He was just an old man. How was it one old man had the power to change everything? She wished, again, that it had not all gone so wrong. Wished her mother would have lived longer, and not sold her to Genevieve Leichner as some virgin maid. But being a virgin maid had given her the backstory she needed to infiltrate the Fourré, and to do it at far less risk than Saint Genevieve’s real daughter.

Her grip on the blade eased. She wanted to turn back. Go to Inaya and cry on her shoulder and confess everything. Eshe always said that a single death could change the course of the world, if it was the right one. She had known that in her heart, but refused it until she was the last of Saint Genevieve’s maids, the only one who could carry out the final judgment.

She tightened her grip.

The old man’s eye popped open.

Isabet froze. Sheer terror. For one long blink they regarded one another, the would-be assassin and the old man. And then her blade came down in his throat.

Blood rushed up. He gurgled and thrashed. Grabbed her hand. She shrieked. He held her hand there at his throat, and stared deeply into her eyes. She tried to yank herself away, but his grip was firm, even as his life ebbed out over the bed. Isabet lost her resolve, then. She fell to her knees and began to sob and pray. Blood soaked her sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry. It’s the only way to stop the misborn, and what the saint has growing inside me.”

Finally, his grip began to loosen. She pulled her hand into her lap. Her arm was covered in blood nearly to the elbow, and it wet the front of her habit. She sobbed and sobbed as the body beside her went still.

“Oh God be merciful,” she said. “God forgive me.”

God could forgive anything. Surely he could forgive this. Was there any forgiveness to be had?

The body trembled.

Isabet clawed across the floor and dragged herself to her feet. She was unsteady, a little faint. She saw black spots at the edges of her vision. She wanted to retch.

“God have mercy,” she murmured. “Please, I’m sorry.”

She heard a strange sound, then. Like someone gasping. Was he still alive? Isabet stepped closer, cringing at the sight of her dagger thrust into his still oozing throat. She saw bubbles of blood around the blade, as if he were still breathing. God, would she have to strike him again? Her whole body began to tremble. She couldn’t do it again. She couldn’t.

As she watched, the bloody flesh around his throat began to shudder. Some kind of tiny… insect? Fear choked her. Was he being invaded by bugs already? Was he turning into one?

“Raine?”