Dasai stood at the end of the bed, his face mired in shadow. “Call if there’s a need,” Dasai said.

After Dasai closed the door, Kirana urged Ahkio to lean in close. She smelled of rot from within. He saw his father in her, his mother, and the dead sisters his mother had buried before they had names.

“Don’t go,” he said. He pushed the damp hair from her face. Her skin was hot. She looked so much like their mother… “You promised,” he said. “You promised me you wouldn’t die like they did.”

For over a year after that day in the Dorinah slave camps, when he watched his father’s head lopped off and saw his mother burn, he had expected Kirana to die, too. The dreams got so bad, they stalked him during the day. The Oras, especially Nasaka, thought him mad. It was Kirana who brought him back from madness, Kirana and her promise.

“You said–”

“I can’t make the future, Ahkio,” she said. “It’s yours now. I shouldn’t have pulled you from the fire, I know. Another woman would have chosen Mother instead, wouldn’t she? But I chose you, brother. You were supposed…” She started coughing, great hacking sobs that shook her body. Blood appeared at her mouth, flecked the sheets. “It was all…” she gasped. “All wrong, this turn. I’ve made it right.”

“Hush, Kira,” he said softly.

“But you should know… about Yisaoh.” She gazed up at the long lines of poetry running along the ceiling. Ahkio tried to read them, but the light was too dim. He said a prayer to Sina instead.

Ahkio tried to pull his hand from her grip. “I’ll get you tea. Do you–”

She squeezed his fingers. “I’m too late.” She coughed blood onto their joined hands, and said through bloody lips, “Dhai’s peace…” Her fingers clenched his once.

She made a strange strangling cough, almost a sigh.

“Don’t,” he said.

Her eyes lost their focus. Her fingers relaxed in his.

Ahkio bent over her body. The flies in the lantern began to dim as they settled. Kirana’s fingers cooled in his hands. He prayed to Sina to take her soul, and Oma to bless him with wisdom in her absence.

He sat next to his dead sister in silence. The world did not move. The air did not tremble. Nothing was different at all, except he was alone now, because someone had killed his sister.

He did not weep. He had wept over their parents for a year. It changed nothing. He knew what he needed to do.

When the door opened, Ahkio lifted his head. His neck and shoulders were stiff.

Nasaka stepped through the archway, her expression stern. “We must meet the sanisi now. The Ora council is ready.”

“Kirana,” Ahkio said.

“Has she passed?”