‘When you make your example, there will be space for a new Deathless. I ask that you consider me.’

Yadavendra laughed. ‘If things had been different, perhaps I would have. I have no doubt that Rochant’s grandchild would serve me well. But you are the last of his line, and there is no other.’

‘But if another could be found?’

‘Enough. There is no other. There is only you. Another reason why you are so dear to me.’

Satyendra bowed deep, a picture of humility, but his thoughts were anything but.

Here is my chance to cheat death. I have to find another of Rochant’s blood to take my place. And if they really don’t exist, I’ll fake one.

Sa-at’s hand was curled into his chest, which was curled into his body, which was curled tight into a ball. It still hurt, but pressing it tight eased the pain slightly. The best thing to do was to have his thumb touching the knuckle of his missing finger, to keep his palm squeezed shut. He did not want to open his hand as he was sure that if he did so, something else would open inside it: the little nothing he had stolen from Pits.

Just the thought of that was enough to make him feel ill.

He’d stumbled through the trees for as long as he could, letting Crowflies guide him through the dark until they’d come to a hollow tucked within a hill. There, he’d collapsed, falling straight into restless sleep.

Several times through the night he’d woken, sweaty, sure that the remaining Red Brothers were standing over him. But they were merely phantoms, quickly blinked away.

The throbbing in his hand was real, however, as were the threats of vengeance. Sa-at knew that Crunch and Eyesore would come for him now, no matter the consequences. Either he would kill them or they would kill him. That was clear and undeniable. One night ago, his life had been simple. Now he had true enemies, and he had failed to keep his promise to Murderkind.

He wasn’t sure which of those things worried him more.

It was only when sunslight began to light up the canopy overhead that Sa-at realized Crowflies had gone. This in itself wasn’t unusual, the Birdkin often went off to pursue its own matters, but when he was hurt, it tended to stay close.

‘Crowflies?’

He sat up, propping himself with his left arm, keeping his right close to his body, and looked around.

There was no sign of it, but in a small divot next to him were several berries and a dead Wormkin. Sa-at ate them greedily, even though cold Wormkin was one of his least favourite things.