Senna heard the unmistakable sound of a hammer cocking. “You sing one syllable, and I’ll kill you. Do you understand?”
Senna believed her. Rain streaking down her face, she begged, “Please listen. I have to move the island or we’ll all die.”
Chavis ignored the plea. “How did you escape from the Tartens, anyway?
Senna’s breath snagged in her throat. “How could you know that?”
Chavis stiffened. “Know what?”
“That it was the Tartens I escaped and not Caldash?”
Senna didn’t realize she’d stopped moving until Chavis shoved her with the barrel of her gun. “You said it yourself.”
Senna stumbled forward. They were inside the trees now. The wind lessened. Great drops of rain that had collected on the leaves plopped on Senna’s head. Lightning ripped apart light and shadow, leaving jagged edges. “No, I didn’t. The only way you could have known is—” She whirled around.
Jabbing the pistol at her chest, Chavis shoved Senna to the ground.
More pieces fit together. “When I defeated Espen, she had every Head’s seed in her belt—except yours.”
Chavis took a step back, her pistol aimed at Senna’s heart, her eyes as dark as midnight. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I was wrong. Drenelle’s not the traitor. You are! You let Cord and Mistin on the island!”
Something shifted in Chavis’ expression, and Senna realized the Head wasn’t trying to force her to go anywhere. She was just staring. Cold realization shot through Senna. Chavis hadn’t brought her into the trees to tie her up in some cellar. She’d brought her here to kill her.
Terror tore through Senna, caging her voice inside her throat. Not that it mattered—Chavis’ bullet would stop her heart long before any song took effect.
Chavis must have seen the understanding dawn on Senna’s face. “It’s not what you think. When I first read the records, I realized what monsters we had become. Espen had the power to control us—to rein us in. So I worked for her, helping her from the inside.”
“Why are you telling me this? Why not just shoot me?”
Something in Senna’s gaze must have betrayed her disgust, for Chavis’ face tightened. “I want you to know that I wouldn’t kill you unless I had no other choice. I was out looking for you when you found Espen. She thought she could out-sing you. Pride always was her downfall.”
“My mother and the others always claimed the traitor had been killed. Did you murder her, Chavis? Did you kill an innocent woman?”
Chavis’ face registered no emotion. “No. I just made her look guilty after she was already dead.”
“And what about Caldash?”
She shrugged as if it didn’t matter anymore. “They found me, but you had to ruin that, too.”
Senna shook her head, desperate now in a way she hadn’t been just moments ago. “Traitor.” She put all the venom she could in the word.
Chavis grunted. “Caldash will do a better job of controlling the world—you know it as well as I. Besides, they’re stronger than us, especially with Tarten behind them. There was no way we could win this war. But if we surrender quickly, with few casualties, and are grafted to Caldash, we can overthrow the Tartens. It is better this way.”
Senna hated that Chavis’ words made a sick kind of sense. Caldash would do a better job. They were more cohesive, less corrupted. They didn’t discriminate against Wastrels, instead making a place for them. The power of ruling was spread between the Heads, the Orders, and the Composer, each group checking the others. And they had learned to live in cohesion with the rest of the world, something Haven hadn’t managed in centuries.
“There won’t be any prisoners,” Senna said. “Grendi doesn’t care if every soldier she has dies. She’s bent on revenge.”
Chavis frowned. “That can’t be true.”
“You underestimated Tarten.”
It was obvious Chavis didn’t believe her. “I really hate to do this, but as I’ve told you many times before, casualties are a part of war.”
Senna kept her eyes wide open. She wanted Chavis to see the life draining from them, wanted the image to haunt her for the rest of her life.
Chavis took careful aim. Musket fire cracked. Senna held her breath, waiting for the pain to envelop her, for the world to go dark. Instead, Chavis’ face contorted and she pitched forward.
Bewildered, Senna released her pent-up breath. Then she looked past the Head and saw Arianis a little way off, black powder smoke drifting from her pistol as she watched Chavis die. “That ball wasn’t meant for her. It was for the Tartens.”