Though for her, it had only been a year since her last visit, it was apparent that time had very much passed here. She thought of Nidra, exiled and alone in this forsaken place, and began to worry. Though the once Sapphire Deathless had lived many lives, and was one of the more competent of their kind, the settlement seemed awfully quiet.

Spongy moss has spilled out across the main street, covering it in asymmetrical patches, and numerous saplings had elbowed their way into the light. Another few years, thought Pari, and it will be as if Sorn never was.

She tried not to think about the last time she’d come here but it was impossible. The beating she’d received at the hands of the Scuttling Corpseman, the casual way it had killed Lan. Even in his last moments he had looked to her for protection, only to be let down. How many others have I let down over the years?

She paused to have another look at her surroundings, staring hard at the shadows for hidden predators.

There was no sign of the Corpseman now though, no sign of any trouble. Standing out in the sunslight, everything seemed bright and quiet and oddly beautiful. A few animal sounds could be heard but even they sounded small and far away.

It did not take her long to reach the ruined house. A door, not the original one, had been forced into the frame. Large parts of the house were covered in great tangles of ivy, but she noted the doorway and front step were clear. She also noted a thin wire had been stretched across the gap.

With a nod of approval, Pari stepped over it.

Her first impulse had been to walk in and make a quip about what Nidra had done with the place, but an instinct told her not to. Instead she stopped in front of the door and sang for entrance, as she might if Nidra were still a lady of the Sapphire, and this was her audience chamber. It was the first time Pari had really sung in this lifecycle, and the sound of her own voice made her jolt in surprise. A little too girlish for my liking. Ah well, at least there are things I can smoke for that.

The last echoes of her song were picked up by the nearby trees, setting their ear-shaped leaves trembling. Pari did her best to ignore that and stared at the door. She was just beginning to wonder if Nidra was out, or worse, in no state to answer, when she felt something sharp press itself into her back.

‘Who are you?’ said a stern and scratchy voice.

‘Ah, my dear Nidra,’ replied Pari. ‘No need to draw blood, especially not here. It’s me. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner but circumstances with my house—’ a prod to her back cut her short.

‘Prove it.’