To Josiri’s way of thinking, she didn’t sound any sorrier than Braxov had looked convinced. After a brief check that his ribs were still where they should have been, he clambered to his feet.

“If it helps, you’ve my word I’ll tell no one.”

“As if a southwealder’s word is worth anything.”

Josiri gritted his teeth. The anger in Rosa’s voice was sickeningly familiar. He’d been the same back when Viktor had arrived in Eskavord. She’d made a choice, and now events were galloping away with her in the saddle. Better to hang on for dear life than risk the fall.

“Tell us the rest,” he said. “What harm can it do?”

She grimaced. “You won’t—”

A woman’s scream echoed up from the grounds. It lingered in the night air, then faded to nothing.

Malachi went deathly pale. “Braxov! Braxov! Where are you, man?”

The steward entered the terrace at a flat run, the hearthguards in his wake. “My lord?”

“Lady Reveque? Where is she?”

“Inside. I spoke to her not five minutes ago.”

Malachi nodded tersely and jabbed a finger at the nearest hearth-guard. “Back inside. You stay with my wife until I say otherwise, do you understand me? Braxov, see to my children. The rest of you are with me. Rosa . . .”

Josiri turned. Rosa had already gone.

Apara let the constable’s body fall and vaulted the railings, raven-cloak squalling at her heels. Two more deaths. Two more cyraeths waiting for vengeance in the mists. How many more?

She glanced up just as Sevaka vanished into the trees.

One more. At least one more.

Apara cast the raven-cloak wide. She dove through the trees as fragments of fluttering shadow, each one more than a piece but less than the whole. Her quarry’s fear was sharp on the breeze, intoxicating and sickening in equal measure.

The trees thinned. Sevaka lurched to a halt on the sheer riverbank. Arms spread wide, she steadied herself. Soil scattered away into the waters twelve feet below. Apara drew in the cloak. Her fragments coalesced and landed lightly a half-dozen paces from the cliff.

A hammer-blow cracked against her skull. Her head snapped back, vision drowned in black and red splotches.

Sevaka let another stone fly. Apara twisted away, and it crashed into the trees.

“You won’t take me back!” shouted Sevaka.

Apara shook her head to clear it. “No. I won’t.”

She closed the distance in a single leap. Her left hand closed around Sevaka’s throat. The right drove steel claws deep into her belly.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I truly am.”

Sevaka shuddered. Her heels scrabbled on the edge of the cliff. Her hood fell back . . .

. . . and Apara found herself staring into a mirror.