Until then she had not yet comprehended that flesh and blood were meaningless existences in this watery prison. Her body, or what she perceived as her body, pulsed with pain as Kitzon slowly drew out his hand. She dropped to the ground like a discarded rag, mind emptied, blank.

A knot of red light flared and throbbed in his grasp, struggling like a captured hare.

“How much trouble one little misjudgment has caused me,” he muttered. “I should not have wielded Hazsam that night. If I had known things would come to this then —”

She knew instantly which night he spoke of. Remembered, still, his wild, infectious laughter. Her heart ablaze with righteous fury and yet bound with unspeakable regret.

None of that remained now.

“What do you say, Ashne? Shall we not finish what we began?”

They should have both died that night.

“Stop this,” she said. “Please, stop this. What are you trying to accomplish? What do you think this will...” Her voice broke. “You can’t bring her back. It’s too late. Too late.”

“Says who?”

“Kitzon —”

With his free hand he seized her collar and lifted her up again. “If I let you stop me now, then this will all have been for nothing!”

Behind him, Braksya grimaced as he received a particularly nasty gash from spiky urchin-like creature.

But Ashne did not move, did not struggle. She was tired of fighting the inevitable. Tired of trying and trying and trying for something she no longer understood, had never understood, would never understand.

She closed her eyes.

Kitzon made a strangled noise. Tossed her aside.

Shocked, she opened her eyes as she landed, only to see him crushing the red light in his grasp. With a great cry he raised his other hand and ripped it in two. The light sparked and bulged. Exploded into strands flying and trailing through the air, as if seeking something.

The gate trembled. Widened. Braksya fell through, lost amid a mass of writhing creatures.

Further beyond them, the waves rose and crashed, sweeping away another, different swarm of spirits. In the distance, the Tiger had freed itself from the snake’s coils; both weaved and lunged about in the water, two white beasts amid a churning storm of foam and blood.

“Damn it,” said Kitzon. “I don’t want to fight you. I don’t want to — she would never forgive me —”

“What is it that you want? What is it that you’ve been trying to accomplish all this time?” she asked again, urgently.

He took one look at her and laughed. But this time, it sounded more like he was weeping.

“To change the flow of fate! To seize the reins of history itself!”

“All this... just for that?”

He laughed again. “Just for that. Just for that!” His arm swept through the air, gesturing at everything and nothing. “Don’t you see? Your queen meant to sacrifice you all from the start. It took the blood of thousands to forge Hazsam. She knew it would take as many, if not more, to break it!”

“Break it?”

“Did you not realize? No, of course not. She told you nothing, after all.”

“But it is impossible. Hazsam is indestructible.” But even as she spoke, she remembered the princess’s words. In flame it may be destroyed again.

“Nothing is indestructible,” he said, an odd note of sorrow in his voice. The red lights gathered above the waves and fell like rain; where it fell, the spirits recoiled.

“But... why?”

“It was your queen who hired me. It was she who ordered me to bring back Hazsam at all costs, thinking me an ignorant fool who would not understand its significance. Well, she was wrong! We of the west have never forgotten. And there is nothing I have ever desired more... All my life I have searched for the sacred Tiger’s sword. How could I let that fool of a woman destroy it, when I had at last located it?”

He was wrong. Hazsam was the ancient heirloom of Khonua. Not the tiger’s blade, but destroyer of tigers. But she did not voice her protest. For from the waters rose another light, shimmering and pale, lifted by the strands of red as if dangling from a bloody net.

It was no mere light. Hazsam, rising again above the waters that had swallowed it.

“Then the heir? The boy? Did you know all along —”

“Did it matter who the boy was? He possessed the blade, and the blade was real enough.”

“And you would use this blade. To...”

“To unite the land. To free us all from the whims of heaven.”

“By unleashing this world upon ours?”

“You think still in terms of theirs and ours, I see. Have you still not understood? Our worlds are one and the same!”

She shook her head, unable to respond. They’ve breached the gap, he had said once, in what seemed like ages past. She wondered why she had never heard the understated but nonetheless undeniable glee in his tone until now.

They had breached the gap, but apparently that was not enough.

He turned to watch the sword’s slow, steady ascension. “War, hunger, pestilence: the spirits alone possess the power to end it all. To forge a world without suffering, without pain.”

She said at last, “You’re wrong. They are the cause of suffering. The cause of hunger and pestilence. That is why they were so feared in the olden days. Their power was too great!”

“They are not like us, Ashne,” he replied. “They do not hate. Do not love. They possess neither greed nor ambition.” He held out his arms; the sword floated towards him, slicing through the murk itself, leaving sharp clarity in its wake. “And I intend to return them to their proper place.”

She caught a glimpse of white hair beyond. Tiger and snake were nowhere to be seen, the violent thrashing of the waves the only proof of their continued existence.

“Did she know?” she said quietly.

He grasped the hilt of the sword; the diamond-patterned light of its blade consumed the red strands and trickled down his arm, enveloping him in a cold glow.

“I would have told her,” he said. “I would have told her anything.”

Then he doubled over and screamed. The light trembled; Ashne saw a red knot pushing out from his side, much like the ball of power that had come from herself, before the light seemed to swallow that as well. Yet he did not release his hold.

As his crouched body shook in convulsions, he turned his head toward her, eyes narrowed, still focused despite his evident pain. He muttered a curse in his own tongue. “This wasn’t supposed to...”

Whatever he was about to say was lost in another howl. At the same time, Ashne saw Braksya breaking free from the swarm, trying to fight his way back to the gate. She realized then why the spirits had not yet pushed through the break in the gate.

The scabbard. Braksya had left the scabbard propped behind the veil, barring the opening. No amount of pressure or force seemed capable of wrenching it from its position, or squeezing past the remaining space. It glimmered like a distant star; Hazsam’s own light grew in response.

Somewhere deep inside, she knew what she must do.

She leaped at Kitzon, pinning him to the ground, wrestling for the sword. Though the extraction of power had weakened him, she too had lost much of her strength. The blade cut her palms. Blood spread slick across her skin. The pain was nothing compared to what had come before. She clawed at his face, wrenched Hazsam from him at last.

Blood continued to run down her wrists, her arms, dripping to the floor. But she clasped the hilt tightly, half blind from the light that now enveloped her, and forged a path through the swarm. The spirits shied away before her, screaming in agony.

At the gate she stopped and turned. Spotted Braksya still struggling, not too far away. Their eyes met. He smiled. She reached out; he clasped her hand and pulled himself out of the fray.

Beyond them, Tiger and snake came crashing onto the shore. Kitzon was singing again. The spirits surged forward in a renewed frenzy, no longer fearing the light.

“The scabbard,” hissed Braksya. “Hurry!”

She took hold of it, but it would not budge, and already Kitzon was closing in on them, his Tiger not far behind, freed at last from the snake’s coils.

As he approached, all fell silent. The crowd parted, making way. The waves beyond them stilled to a gentle roll, the barest whisper of water lapping at a sandy shore.

She could not seem to move. Beside her, Braksya tugged at the scabbard as well, but still nothing happened.

“Come. Give me that,” said Kitzon, his voice low but clear despite the distance between them. His eyes softened, crinkling at the corners as he reached out, this time beckoning to her rather than the sword.

Still she could not stir her limbs.

“Zsaran made her choice. Will you let her sacrifice go to waste?”

It was a choice like any other, no more difficult or inconsequential than all the choices she had made throughout her life. No right, no wrong. Merely a steady accumulation of trifling actions that in the end amounted to little more than another pebble cast into the river before it flowed into the eternal sea.

Let us be free, whispered Zsaran in her ear.

“It wasn’t for you,” she said, voice trembling, tongue thick. “She chose — she acted — she lived — died — not for you.”

For love, she thought. For love.

(Do you trust me?)

The answer, in the end, was simple.

(Always.)

With a single swift motion, she thrust the blade through the veiled gate and into its sheathe.

The light winked out. Hazsam hurtled away into shadow and gloom.

The spirits howled as one. The waves roared. Someone seized her shoulder; she turned, expecting Braksya, and found herself face to face with Kitzon.

The look of betrayal on his face broke her heart, though it was he who was the traitor, he who had turned on them to begin with, who had brought death upon them all, and more.

“I thought you of all people would understand,” he said, before wild winds whirled them apart and water crashed down upon them all and she tumbled from stormy roiling darkness back to solid earth and collapsed.

Silence, but for the dancing crackling flame beyond.

Just as it had drawn them in, Hazsam had thrust them back out, they who did not belong in the other world.

Meanwhile, the queen remained yet at her station by the altar, watching them all with eyes clear and untroubled. As if nothing had just transpired. As if no time had passed at all since the opening of the gate.

Perhaps, for her, none had.

“Very good,” said the queen, stooping to pick up the sword and scabbard that had clattered to her feet. “Most excellent. I knew I was right to place my faith in you.”

Kitzon was the first to rise.

“It’s not over yet,” he said through gritted teeth, in the tongue of the riverlands. “There is still a chance.”

Braksya pushed himself off the ground. Shook wet hair from his face, reached out a hand to help Ashne up. “The mountain is surrounded,” he said, in a manner of utter indifference. “If I were you, I would think it wise to flee while I still could.”

Neither Kitzon nor the queen gave any sign of hearing him, though Ashne knew they both must understand what he had spoken.

As for herself, she felt no more pain. No hate, no anger. She felt nothing at all, neither the chill of the dark nor the fears that had immobilized her for so long. Not even the pressure of heat from the bonfire, the nipping sparks drifting through the air.

“Kitzon,” she said, wanting to tell him that she did understand, if only a little bit. And that even if she did not, could not, would never be able to truly comprehend, she...

But he did not even turn.

Instead, his fists clenched as he straightened, body beginning to glow with a pale fire of its own. His hair rose, waving in a nonexistent wind.

He raised his arm, as he had when he opened the gate to the other world, only the flesh was whole once more, and no fresh blood covered his skin.

“I may have lost this time,” he said, addressing the queen, though she was not his enemy, and had never been. “But this is not the end!”

The Tiger bounded into being from the dark forests, as present in this world as it had been in the other.

Kitzon somersaulted onto its back.

And they were gone.

* * *

A final gust of wind swept away all lingering traces of Kitzon’s presence. Braksya stepped forward, placed a hand on Ashne’s shoulder.

But Ashne had eyes now only for the queen.

Who stood, unmoving, gazing out into the distance, until at last she swept her arms out in a grandiose gesture and began to speak once more.

“I will offer you no excuses,” she said, voice ringing through the night, drowning out the crackling of flame behind her. “You deserve that much, at least.”

“My lady,” Ashne whispered, clenching her fists. No blood stained her palms; she wondered vaguely if any scars would linger. “My lady, I don’t understand.”

But the queen was no longer listening, if she had ever been listening. “When I was a girl, young and too foolish to know any better, I went to see a fortuneteller. And what he told me was this: that I would lead a life of sorrow and disappointment, that I would have but one child in my lifetime, and that I would find no peace at the end. Other things he told me as well, but I can no longer recall them.

“Of course I laughed him off. How could I not? But as I said, I was young, and foolish. And soon after that, I met Khosian. With him I spent the happiest year of my life... So I thought, surely, surely, the fortuneteller was mistaken.

“I began to think perhaps it was I who was wrong, when soon afterwards the man I loved succumbed to his pride. We were defeated by our greatest enemies. Our people on the brink of destruction. Yet still I stayed by his side. I partook in his trials, hoping to ease his burdens, if only by a little bit... He swore vengeance upon all those who wronged him. No matter how long it would take. And I followed him willingly on his mad quest. We all did. My only regret then was that I could not bear him a son, an heir to secure his legacy, to continue his fight should he not see it through himself to the end. Yet even that concern was eased when I gave birth to Sarabis. Girl though she was, sickly and frail as she became! Still she was the child of our flesh and blood. And surely that was enough. Surely, surely...

“Kasa fell. Pashrai hurried back home, tail between his legs, thinking to negotiate peace once more. Peace he asked for, and peace we gave. For a few years, at least! And now he is dead. The war is over at last. And I thought we could turn at last to the future. To reconstruction, to the glory and stability of our people.

“I was wrong, after all. Why did he not name our daughter heir? Was it because he knew the warriors would not follow her, and the Dragons would crush her? Or because he knew...

“I realized then what he planned. What he truly planned. Why he cared nothing for our daughter. Why he was so willing to use her as a pawn, why he was so desperate to seize Hazsam for himself... I am not so blind, you know. I knew he had sent his agents in search of it. He thought to make himself immortal! Omnipotent, as the sage kings of old!

“I could not let him have the sword. Not without reason were the spirits sealed away, all those years ago! Not even the Prince of Light was fool enough to risk their return. If Hazsam were to fall into my husband’s possession, who knows how it would change him? He was already a changed man. No longer the man I knew. I could not bear the thought that one morning, I would awaken, and no longer recognize him at all. But then I thought: was it not my fault, after all? My barren womb. The child we lost. The sacrifices we made. Do you understand? Do you have any idea of the pain we suffered? The hardships we endured?”

“No, my lady,” murmured Ashne, eyes closed, throat closed, heart closed.

“He could not know. He could not find out. I would not let him. Already I have given up so much... what more another small sacrifice? My Maidens have done much for me, that I cannot deny. But in the end, was it not I who gave them life? And I who can take it away again?”

To that, Ashne had no response.

“The mercenary did his job well. Too well, perhaps. I thought to use him instead. I thought him an appropriate sacrifice. A mighty one, worthy of the gods of old. But I did not foresee his ambition. I saw only his greed. My daughter, my daughter... If he had not taken her from me...”

Braksya’s grip on her shoulder tightened.

“There is much I have regretted through all these long years,” whispered the queen then. “But none I regret so much as listening to Bahmre of Krengsra.”

“My lady, did you — ?” Did you know, she wanted to ask, or perhaps The fortuneteller was wrong, or Lord Bahmre would have never condemned an innocent babe to death, but even as she opened her eyes again and the words left her lips she knew the answer, and the remnants of the question died unspoken in her throat.

If the queen heard, she gave no indication of it. Small mercies, Ashne thought, feeling a ridiculous, almost hysterical sense of relief. Even Shranai could not have realized. Only Kitzon. Kitzon, who should have remained silent, should have let them remain blissful in their ignorance. If he had not told Zsaran the truth, if Zsaran had not...

But even as the thought passed her mind, the queen clutched sword and scabbard to her chest and turned.

“My lady, what are you —”

The queen took one step, another. Robes trailing at her back as she ascended the altar and the fire closed behind her, flames licking greedily at her feet. She turned once more to face Ashne, her face wreathed in light, her arms spread again like wings.

“With this, it all ends,” she said. “Hazsam shall be no more.”

Ashne opened her mouth to respond, but there was nothing left to say.

“I have but one final request, unworthy though I am to make it.”

She could only stare on, Braksya standing silently at her shoulder.

With great effort the queen moved her lips. “Save my daughter. Please. You are the only one...”

The wind stirred between them. Ashne closed her eyes once more. Forced them back open.

“I will... my lady.”

The queen smiled.

The flames consumed her.