Malach took the alcohol and the tea, nothing to eat. And Ruth… Ruth took tea. No food. She had been such a hungry child. No longer.

Ah, no.

Something in Rachaela ached. It was like a muscle stretched too far. Hurting in release.

Althene was not there. Obviously. Tact or callousness? And Camillo always avoided these family gatherings. Almost always. (Standing in armor that time long ago, as she ran away.)

Ruth had removed her left-hand glove, but not the right.

"Is that an affectation?" Rachaela said.

Ruth looked at her, politely.

"Oh, no. I injured my hand."

"That must be a nuisance," Rachaela said, "especially if you still like to play the piano."

"Malach wants me to practice some music for the left hand only. Until it improves."

Malach wants. Adam says.

"And you're going away with Malach."

Ruth smiled. It was a pretty, fleeting smile. It was a true smile.

/ never saw that. Yes I did. When Adam found, her after she had killed them. Then. She came alive and she was lovely. But she's lovely now. She's alive now.

"Yes. We're going to Europe."

It was old-fashioned, excluding Britain from the Continent. But then. What else?

Eric said, "They will take care of Ruth."

His voice was hard, abrasive.

Rachaela thought how he had put his fist through the TV screen, striking at Ruth.

Rachaela said, "We're all being so wonderful to each other. Shouldn't we talk about the facts?"

"No," Sasha said. "The facts aren't important."

Eric said, "It is essential to dismiss such errors."

"Which errors?" said Rachaela. She swallowed. "How is it possible?"

Malach spoke. Rachaela had mislaid his voice in the half hour he had not talked to them. Dry and a little rough, its music in abeyance.

"Did you think I'd kill her?"

"Yes," Rachaela said.

"She's Scarabae," he said.

"You've given her attention," Rachaela said, "the thing I didn't give her. Or Adamus. Excuse me, Ruth, I'm speaking about you as if you weren't here. But then, are you here?"

Ruth did not look at her. She only drank daintily from her cup. The two dogs lay still.

"Malach has taught you how to behave, has he?"

"Yes," Malach said. And then, "No one here has a sword drawn but you. You are her mother."

"Yes," Rachaela said.

Malach's eyes came to hers. So cruel now. Pitiless, old, no quarter given. "She hurt you, did she, coming out? You can't forgive?"

Rachaela shivered. "What happens when you lose interest in her?"

Malach, without looking, put out his hand and touched Ruth's cheek. He laid his skin against hers, softly.

"I shall never lose interest. She is my soul."

The words burned in the room.

Fire, from some altar.

And Ruth turned to him. She looked at him speechlessly.

He has created her.

Is that the reason for love?

"Oh, then," Rachaela said, "I suppose it's all right."