She’d not meant to, would never have believed herself capable of doing so. But then had come that cold, suffocating presence in her mind, like fog rolling in off the sea. And for one, brief moment, unanswerable desire had swallowed everything. The sword had come alive in her hand, and . . .

Nausea crowded Apara’s thoughts. She wasn’t a fool. She knew her mother deserved death. But to be the one who’d dealt the blow? Even if she’d been helpless to do aught else?

The scuff of heavy boots dragged her back to the dingy present. Her captor was returning.

Swallowing back the last of her nausea, Apara took the shackles between her hands, and stood to one side of the door. Metal scraped as bolts were withdrawn. Hinges creaked.

A spill of grey light cast a long shadow into the room.

One step. Two. Apara sprang.

The world slipped sideways. Black fog swallowed her thoughts.

When it receded, she was on her knees, trembling like a woman lost three days in a blizzard. She tried to rise. Part of her – the part still embroiled in the black fog – didn’t want to. Its contentment only quickened her nausea.

“You should have known that wouldn’t work.”

The gloom took familiar shape. Akadra. The part of Apara caught in darkness sang to see him. The rest trembled with fear.

“What’s your name, kernclaw?”

She fished around for a lie. Lucialle Trast. The cousin who ran the lower docks. That would do. Lucialle was a selfish spirit.

“Apara Rann,” she replied. The air was cold. Why was the air so cold?

It was only then she realised she’d given him her real name. The fogbound part of her laughed for joy. The rest screamed.

“And Ebigail Kiradin was your mother?”

“She said she was.” Again, the answer came without the decency of consent.

Akadra grunted. “You’re better off an orphan.”

“How . . . How are you doing this to me?”

Akadra crouched before her, his handsome, scarred face demonic in the long shadows. “Did you kill Kasamor?”

“I . . . I took the commission.” Apara swallowed, desperately trying to assert control over her wayward voice. “I didn’t kill him. I didn’t know he was my brother!”

She screamed those final words – the only ones she’d chosen.

Akadra ran a thoughtful hand across his chin and rose to his feet. “I offered your mother atonement. With her passing, I offer you the same. Do you take it?”

The black fog retreated. Breathing became easier. Thinking became easier. “Why should I?”

“To earn back your life. By rights, you should go to the gallows or the pyre. And from there, to the Raven’s keeping. I understand he’s most jealous of the souls bartered to his care.”