‘Very good, Lord Vasin. Are we to be expecting any more of your noble house? Or any of your esteemed servants?’

He wants to know if it’s just me or if we’re sending more aid. Either the Ruby have become even more informal than I remember or this one is asking for a beating. ‘If any more of my kin are coming, you will be informed.’

Vasin put just enough disapproval into his tone that the servant carried out the rest of his preparations in silence. In another lifecycle I’d have struck him for his insolence. He took a moment to appreciate how his self-control had developed and ordered the servant to escort him to Lady Anuja. Not only did I not raise my hand, I didn’t even raise my voice. Mother would be proud.

CHAPTER FIVE

Honoured Mother Chandni brushed her long hair, slowly, almost fearfully. The shutters on her window were closed, as they always were when she prepared herself, holding the room in a permanent state of grey.

Here, alone, she dared to consider how bad things were.

On the surface, all was well. Lord Rochant’s castle ran smoothly under her leadership, arguably better than it ever had. Many saw her as a hero, including High Lord Yadavendra. Thanks to her, Satyendra had been saved from assassination, and Lord Rochant’s line preserved.

Since then, under her guidance, Satyendra had grown into a fine young man, intelligent, quick, sharp eyed, a perfect vessel for the best of the Sapphire Deathless.

Except, Satyendra wasn’t perfect.

And she was no hero.

As if to prove the point, the brush caught in her hair, making her wince and curse her clumsiness. Will I never get used to using my left hand? She shot a glare at her right, sitting dead and useless in her lap. She could work the fingers, of course, even get them to hold the brush, but without feeling it was impossible to sense resistance or the shifting of the brush in her grip.

A tiny scar still remained from the assassin’s needle, a single white dot, innocent, in the centre of her palm. The poison from it had stolen all sensation, from the tips of her fingers to just below her bicep, and would have taken more had it not been for the quick thinking of Rochant’s cook, Roh, and Chandni’s own sacrifice to the Hunger Tree. On her right hand, the nails of her middle finger and thumb had never grown back.

Proof of my betrayal.

It was forbidden to deal with the Wild, but Chandni had done so twice.

The first time to stop the spread of the poison, an act of desperation. The second was even worse, an offer of another’s life in exchange for Satyendra’s.

And I bear the proof of that too.