She looks down at her hands. The gesture is so like Zoric’s that I think perhaps I am unfair in considering their relationship merely affection.

‘Of course,’ she says. ‘But would I also be undone?’

I frown. ‘What do you mean?’

Yumia traces the shape of the brand on her left arm. ‘Before I had these marks I was selfish,’ she says. ‘I was arrogant. I put my own desires before those of my people. I was chosen by rite to lead. To defend them. But I did not want a tether, or a duty. I wanted glory. So I left. I took to the hunt in search of trophies.’

She shakes her head.

‘When I returned, it had already happened. My home was burning and my people were gone. Taken in the darkest hours by the pale blades from beyond the stars, all save for one.’ She curls up her hands. ‘Nimia was dying when I found her. So covered in blood that all I could catch were her eyes. She had little life, and only one word left to her.’

‘Dishonour,’ I say.

Yumia nods. ‘I took her last word and made it a part of me. It tempered my selfishness. My arrogance. It taught me that my path is not my own to choose. So, you ask me would I go back?’ She exhales, somehow seeming no less tense for it. ‘Not if it meant returning to what I was before.’

‘So you would rather live with guilt?’

Yumia shakes her head. ‘I would rather know myself.’ She reaches out and places her hand on the shell of Sofika’s cradle-casket. ‘But for Madame Sofika, I hope it is true. The stars are bleaker without her.’

She looks at me.

‘As are you, lord.’

Her comment isn’t intended to rile me, so I don’t let it. Yumia’s parent tongue is a blunt one, and she has never made any accommodations for that in Gothic, either. She is not the type to make accommodations at all. It is one of the reasons I chose to take her for my bladeward.

‘I am what I need to be,’ I tell her.

Yumia nods. ‘Exactly,’ she says.

The Vow trembles, then, deep in its bones. The sensation is followed by a low, throaty whine that sounds like a wounded animal.

‘What is that?’ Yumia asks.

I look up at the ceiling as the noise slows and grows lower and fades altogether and the ever-present rumble of the ship’s engines ceases altogether.

‘It’s the Vow,’ I tell her. ‘She is ready to give herself up to the stars.’

Evangeline

EVANGELINE

Saying goodbye to the Unbroken Vow feels almost like saying goodbye to a Sister.