Shadowkill

2

There was no one at the oriel window, though it was one of the better outlooks in the House.

She climbed into the round hole, pressed her face against the colored glass.

Pirs stood at the top of the steps, ignoring the splatters of rain that came every few minutes. He was standing very erect, his head up. He wasn’t saying anything.

The Artwa stood on the same step, a double arms’ length apart from his second son. The old man was seething, the younger one deeply disturbed, but there was no grief in either of them. At least none for Rintirry.

Pirs was miserable, but that had more to do with his father’s rejection than the loss of a brother.

Give him his due. Half brother. And one trying to kill him. Not the sort you mourned.

The big doors boomed open. Loujary and Wayak came out and moved carefully down the steps, carrying a litter with Rintirry’s body on it, wrapped in heavy white damask. Shadith relaxed; she’d expected a lot more trouble than this, infected with Tinoopa’s gloom, probably. And the weepy gloom of the day, as if the skies wept for the double death. She sniffed, fancies with no touch of reality, even old Cagharadad wasn’t grieving. She grimaced.