“I will kill you!” Murer screamed into her face, her teeth gnashing.
Maia held the other girl back and turned her around slowly, their muscles straining against each other. There was power in Maia’s legs, from her long journeys across the lands. Her wrists and arms were stronger too, from hours of scrubbing clothes and polished brass. Murer had been raised in privilege, and had never done hard work before in her life. Maia saw the energy drain from the girl’s eyes, saw her jaw quiver as her muscles began to tire.
“Stop,” Maia ordered sharply, squeezing the girl’s wrist hard. Murer’s entire arm trembled with tension.
The waters bucked again, dousing both girls in a stinging flood, but Maia kept her feet, planting her legs wide to hold herself up. Still, she felt Murer slipping, and she knew that if the other girl fell, she would be dragged down on top of her as the waters receded back into the pool. The knife was twisted toward Maia’s heart, so the blow would be a killing one.
She released Murer to keep from falling on top of her and retreated, ready to ward off another attack from the razor-sharp knife. Murer’s legs were tangled in her drenched skirts, and she suddenly slipped, crashing to the stone floor.
She shrieked in pain.
Maia saw her stepsister’s eyes go wide with surprise as she pulled herself up onto her knees. The dagger protruded from her ribs. Her complexion drained of all color as a bloom of blood stained her bodice.
Rushing to Murer’s side as she collapsed, Maia caught her and held her face above the swirling waters. The eyes blinked, stupefied at what had happened. She had managed, somehow, to stab herself. Her limbs began to seize with the pain, and she shuddered violently.
“Murer!” Maia groaned, pulling her stepsister onto her lap.
Murer’s eyes, drained of silver now, gazed down at the hilt, looking at it as if she could not comprehend what it was. She took a breath and flinched with pain.
“Ah!” Murer gasped, wincing. Her face crumpled and tears leaked from her eyes. She gazed up at Maia, her expression beginning to soften from hatred to sorrow. “Maia,” she whispered. Maia gripped her hand tightly as she stared down into her face.
“Sshhh!” Maia soothed.
“I still feel her . . . squirming inside me,” Murer mumbled in confusion. “Leaving me . . . why is she . . . leaving me? I am broken.”
Maia blinked with sorrow. “You are no longer any use to her,” she whispered, reaching down and stroking the bridge of her nose. She was sorry to see Murer in such pain.
Murer’s convulsions grew steadily worse, and a look of panic filled her eyes as she realized she was dying. “The kystrel . . . showed me how much . . . how much Gideon truly loved . . . you. He wore it . . . while they kept him in prison.” She closed her eyes, squeezing tears from her lashes. “So jealous of you . . . how he felt . . . about you. So jealous . . . Maia. How I . . . hated you. He did not betray you. He was not . . . even there.”
“I forgive you,” Maia whispered, weeping softly.
“You are . . . wrong . . . though.” Her voice was so tiny, Maia barely heard it. “I know . . . he is . . . not dead.”
Maia stared at Murer, not certain she had heard the words correctly.
“Murer?” she pleaded, bending closer. “He . . . he lives?”
“I saw her thoughts. What she knew. His Family . . .” Murer paused, swallowing. “They . . . are immune . . . to the kiss. Cursed . . . to . . . survive. They cannot . . . be . . . slain in war.”
Maia stared at Murer, the flickering of hope in her heart now starting to fan into vivid flames. She stared away, her mind conjuring the sight of Collier lying on the ground in a pool of blood.
“His father died,” Maia said, her thoughts seething. “Dieyre is dead. He is . . .”
He is alive, the whisper in her heart told her.
The knowledge came open in layers, like flower petals bending to kiss the sunlight at dawn. Lia Demont had cursed the Earl of Dieyre before the Scourge. She had cursed him to live. That he would be the last man standing, a witness to the destruction she had prophesied would happen. He had not been killed at the last battle, the place where all the bones moldered near a Leering. He had lived through the wars that had decimated the kingdoms. He had survived the plague invoked by the hetaera’s Leering. He would die of old age. But Collier could not be killed in a fight, which meant he had survived the death wound from the kishion.
Maia’s kiss could not harm him.
She gazed down at Murer’s face, which was now chalk white. There was just a little bit of light in her glassy eyes.
“Alive,” Murer whispered. Her eyes looked haunted. “What have I done? What have I done? I feel them around me. They are dragging me away. Maia!”
Maia felt joy and hope shoot through her body as she bent to kiss Murer’s forehead. “I name you. Ereshkigal, Queen of the Unborn. Depart from her . . . forevermore.”