Kyra flattened herself against the wall as the pitiful trio passed. Would the children be able to see her this time as well?
But they had eyes only for the man they followed. As he passed the two Markswomen, Kyra heard Tamsyn take a deep, sobbing breath.
She scrutinized the elder. Tamsyn’s eyes were closed and she leaned against the wall for support. And all at once Kyra knew. This man, and these children, were the key to Tamsyn.
Without a word she detached herself from the wall and began to follow the trio down the street. What would she do if Tamsyn did not follow her? Would she be able to find her again in this place?
But Tamsyn fell into step next to her. Perhaps, having been brought here by Kyra’s word of power, she was tied to her in some way. They walked in silence for a few minutes. Kyra kept her eyes on the two children ahead.
“This changes nothing, you know,” whispered Tamsyn. “You will still die.”
The boy tripped over something, the man roared at him, and his sister helped him up.
“Perhaps,” said Kyra, frowning. She didn’t like this man. She wished there was something she could do for the children.
Tamsyn glanced at her sideways. “You will die without having fulfilled your vow,” she said. “The last Veer, and none left to avenge your clan. What a pity.”
A fist of pain closed inside Kyra’s chest. Yes, she was the last Veer. Yes, she was dying in Sikandra Hall without having avenged the brutal killings that had destroyed her world.
But did it matter? Kai Tau would die one day, if not by her katari, then by another’s.
Or maybe he would live to a ripe, happy old age and die peacefully in his sleep.
Still, one day the door of death would open for him, and he would have to face the numberless innocents he had killed. Was that not punishment enough? Against eternity, what were a few years more or less?
Kyra took a deep breath and the fist of pain dissolved, leaving her lighter. She had wasted so much time in the last fourteen years, hating, remembering, planning her revenge. Now, finally, she could let it go.
They passed beyond the last few huts, the last flickering lanterns on the street. The ground was unpaved now, the darkness unrelieved but for the sliver of a young moon. From somewhere ahead of them came the gurgle of a river, and the creak of a wooden bridge.
Tamsyn stopped short, her face working.
“It can’t be,” she said. “This is not how it was.”
Kyra heard a short scream and a splash, and she ran ahead, her heart thudding.
The man knelt at the edge of the dark, swirling water. Moonlight fell on his back and his arms, which seemed to be holding something down under the river’s surface. The two children were nowhere to be seen.
“You liar, this is not what happened!” Tamsyn’s voice rose in a scream. “He fell in. We tried to save him, but we couldn’t.”
“That’s you?” said Kyra, stunned. “The little girl he’s drowning is you?”
Tamsyn did not reply. In the moonlight her face looked half-demented. “We went to an inn,” she said feverishly. “We ate stew and dumplings and rice pudding. We came here to cross the bridge; he’d left the horses tied on the other side. But Arvil bent down to look at something in the river, and fell in. We both jumped in to save him, but only I survived.”
That was definitely not what was happening. Kyra ran to the bank where the man still crouched, breathing hard.
“Stop it!” she shouted, but the man didn’t hear her. In desperation she struck at the man’s neck with a double fist punch.
It went through him and Kyra almost fell into the river herself. At the last moment she managed to right herself and draw back.
The man must have felt something, because he grunted and stood up, pressing his hand on his neck and casting his eyes about suspiciously.
Kyra pushed past him and bent down, scanning the river. It was shallow near the banks. Perhaps she could save the children.
But there was no sign of them. The river ran dark and fast, utterly uncaring. Behind her, the man muttered under his breath and stumbled away.
Kyra’s shoulders slumped and she rose. Her eyes caught a movement near the opposite bank, a flash of pale skin. A body perhaps, caught in the tangle of rushes.
Kyra didn’t stop to think. She ran across the creaky wooden bridge, intent only on reaching the place where she had seen the movement.
The opposite bank was wild, dense with grass and wet underfoot. Kyra scrambled through it, panting. If she was not physically present here, she should be able to simply float through the undergrowth. Maybe it was a question of mental practice.
Finally she reached the edge of the water, and caught sight of the body she had seen from the opposite bank. It was the little girl. Kyra crouched down next to her. The girl’s eyes were closed and she lay awkwardly half in and half out of the water.
But she was alive. Kyra could see the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed in and out.
She heaved a sigh of relief and straightened up. “Poor girl,” she said, gazing down at the pale, damp face, the sticklike arms, and the thin body.
Tamsyn’s voice came cold and ragged from behind her. “You pity me? Don’t. Would you like to know how your precious Nineth died?”
Nineth dead? Kyra felt the breath leave her body.
Tamsyn smiled, a shadow of her old, cruel self playing on her face. “I thought that would get your attention, little deer. Your beloved friend is no more. I wish I could tell you that she died easily. But she didn’t. Poor Nineth, she looked quite emaciated when last I saw her. She starved to death, you see. It took many days, and gave me much entertainment.”
Kyra closed her eyes in pain. Her poor, darling Nineth.
“Who do you think you are, playing with my memories like this?” Tamsyn’s voice took on a note of command. “We will go back to Sikandra Fort now. It is time to die, time to join the rest of your pathetic clan.”
The river and the night swam out of focus and Kyra had a moment of panic. She was drowning, unable to breathe.
Stay alive, Kyra.
She could do this. She could stay where she was, maintain the link with this time, this place. Kyra concentrated hard, shutting out Tamsyn’s taunting voice, seeking once again the stillness at the core of her being.
The world solidified once more and she breathed, exulting at Tamsyn’s surprised face.
Tamsyn recovered quickly. “We will have to go back sooner or later. You can’t stay here forever.”
Kyra gave one last look at the little girl lying on the bank. There was nothing more she could do for her. Time to deal with the adult Tamsyn.
“No,” she said. “I can’t stay here forever. But I can leave you here.” She began walking back to the bridge.
Tamsyn thrashed through the undergrowth after her. “Of course you can’t leave me. My katari brought us here, and it will take us both back.”
“I should leave you here,” said Kyra. “It would be a fitting punishment, to be banished forever into the worst moments of your past. To be forced to see yourself and your brother drown, time and time again.”