There were a few scattered exclamations and grumblings as Arkoniel motioned everyone away from Tobin.
“He’s too exposed! Can’t we do this inside the hall?” Tharin muttered.
“No, it must be seen. Please, Tharin, you must step back.”
Tharin gave Tobin a last tense look, and Ki and the others grudgingly moved aside with him, but only to the far end of the stairs. The priests did the same on the other side.
Though his friends were no more than twenty feet away, Tobin suddenly felt very alone and exposed. No one was cheering or chanting his name now. The bailey seemed like a sea of skeptical eyes.
Kaliya smiled, as if she sensed Tobin’s mounting fear and accepted it with compassion. The others watched with obvious unease.
Arkoniel came to Tobin and presented him with a thin silver knife; it had been Lhel’s. “She gave me this sometime ago. Use it with courage,” he whispered, kissing Tobin on both cheeks. He’d never done anything like that before. “Remember what I described to you. Begin with the doll. Be brave, Tobin. These are your people watching.”
My people. The entire throng seemed to be holding its breath. Clutching the knife, Tobin felt his fear seep away, leaving him with the same inner stillness he felt before battle. Even so, his hands shook as he pulled out the doll and felt for the hair cord in the fold of its neck. Slipping the tip of the blade under it, he cut it and let it fall away. Then he sliced open the worn muslin and emptied the crumbling herbs, yellowed wool, and all those bits of delicate bone from the doll’s body. Something small and shiny tumbled out, and bounced down the stone steps. It was the golden tablet bearing the Oracle’s words. He’d forgotten he’d hidden it there. It landed at the feet of a bearded sergeant, who hesitantly picked it up. When Arkoniel motioned him to stay where he was, he held it up, and whispered, “I hold on to it for you, shall I, my prince?”
Then Brother was standing there beside him, watching him with hungry black eyes. Judging by the sudden cries and gasps, others could see him, too.
“Your clothes,” Arkoniel called softly. “You must take them off. Ki, help him.”
Brother hissed softly as Ki approached but did not try to stop him. Not letting himself hesitate or think, Tobin took off his sword belt, the studded coat, and shirt and handed them to Ki. Brother’s presence raised gooseflesh along his arms. The ghost stood close beside him, bare-chested now. Tobin quickly shucked off his boots, socks, trousers, and, after another moment’s doubt, his linen clout. Ki gave him a wan smile as he added them to his pile. He was scared, too, and trying not to show it.
“It’s all right,” Tobin whispered, pulling the chain over his head and holding it out to him. “Keep these for me.”
Ki closed his fist around the ring and seal and raised his hand to his heart, saluting Tobin as he retreated to his place with Tharin.
Naked, Tobin faced the crowd and felt for the bone shard. There it was, just below the skin. The tiny ridges of Lhel’s stitching were rough against his fingertips.
“Quickly!” Brother hissed.
Tobin looked into his brother’s black eyes one last time as he raised the silver knife. “Yes.”
Bracketing the lump with two fingers, he pressed the knife’s sharp point to the taut skin. He couldn’t see what he was doing, but his touch was deft. He grimaced as it broke the skin. Blood trickled down.
“Cut deeper!” Brother crooned.
Tobin cut again, twisting the knife, and searing fire shot through him as the tip found its target. He fell to his knees, and the knife clattered to the stone stairs beside him.
“Release me!” Brother screamed, crouching to show Tobin the bleeding wound on his own breast. Blood ran down his cheeks in scarlet tears. “It hurts! Finish it!”
Gasping, Tobin squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. The pain was too much.
“Now!” a woman shouted. “It must be now, daughter!”
Opening his eyes, Tobin saw the ghosts.
They stood in a circle around him, all of them crowned and all holding the Sword of Ghërilain upright before them. He didn’t recognize them—the tomb effigies had been too crude to capture their living features, but he knew who they were. Ghërilain the First stood there watching him, and his own blood-soaked grandmother. And that gaunt, sad-faced man beside them—he must be Thelátimos, the last rightful king.
Cool fingers brushed his brow. Tobin looked up into the one face he had seen before. It was Tamír, the murdered queen. It was she who’d called out to him, and she spoke again now. Courage, daughter. It must be now, for Skala!
Someone put the knife back in his hand. It was Ki. He wept as he knelt beside Tobin.
“You can do it,” he whispered, and retreated. He looked like he was sending Tobin to his execution.
Tobin raised the knife. Pain pulled his lips back in a snarl as he gouged deeper. He’d always imagined that the tiny shard would slip out like a splinter, but the flesh had grown fast to it, like a tree bole healing around a nail. He twisted the blade again and heard someone screaming. It sounded like Brother but his own throat was raw with it.
The tiny fragment came free, still sheathed in a pulpy shred of raw flesh. He scarcely had time to feel it between his fingers before a new wave of pain engulfed him, beyond anything he’d ever imagined.
White fire engulfed him, so intense it was icy cold. Caught in that inferno, he couldn’t breathe or think or scream or hear, but somehow he saw Brother, felt the spirit grappling with him, enfolding him, passing through him like a cold black shadow at the heart of that white fire.
And then the pain was gone and Tobin was curled in his side on hot, smooth stone in the sunlight. The ghosts were still around him, but fainter now, like shapes made of grey gauze. The stairs were scorched black in a great circle around him.
And Brother was gone.
Looking around, he did not see the shocked, silent onlookers, only that his twin was not there. He felt it, too; an aching emptiness filled him. There had been no farewell between them, no parting words. He had cut Brother from his body and the ghost had left him. Tobin could scarcely comprehend it.
“Tob?” A warm hand clasped his elbow, helping him sit up. It was Ki.
Tobin reached out to him, then froze in horror, staring down at the strange skin covering his arm. From fingertips to shoulder it hung in loose colorless shreds like a rotted glove. His whole body was the same; his skin was in tatters around him, flayed by the horrendous magic he’d unleashed. He rubbed gingerly at his left forearm and the skin fell away, exposing smooth, whole skin below. The wine-colored wisdom mark was still there, brighter than ever.
He flexed his fingers, brushed his hands together, and rubbed at his arms, shedding the old skin like a snake in spring. He rubbed at his face and felt a thin, dry mask pull away, leaving the crescent-shaped scar still visible on the chin. The fire had somehow spared his hair, but he could feel the old scalp pulling apart beneath it.
He ran his hands down over his chest and stopped, only beginning to fully comprehend what had happened. The old skin that covered his chest was pulled tight, bulging like—
Like a maiden’s bodice.
Shivering, Tobin stripped the old husk away and stared down at her small breasts.
Tobin was dimly aware of a growing murmur as she stood and looked down. Her boy’s genitals had wizened to dried husks. She pulled at the loose skin above them and they sloughed off and fell away.
Ki turned away, a hand clamped across his mouth, and she heard him retch.
The world was going slowly grey around her. She couldn’t feel the stairs under her feet anymore. But Tharin was with her, wrapping a cloak around her, holding her upright. And Ki was back, too, his arm tight around her waist. “It’s all right. I’ve got you.”