“I wanted to offer you the chance to redeem yourself,” she said, and for a moment she sounded sad, even though it didn’t show on her face. “But so be it. I will restore the Order myself, and save Aytrium.”

Not here. Not when I had come so close.

I let go of all my protective nets and wove the last of my power into a single rope. I thought of Asan at Geise’s Crown, I thought of my lace catching Osan’s foot in the Gardens, I thought of everyone who had ever underestimated me. One last gamble, one last chance. Celane smiled, assuming my power had run dry.

“You will save no one,” I whispered.

I hooked the rope around her ankle and yanked as hard as I could. Shock crossed Celane’s face; she had not thought to shield her legs. Her foot slipped on the slick river rocks, and she fell backwards. Her lace tore loose around me. Freed, I lunged after her. With the full force of my body, I drove Osan’s knife through the water and into her chest.

A rush of air bubbled from her mouth, and her power knocked against me, wild cords of lace lashing my arms. I let go of the knife handle, and Celane surfaced, drawing a shuddering breath. The river ran red around her. She convulsed. Her lips turned scarlet.

“Eater,” she gasped. “Eater, help…”

She choked, her hand closing on the handle of the knife. Then all the force seemed to drain out of her body. Her face went slack.

I did not move. At any second, I expected her to rise out of the water. Her scalpel shone in the shallows, and her hair washed across her face. Her body swayed with the movement of the river.

She was dead. I had killed her.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

Celane stared, glassy-eyed and silent, at the sky. I felt cold. Moments ago, she had seemed to tower over me, but now she looked small and unremarkable. She could have been anyone; just another woman, a complete stranger.

“May the Star light your dreaming,” I murmured.

Too weak to stand, I crawled to the threshold of the temple. My blood dripped along the stone steps, leaving a long smear behind me. Each breath hurt. I passed below the shadow of the arch and into the cool interior.

The chamber filled with brightness. It mirrored my dream: the trees growing from the floor, the rays of sunlight pouring through the windows. Other images crowded the room, visions of this place from an older time. Hundreds of shining ghosts passed through the walls; memory and dream and reality flowed into one gleaming haze, each rewriting each other, reforming in front of my eyes.

Through the waves of light, a tall man walked toward me. I could not see his face; the world had blurred too much. He lifted me off the tiles. His hands were silver, or perhaps he wore gloves. My thoughts moved slower. With ease and gentleness, he carried me to the front of the temple where the altar waited.