Heir to the Shadows

must have been on her hands when she ran her fingers through it.
    Despite that, or perhaps because of it, her face was strangely compelling. Her youth had been consumed in the healing fire, leaving her with a timeless, ageless beauty that
    suited her ancient, haunted sapphire eyes. It looked like an exquisite mask that would never again be touched by living concerns.            •
    Then the mask shattered. Her grief and rage flooded through him, sending him careening against the building.
    Lucivar grabbed the corner and hung on with a desperation rapidly being consumed by overwhelming fear.
    The world spun with sick speed, spun in tighter and tighter spirals, dragging at his mind, threatening to tear him away from any sane anchor. Faster and faster. Deeper and deeper.
    Spirals. Saetan had told him something about spirals, but he couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't think.
    His shield broke, its energy sucked down into the spiral. The witch storm got pulled in, too, its psychic threads snapping as it tried to remain anchored around the building.
    Faster and faster, deeper and deeper, and then the dark power rose out of the abyss, roaring past him with a speed that froze his mind.
    Lucivar jerked away from the building and staggered toward Jaenelle. Down. He had to get her down on the ground, had to—
    Pop.
    Pop pop.
    Pop pop pop pop pop.
    "MOTHER NIGHT!" Adler screamed, pointing toward the hills.
    Lucivar wrenched a muscle in his neck as he snapped his head toward the sound of Jhinka bodies exploding.
    Another surge of dark power flashed through what was left of the witch storm's psychic threads. They flared, blackened, disappeared.
    He thought he heard a faint scream.
    Pop pop pop.
    Pop pop.
    Pop.
    It took her thirty seconds to destroy six thousand Jhinka.
    She didn't look at anyone. She just turned around and started walking slowly, stiffly toward the other end of the village.
    Lucivar tried to tell her to wait for him, but his voice wouldn't work. He tried to get to his feet, not sure how he'd ended up on his knees, but his legs felt like jelly.
    He finally remembered what Saetan had told him about spirals.
    He didn't fear her but, Hell's fire, he wanted to know what had set her off so that he had some idea of how to deal with her.
    Hands pulled at his arm.
    Randahl, looking gray-skinned and sick, helped him get to his feet.
    They were both panting from the effort it took to reach the building and brace themselves against the stone wall.
    Randahl rubbed his eyes. His mouth trembled. "The boy died," he said hoarsely. "She'd just finished healing the last landen. Hell's fire, Yaslana, she healed all three hundred of them. Three hundred in three days. She was swaying on her feet. Mari was telling her she had to sit down, had to rest. She shook her head and stumbled over to where Khevin was lying, and . . . and he just smiled at her and died. Gone. Completely gone. Not even a whisper of him left."
    Lucivar closed his eyes. He'd think about the dead later. There were still things that needed to be done for the living. "Are you strong enough to send a message to Agio?"
    Randahl shook his head. "None of us are strong enough to ride the Winds right now, but we're overdue by a day, so someone ought to be out on the roads searching for us."
    "When your people arrive, I want Mari escorted to the Hall."
    "We can look after her," Randahl replied sharply.
    But would Mari want to be looked after by the Blood in Agio?
    "Escort her to the Hall," Lucivar said. "She needs time to grieve, and she needs a place where her heart can start to heal. There are some at the Hall who can help her with that."
    Randahl looked unhappy. "You think the Dhemlan Blood will be kinder to her than we were?"
    Lucivar shrugged. "I wasn't thinking of the Dhemlan Blood. I was thinking of the kindred."
    Having gotten Randahl's agreement, Lucivar stopped in-
    side the community hall long enough to see Mari and tell her she would be going to the Hall. She clung to him for a few minutes, crying fiercely.
    He held her, giving what comfort he could.
    When two of the landen women, casting defiant looks at the rest, offered to look after Mari, he let her go, sincerely hoping he'd never have to deal with landens again.
    He found Jaenelle a few steps outside the village boundary, curled up into a tight ball, making desperate little sounds.
    He dropped to his knees and cradled her in his arms.
    "I didn't want to kill," she wailed. "That's not what the