I lit the lamp in my room and went next door to the room where Greta had slept. Her clothes were still in the cupboard, and I pulled a servant's sash from a drawer. Hiding it in my dark robe, I walked softly to Peto's chambers. I lit the candle beside his bed, sat there, and took his hand. 'Lekai isn't in Sundell. You know that as well as I do. I'll find him, Peto. I'll bring him back and raise him. That's my final promise to you.'
I held up the sash. 'There are spies everywhere,' I said, then dropped it across his chest.
I kissed him one more time, then took his sword from its place on the table beside his sickbed. It was heavy, but I had enough strength to lift it, to hold it above him, to stab down into his chest.
I saw him wince, but his eyes stared at me, condemning me. With a stifled cry of rage, I lifted the sword again and brought it down, separating his head from his body as he had done to my father only three years before.
'Let's see if Sagesse can bring you back now,' I whispered, then laid the sash in his hand and left him.
Safe in my own chambers, I lit an oil lamp, carefully washed the few drops of blood from my robe, and got ready for bed. When I turned to blow out the light, I saw fog leaking through cracks in the shutters, as if it were smoke, not vapor. It must have been as thick as the night before, but I dared not open the window, fearful of what creatures I might let inside. Instead, I lay curled in a tight ball, too frightened to sleep.
I missed Greta, Sagra, the man Jorani had been. But most of all, I missed my son. I had never felt so alone. My only comfort was the thought that tomorrow, when the merchants returned from Pirie, they would find my husband dead, a servant's sash clutched in his hand. There are assassins everywhere. It would take months to find the culprit.
I lay in bed until late the following morning, waiting for someone to come and tell me my husband had been killed. Eventually one of the maids did knock politely on my door and ask if I needed any assistance. I sent her away and dressed quickly in my best blue morning gown.
The merchants were already in the room with Peto, hovering around the bed. Jorani was with them. I heard him explaining dryly how the additional docks should be built. I paid little heed to his words, walking forward on legs scarcely able to hold me.
There was no blood on the bed or the floor or the sword, now lying in its usual place on the table. Peto, his body propped up by a dozen feather pillows, sat looking at the men. When he saw me, he even managed a smile.
I dreamt that I killed him, what else could explain this? I walked forward and saw the brown sash just visible on the floor.
As I bent down to kiss his cheek, it occurred to me that this facade would go on and on for the rest of our lives. I would never be rid of him, would forever rule beneath him. That was the curse Sagesse had left me.
EPILOGUE
From the Diary of Baroness Ilsabet
The soldiers taking Shaul's body back to his family in Sundell never crossed the border. A mile from it, they encountered a fog thicker than any they had ever experienced, rising in the heat of the midafter-noon sun. That alone would have made them suspect sorcery. When the horses refused to enter it and the men who did were filled with fear, they retreated and returned to Nimbus Castle. I questioned them, but they said little. The fear I sensed in them made it clear the Seer's curse has not ended.
My soldiers burned Shaul's body that night. I watched the flames devour him, staying until his bones were no more than dust among the embers.
Even the fire couldn't diminish the thick night fog, though its smoke added a new denseness to it. I walked through it to the castle and up the stairs to my room, where servants had already closed and barred the shutters against the horrors of the night.
Now I rule a cursed land, a land much changed from the days of my father, a land isolated from its neighbors, utterly alone. Each night the fog covers it. My subjects close their doors and build up their fires in even the hottest weather, for there are creatures walking in the fog that had never before lived in Kislova, save in legends.
They speak of wights, of vampires and werewolves. And in the fog's thick shroud, even the dead walk. Arman and Emory have been seen feasting on sheep in the hills, the rebels of Pirie pace the deserted wharfs, and Sagesse's ghost has been glimpsed in the streets of Tygelt, filling the entire land with fear.
But in the daylight when I ride among my subjects with Jorani at my side, they cheer. They are unaware that I am the cause of all their terror, and that I am watching them, choosing my next victim with care.
Like Jorani and Arman before, I must feed-not on blood but on pain and despair. I take my victims to the room where Peto died and lives again. I let him witness each torture, watch Jorani's final kill.
Sometimes I think Jorani remembers killing my husband, but if he does, he keeps the memory to himself.
