Outside the tent, Purists mobilized and organized, gathering to serve their master. At a horse’s whinny, the girl stirred on her pallet. She did not look good, her neck striped with red and faded black. Her face haggard and ashen. Aeduan could not smell her blood—a fact that confused him.

Her golden eyes opened as he watched her. Then, half hooded, those eyes found his. “Aeduan,” she said.

“No,” he replied, though he did not know why. He was this Bloodwitch Aeduan now.

“Ah,” she breathed, and her eyelids sank shut once more. “Who are you, then?”

“I do not know,” he answered, truthful again even as he ought to stay silent. He had scolded Evrane for talking too much. “‘Six turned on six and made themselves kings. One turned on five and stole everything.’”

“‘Eridysi’s Lament,’” she said, surprising him. And surprising herself too, for her eyes popped back open. “What does it mean?”

“It means that long ago, I died. Then one day this body came to me and I took it.”

Her nose twitched slightly. “And Evrane did the same?”

“Yes.”

She nodded, as if this made sense to her—though he knew it made no sense at all. Even he, who’d had centuries to ponder it, could not fully comprehend what had happened on that day a thousand years ago. Or why this body had appeared before him and allowed him to so easily step inside.

“And Corlant? He is like you?”

“No. He is permanent, while we are merely occupants in a house that once belonged to someone else.” And unlike Aeduan and Evrane, Corlant had never felt the blade in his heart. He had never had the Threads that bound him to the goddess sliced away.

“But I am the only one to kill him.” As Iseult said this, something hardened in the backs of her eyes. “And the only one to kill you.”

Aeduan stiffened. He should never have let that piece of information slip. Fortunately, she did not press. “Is Owl safe?” She shifted as if to rise. A grunt fell from her lips, and Aeduan bent forward to help. Instinctive. Foolish.

She flinched at his touch … but then allowed him to grip her shoulders and slide a hand fully behind her. Not that she had much choice—she was too weak to rise without assistance.

Whatever she had done to Corlant, it had almost killed her.

“I do not know,” Aeduan answered honestly. “I have not looked for her.”

“But you will?”

He paused. Then nodded.

“To give her to Corlant or to help her flee?”

Aeduan did not answer. Iseult’s eyes were so close to his; the stove’s flames guttered within. Too close, too much. He released her and tried to withdraw.