"Yes, you would," the duplicate panted back. A blue forked tongue flicked away the blood that flowed from her own nose. Her lips twisted in a wry grimace. "In fact… you just… did."
The first turned to Arvin, her eyes wild. "Set… curse you," the original panted, "and drag… your soul… to the… Abyss!" Then she collapsed.
A heartbeat later, the duplicate fell on top of her. For a moment, both bodies were still. Then, like dough melting in the rain, they flowed into one another until only one Zelia remained.
Dead.
A brittle laugh erupted from Arvin's lips. He no longer cared about the agony in his chest. Victory sang in his ears. He'd done it! Defeated Zelia! Karrell and his children were safe.
"I've already been to the Abyss," he whispered, — and back again. Now it's your turn."
Still lying on his back, he reached out with one hand. He was able-barely-to reach Gonthril's neck. Under his fingers he felt a faint lifebeat. Gonthril was alive.
Arvin let his fingers linger on the crystal at the rebel leader's throat. "Nine lives," he said.
He chuckled weakly. It had taken him at least that many to claim his revenge, but he was alive and Zelia, dead.
Arvin used the stone in his forehead to manifest a sending. When it was done, he closed his eyes. In a moment or two, once he'd rallied his strength again, he would manifest another sending, calling upon the Secession to rescue him and Gonthril. But for the time being, he would rest. His part was, at last, over.
Out over the Vilhon Reach, thunder grumbled once then stilled.
In a but deep in the Black Jungles, an infant finished suckling at his mother's breast then fell asleep beside his sister.
Their mother smiled.
VANITY’S BROOD0LISA SMEDMAN