“Dust to dust,” she said. “And I am air and dust and water. I am Earth, the Eldest and Firstborn of all that walks here. I make my children, I destroy them, and I remake them again.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The tumult subsided, and Patience sighed, but the moment of regret, if regret it was, was brief. “There is more to do, Chance. Miranda—”

“—is dead,” Chance concluded, deciding to accept it as quickly as possible. He did not feel shocked or grief-stricken but reproachful that Patience had failed him.

Patience shook her head and smiled. “This pain that I bear for her tells me otherwise. Go to her. The angels are with her.”

Too stunned to think, he turned away in automatic obedience, but something—perhaps jealousy, perhaps pride—made him turn back. “Miranda’s pain—give it to me.”

For the first time in his existence, he saw Patience surprised. “Why? Still seeking punishment after all this?”

“You should know better,” he chided her. “You’re right. What she’s seen and endured is all because of us, but if someone is to bear her pain, let it be another human. Anything else would be cheating.”

Patience stared at him. “My child,” she murmured. “This grand gesture is more than a mere token. Would you take her pain? Would you take her death?”

“Yes,” Chance replied.

They had drifted from upper air to the gray between worlds, a transition as smooth as only Patience could accomplish. She faced him, eye to eye, of equal stature. She pressed her lips together in an almost-smile and nodded approvingly. “It is your right.” She extended her hand. “Take.”

He touched her hand and nearly screamed. It had that same electric surge and flow as undying essence, but instead of life, it was a burn of consuming agony creeping over and into his skin.

He knew what it was to be human. He had endured stomachaches, experienced the discomfort of a full bladder, heard the creak and crack of overworked joints, and felt the skitter of a heart surprised by fear or love. And yet inhabiting his undying form made all those things mere memory, the memory of bits of bone and meat strung inelegantly together. The only thing that never faded was the sensation of skin. Skin touched the outside world and maintained the inner being. It was the boundary that defined the self. It was the only place where Chance, human and undying, could keep the pain.

His hand fell away from hers, but not before he noted that there was more pain in her reservoirs, an ocean’s worth to the small handful he had drawn.