“Doma! That’s an Efean superstition!”

Mother seems not to hear Cook’s remonstration. “She has turned Her back on us because we turned our backs on Her. My poor children. All dead.”

I look past her and see a limp figure sprawled at the foot of the bier. How anyone can sleep through such a crisis I cannot understand. Then I realize it is Amaya, tangled in a shroud. My whole body clenches as I struggle not to cry out. Oh, terrible, terrible!

I cannot see for tears stinging my eyes. Why did I mock her when she was fated to suffer this horrible end?

Stricken, I stand there for the longest time. I don’t know what to say, or how to say it.

“Here it comes,” says Cook. With another contraction, the red veiny mass of the placenta drops into her waiting hands. The baby makes a sound, echoed a moment later by Maraya choking down a sob of relief.

Just as the flame from the lit taper is about to singe my fingers I see an unlit lamp in an alcove. “Coriander, bring that lamp over here.”

The last spark from the taper is enough to light its wick. Lamplight flares so powerfully after the sour yellow glow of the taper that my eyes water. I pass the knife through the flame several times and hand it to Cook, who cuts and ties the cord.

“Give me the baby,” I say, for everyone is as silent as if we are already dead and only waiting for the dust to cover us. “Coriander, hold the light.”

The oracle is moaning, rocking my dead brother in her thin arms. Cook starts wiping up the blood. Mother’s eyes close; she is still breathing but I fear she has passed out from blood loss and exhaustion. I cut off a length of Mother’s rumpled shroud and dry off the baby, then swaddle her in the last bit of clean cloth.

She has a flat cap of black hair and it is likely her eyes will resemble Father’s more than Mother’s. Beyond that it is impossible to say anything about her except that my heart expands until all my souls glow with love for this frail little spark. Her lips are perfect. Her cheeks are puffy. Her eyes are open and they fix on me. When we look at each other, we see something that can never be taken from us: our sisterhood.

Maraya presses a hand against my side to make sure I am solid. Her voice is so shaky it terrifies me. “It’s really you, Jes! I thought I was dreaming when I first saw you but it’s really you.”

I crush her hand in mine. “Yes, it’s me. What happened?”

Tears cloud Merry’s face. “We were told we were being given the honor of sitting the overnight vigil at Lord Ottonor’s tomb. But when we were taken to the temple they fed us lotus flower syrup to dull our minds and afterward the priests netted our flesh with shadows that compelled us to walk to the tomb.”

Thinking of the way they lurched along makes me shudder. “Where’s Bettany?”

“Mother didn’t trust the Garon stewards. She thought it best for one of us girls to stay behind to oversee what became of the servants. Since the man in charge couldn’t tell the difference between Coriander and Bettany, they switched places. Mother was so broken when Father repudiated her. Yet she worries about what will happen to the people who depend on her.”

“Of course she does. What happened to Amaya?”

“When we woke up from the lotus syrup, the tomb was bricked in. I was so frightened, Jes!” She pants a little as she remembers. “But there was a fine tray of food. Naturally Amiable grabbed at it first. She couldn’t resist the candied almonds even though they are supposed to be given to the oracle. I wish we had fed them to the old witch, because someone poisoned the food offering.”

A dreadful gaping hollow opens in the pit of my chest. “She’s dead, isn’t she? Oh, stupid Amiable! Stupid, stupid Amaya.”

“How could she have known? How could any of us have guessed this would happen?”

“To entomb unwilling servants, and a pregnant woman among them! And then poison the offering to make sure they die! He wanted to make sure you were all truly gone.”

“Who do you think did this, Jes?”

I glance around but he has no spies to overhear. “Lord Gargaron.”

She shuts her eyes, then opens them, nodding. “Yes, I see. He wanted Father without encumbrances. Can you really get us out?”

“Of course I can. I’m lifting you all out the air shaft.” I smile grimly. In my mind’s eye I see the Rings opening to the victory tower. Lord Gargaron can’t ever admit to what he did, so he can’t demand they be pushed back into the tomb. It will be easy to hide them from him because he thinks they are all dead from the poisoned food. The baby stirs in my arm and makes a crooning sound. Over by the bier, as in answer, Amaya mewls like a kitten.