At the last minute, however, she reached over and began to roll it up—and that was when she felt an odd cool spot. In the center.
Why would parchment be cool?
She flattened the chart out again … and ran her fingertips over the surface. When she got to the middle, there was a subtle change of temperature.
Because a thickened area of paint was still drying.
That was the source of the sweet smell.
They had doctored the infant’s as well.
“Time’s up, Princess,” s’Ex said with urgency. “We—”
“Give me your knife.”
“What?”
“Clean it off and give me your knife,” she commanded, putting out her hand.
SEVENTY-NINE
The last thing Trez did before dematerializing away from the Brotherhood mansion was take out his phone. He texted his brother just four words.
I am at peace.
And then he walked back over to the front steps and placed the cell down on the cold stone.
A moment later, he was gone. He didn’t look back at the house … didn’t hesitate … didn’t have any misgiving.
The fight was over. The long stretch of struggle that had defined his life had reached its conclusion.
When he re-formed, it was before the great gates of the s’Hisbe.
Walking forward, he knew that he would be instantly spotted on the security cameras, and he was right. Without his having to make any announcement at the check-in telephone that was for the benefit of humans, there was a clinking and a break in the center of the entrance’s two solid panels.
For the first time in so many years, he put his feet back on the soil of his people, striding over the divide that he was prepared to never resurface from.
The guards gasped as they recognized him, and he was immediately surrounded by a circle of black-robed males. They didn’t touch him, though. They were prohibited from coming into contact with his sacred body.
And, indeed, there was no need to strong-arm him. He was here of his own free will.
He was but a false gift to the traditions, however.
His body was no more capable of mating with a female than was a eunuch’s. He was dead from the waist down in that regard, so whatever dynastic hopes the Queen might have were not going to go well for her.
He did not care. They could do to him as they wished.
What he was coming to realize was that Selena had taken him with her. His soul had left sure as hers had—the only difference being that his body had yet to lie down and stop its functioning.
But maybe the Queen would take care of that for him.
When it became obvious that he was unable to perform, she probably was going to have him killed.
Whatever.
All he knew, all he cared about, was that his brother was now free of the burdens that had long weighed him down, and the Brotherhood and their families were safe.
That was all that mattered.
Along the way to the palace, he found himself removing his clothing, unbuttoning his shirt and letting it fall to the ground. Kicking off his shoes. Shedding his pants.
He was naked in the cold autumn sunlight as they came up to the palace doors.
AnsLai, the high priest, was waiting for him. And although the male’s head was hooded, he wore no mesh over his face, so his satisfaction was evident.
“What a fine decision you have come to,” the male intoned, bowing at his waist. “I commend you for your level head and your devotion, although perhaps late in its manifest, to your duty.”
At that, the great white marble-faced entrance split in half and revealed a white corridor that, as Trez stared down it, seemed to go on for eternity.
For a moment, he thought of Selena and him embracing in the training center’s underground tunnel, holding on to each other.
That infinity he had spoken of, that he’d had with her, was still in him.
And it was going to have to sustain him through whatever came next.
The guards in front of him parted and he went forward, placing bare foot after bare foot upon the shallow steps.
As he came up to AnsLai, the high priest bowed again. “And now we must proceed unto your cleansing.”
“Take this one instead, you’ll have better luck with it.”
Instead of giving Catra the knife she’d asked for, the executioner handed over to her a smaller one, with a smooth blade.
Leaning back down over the infant’s chart, she worked quickly, taking the razor-sharp point and trying to find a fissure or a seam under the added paint.
“We need to do this somewhere else, Princess,” he said. “We need—shit, stay here.”
She barely noticed as he left, her concentration consumed by the delicate operation she was performing. If she went too quickly or dug too much, she was liable to wreck what was underneath …
At last, she got the patch loosened, and then off altogether.