Vallista

Epilogue

Reader, I murdered him. I know I’d said I might let him live, but I meant that might. I hadn’t made up my mind. The smug look on his face made it up for me.

He seemed more offended than frightened. I think he was going to say something, but I put the dagger into his left eye and twisted, and the sounds he made had no more significance than an award falsely given. He stopped twitching and I left him there to rot and stink up the place; they could move him if they felt like it. For all I know, he’s still sitting in his chair, my knife in his eye, and some justification still on his lips.

As for Precipice Manor, well, it’s still there, overlooking the ocean-sea. Back in the past, servants still prepare food, and, not knowing what they do, carry it forward into the future, then clean up the trays. An empty wizard’s chamber collects dust, and wine that is already bad becomes worse. On a stage that is on the first floor but reached by the second, an Issola still dances, and a Teckla who was once an Issola watches her as she spins, jumps, and with every movement, gradually allows her body to injure itself more and more, in the name of art, in the name of love. Whether it is worth it is none of my business, or yours.

I walked down the hallway to the entry. I still had to deal with all that crap Verra had laid on me. But no, forget it. Not now. Now was the time to just concentrate on surviving, because the instant I left the place, I’d be back in a world where people were trying to kill me, and for now, that was enough to worry about. If the Mighty Hand of Destiny had something planned for me, it could either squash those who were threatening my life, or make itself into a fist and strangle itself. Ideally, both.

The doors opened for me, and I began the long walk back to Adrilankha, the pitiless ocean crashing in my ears.