I suppose theres little else interesting here to bet on.

Tvril glanced at me, perhaps deciding whether to say more. There are also bets that you will kill yourself.

I laughed into the breeze. What are the odds? Do you think theyd let me bet, too?

Tvril turned to face me, his eyes suddenly intent. Yeineif, if you He faltered silent and looked away; his voice had choked on the last word.

I took his hand and held it while he bowed his head and trembled and fought to keep control of himself. He led and protected the servants here; tears would have made him feel weak. Men have always been fragile that way.

After a few moments he took a deep breath. His voice was higher than usual as he said, Shall I escort you to the ball tomorrow night?

When Viraine had offered the same thing, I had hated him. With Tvril, the offer made me love him a little more. No, Tvril. I want no escort.

It could help. To have a friend there.

It could. But I will not ask such a thing of my few friends.

You arent asking. Im offering

I stepped closer, leaning against his arm. Ill be fine, Tvril.

He regarded me for a long while, then shook his head slowly. You will, wont you? Ah, Yeine. Ill miss you.

You should leave this place, Tvril. Find yourself a good woman to take care of you and keep you in silks and jewelry.

Tvril stared at me, then burst out laughing, not strained at all this time. A Darre woman?

No, are you mad? Youve seen what were like. Find some Ken girl. Maybe those pretty spots of yours will breed true.

Prettyfreckles, you barbarian! Theyre called freckles.

Whatever. I lifted his hand, kissed the back of it, and let him go. Good-bye, my friend.

I left him there, still laughing, as I walked away.

* * *

But?

But that was not all I wanted.

* * *

That conversation helped me decide on my next move. I went looking for Viraine.

I had been of two minds about confronting him ever since the previous nights conversation with Nahadoth. I believed now that Viraine, not Dekarta, had killed my mother. I still did not understand it; if he had loved her, why kill her? And why now, twenty years after shed broken his heart? Part of me craved understanding.

The other part of me did not care why hed done it. This part of me wanted blood, and I knew that if I listened to it I might do something foolish. There would be blood aplenty when I got my vengeance on the Arameri; all the horror and death of a second Gods War unleashed. That much blood should have been enough for me but I would not be alive to see it. We are selfish that way, we mortals.

So I went to see Viraine.

He did not answer when I knocked at the door to his workshop, and for a moment I wavered, debating whether to pursue the matter further. Then I heard a faint, muffled sound from within.

Doors in Sky do not lock. For highbloods, rank and politics provide more than enough security, as only those who are immune to retaliation dare invade anothers privacy. I, condemned to die in slightly more than a day, was thus immune, and so I slid the door open, just a bit.

I did not see Viraine at first. There was the workbench where I had been marked, its surface empty this time. All of the benches were empty, in fact, which seemed strange to me. So were the animal cages at the back of the room, which was stranger yet. Only then did I spot Virainein part because he stood so still and in part because with his white hair and garments, he matched his pristine, sterile workplace so thoroughly.

He was near the large crystal globe at the back of the chamber. I thought at first that he leaned against it in order to peer into its translucent depths. Perhaps this was how he had spied on me, in my lone, abortive communication with my assigned nations. But then I noticed that he stood slumped, one hand braced against the globes polished surface, head hanging. I could not see his free hand through the white curtain of his hair, but there was something about its furtive movements that rang an instant note of recognition within me. He sniffed, and that confirmed it: alone in his workshop, on the eve of his gods once-in-a-lifetime reaffirmation of triumph, Viraine was crying.

It was weakness unbecoming of a Darre woman that this quieted my anger. I had no idea why he was crying. Perhaps all his evils had revived the tatters of his conscience for one moment. Perhaps he had stubbed his toe. But in the moment that I stood there, watching him weep as Tvril had managed not to, I could not help wondering: what if even one of those tears was for my mother? So few people had mourned her besides me.

I slid the door shut and left.

* * *

Foolish of me.

Yes. Even then, you resisted the truth.

Do I know it?

Now, yes. Then, you did not.

Why