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Salyer? Browne took his eyes from the road for a moment. That doesnt make sense. The wave seized Shan, and halted him, as if he hit a wall, sent him crashing to the ground. Terror killed the words in her tight throat. Mirrow raised a finger to his lips.Shh… His icy breath struck her face and her body stiffened in alarm. She stared at him. Her throat is agony. Her mouth is bitter with the taste of burned herbs, a tingling numbness in her tongue and gums. She is in a place between memory and fantasy, reality and nightmare. She is asleep on the neat, laundered sheets of her bedroom at Catherines house. And she is beneath the earth, rolling from the table with a hard thud, landing, naked upon the hard damp floor. She is seeing firelight reflected in countless bottles. She is looking up at half-made man dangling from the bottom rung of an old iron ladder. She is turning, terrified beyond understanding, as the thing with the pig-face looms from the blackness like a nightmare made flesh. And the old man slit his own throat. How long would it take you to pull all the murder files on Salyer and start that map? Hooking in the knife in a tight fist, Samara struck at the face of the painting again, carving diagonally, splitting a glistening eye. Another ripping across the top of the head. Another. Another. The busker, she says. I mean, thats all she remembers now, isnt it? A few snapshots of these ripped-up memories. Something about dreadlocks and bare feet and a half a memory about smoking Bible pages as cigarettes, its all just gone. She said she’d been okay with that for a longtime. And then of course she started wondering, and then really wondering, and she’d always been a bit of a hippy in her beliefs, hadn’t she? All that stuff about not being able to move forward while carrying baggage. That’s what this became. She wanted to know – for better or worse. And then it became about the other one. The tattoo burned on her skin, reminding her that she wasnt just marked as Shistra-Phail anymore. She was more than that. Far more dangerous. And her fingers itched with her power, the things the Seers had taught her coursing through her mind. Free Emma and kill Salyer. The thoughts evaporate as she moves closer; her scent briefly penetrating the mixed aromas of the small, hot space. He smells her sweat. Smells the high, keening song of earthy skin rubbed with moss and wild garlic. The monster? If you leave, Lady Jeren, you condemn us all. And those we love, said the older woman. Stern eyes studied the indecision on her face. Please, my lady. Lara fussed over her in a manner more becoming a lady-in-waiting than a warrior. Golden bracelets hugged Jerens wrists like a prisoners cuffs. Her necklace and the cloak made of Analas fur—even though she had sworn never to wear them again—made for a pretty impressive, if somewhat savage, appearance with the sapphires gleaming in the sunlight and the soft silver of the pelt on her shoulders. And she felt like herself for the first time in days, as if, by wearing it again, Anala was with her, guiding and protecting her as the wolf had done before. Shan could only stare at him. He couldnt remember the last time Indarin had ever laughed. He saved Jerens life, Shan argued at once. My…my companions— she began and stopped. Her throat tightened as she realised the inevitable answer. Are they dead? Jeren? Her eyes were rimmed with red. Im... Im sorry. He couldnt be alone. So I stayed..