I know you, Annalist. I have opened your soul and peered inside. You fight for me because your company has undertaken a commission it will pursue to the bitter end-because its principal personalities feel its honor was stained in Beryl. And that though most of you think youre serving Evil.

Evil is relative, Annalist. You cant hang a sign on it. You cant touch it or taste it or cut it with a sword. Evil depends on where you are standing, pointing your indicting finger. Where you stand now, because of your oath, is opposite the Dominator. For you he is where your Evil lies.

She paced a moment, perhaps anticipating a response. I made none. She had encapsulated my own philosophy.

That evil tried to kill you three times, physician. Twice for fear of your knowledge, once for fear of your future.

That woke me up. My future?

The Taken sometimes glimpse the future. Perhaps this conversation was foreseen.

She had me baffled. I sat there looking stupid.

. She left the room momentarily, returned carrying a quiver of arrows, spilled them on the table. They were black and heavy, silver-headed, inscribed with almost invisible lettering. While I examined them she took my bow, exchanged it for another of identical weight and pull. It was a gorgeous match for the arrows. Too gorgeous to be used as a weapon.

She told me, Carry these. Always.

Ill have to use them?

Its possible. Tomorrow will see the end of the matter, one way or the other. The Rebel has been mauled, yet he retains vast manpower reserves. My strategy may not succeed. If I fail, my husband wins. Not the Rebel, not the White Rose, but the nominator, that hideous beast lying restless in his grave....

I avoided her gaze, eyed the weapons, wondered what I was supposed to say, to not hear, what I was supposed to do with those death tools, and if I could do it when the time came.

She knew my mind. Youll know the moment. And youll do what you think is right.

I looked up now, frowning, wishing.... Even knowing what she was, wishing. Maybe my idiot brothers were right.

She smiled, reached with one of those too-perfect hands, clasped my fingers....

I lost track. I think. I do not recall anything happening. Yet my mind did fuzz for a second, and when it unfuzzed, she was holding my hand still, smiling, saying, Time to go, soldier. Rest well.

I rose zombielike and shambled toward the door. I had a distinct feeling that I had missed something. I did not look back. I couldnt.

I stepped into the night outside the Tower and immediately knew I had lost time again. The stars had moved across the sky. The comet was low. Rest well? The hours for rest were nearly gone.