he stepped close, reached down, and took her hand. She lifted her gaze to him, and managed a broken smile.

* * *

‘Hello, Mother,’ said Orfantal, rising from the bench. ‘This is her? My sister.’

Sandalath stood near the door, holding the hand of the small girl with the raven-black hair and luminous eyes. Her eyes remained fixed upon her son, wondering what it was about him that frightened her. The steadiness of his solemn gaze seemed to drain all certainty from her, and she felt a burgeoning desire to abase herself before him, seeking forgiveness.

He strode forward then, smiling at Korlat. ‘I’m Orfantal,’ he said to her. ‘Your brother. I’m here to take care of you.’ He glanced up at Sandalath. ‘Isn’t that right, Mother?’

She shook her head. Waking nightmares had begun plaguing her. Something was stirring inside, all cruel edges and stinging rebuke, as if some part of her now hovered overhead, whispering down a host of unpleasant truths. ‘You weren’t good enough for any of them. The children he dragged from you, one failure after another. He pushed them through—’ She shook her head a second time. He was a god, she now replied to her other self. He chose me. Me!

‘Mother?’

Sandalath nodded. ‘No. She will protect you, not the other way round. Even if it takes her life, Orfantal, she will protect my perfect, beautiful child.’ She paused. ‘I may not always be there, you see. I may have to go away again.’ She pulled her hand free of Korlat’s grip, and it proved easier to do than expected. ‘Take her now,’ she said to Orfantal. ‘I am going to my room.’

‘Your room?’

‘I have lived in the Citadel before, you know!’ Her harsh retort made both children flinch, and Korlat hurried to Orfantal, and he took his sister into his arms and lifted her, anchoring her on one hip.

Sandalath saw Korlat’s small, pudgy arms wrap themselves tight about her son’s neck. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s better. I never planned on you, Orfantal. It was all a mistake. But now I see. There was a reason, after all, a reason for you. You count, but she doesn’t.’

‘I love her already,’ said Orfantal.