Haven followed me like my own shadow as I stepped into the training room. "If you train her as you were trained, my lady, there is a chance she will merely shatter."

"She has will. She has fire." I strode over to my armor, arrayed on a stand. It looked beautiful now that Ember had tended to all the damaged and dirtied pieces. The finish was still dulled with smoke, in striated patterns across the breastplate, but beneath that was a mirror polish that left no room for rust. She had oiled every hinge and piece of leather after cleaning with saddle soap and sand.

I loved it almost as fiercely as Woe. My sword had been my mother's gift, but my armor, my second skin, my guardian against all the world could do to me...that had been given by the person who had valued my life above all others. I leaned my head against it and inhaled deeply, taking in the smell of steel and smoke and leather. It smelled like home, like victory, like love. It had followed me through campaign after campaign. Straps were replaced, sometimes plates, but the soul was always there with me, as scarred and battered as my heart.

Strange, to believe in souls surrounded by the soulless.

"You are not listening to me," Haven observed.

I ran my hands lovingly over the pauldrons, smooth and seamless. It was designed with flexibility in mind as well as strength. The range of motion within my armor was barely different than my natural one. It was molded to me like my own skin, particularly after all the breaking in I had done. "I know what I am doing, Haven."

"And if her fire is your funeral pyre?"

I turned to face him. "I have broken fate many times, Haven. Even her fire, I could extinguish."

"You risk yourself too much, my lady." His tone was even, emotionless. There was not care in him, yet he held onto me. Onto the shadow of who he once was, before undeath had changed him into this. "Senseless duels. Leading an army. You have earned glory in the King in Black's eyes hundreds of times over. Rest on your laurels and let the others earn their keep."

"It is never enough," I whispered, putting my hand to my visor. I cupped its cheek, the smoothness meant to deflect every blow. "You know it will never be enough for him."

For a moment, Haven was still. I wondered if he could still feel some ghost of the anger that he once felt in life. After a long moment of silence, he put his hand on my shoulder. It was almost tender, the gesture. I looked over. Claws trimmed back to nails, manicured and carefully kept. Clothes neat and clean, his sleeves rolled up to bare pale arms that in every motion rippled with unholy strength. "You deserve better, my lady."

I laughed. "When has this world ever treated anyone as they deserve?"

"After the price you have paid..." He didn't finish the sentence. He knew as well as I did what had happened: he was there, the first baptized into undeath after the King in Black's ascension. He had seen my heart in my face that day. When it was all over, when the glory had moved on and left us in its ashes, he had kissed the earth in front of my feet and asked to serve me for the rest of his existence.

No one knew me better than Haven.

I covered his hand where it sat on my shoulder. "I saw her anger, Haven," I said quietly. "Impotent, locked in its cage, like a tiger imprisoned behind bars. What a waste."

"She will hate you," Haven said. "Vex will make her suffer in your name, all to become a great warrior."

"And what would you have me do? Throw her loose, to be caught in Varys's claws?" I couldn't bring myself to be angry with Haven. Instead, it came out as a sincere request for his thoughts.

Haven gave my shoulder a slight squeeze. It was not out of love, but a recognition that I would appreciate the comfort. "No, my lady. I would have you end this at its beginning. I will bring her a swift, merciful death. She will not feel a thing. Then the blood will be on my hands, the guilt on my shoulders, not yours."

I turned to face him. "My dutiful Haven," I said softly, meeting the gaze of those black, shark-like eyes. "You have already borne too much for my sake."

"I do not feel it. You do." There was a cold, inhuman logic to his speech, to his thoughts. "I can see where this ends, and it is with a blade in your heart, Aleyr."

It always had an extra weight when he actually spoke my name. He saved it for occasions like this, rare and personal. "She would have died in Varys's clutches, Haven, abandoned by her goddess and all the other archons of light. A terrible fate for someone. Everyone deserves the chance to break their fate."

Haven's gaze searched my soul in my face. "I hope I am wrong, my lady," he said softly. "I do not want to lose you."

I squeezed his hand. "You would not feel the grief for a moment, Haven."

"But I would know that you were gone."

I would never understand how the raw hunger of a wight could exist alongside the tenderness of Haven's touch. He bound my wounds, soothed my fevers, scrubbed the dirt from my body, listened to me pour out my sorrows. The name I had given him was truer than it had any right to be, knowing his nature. Perhaps his emptiness, the hollow space where emotion once ruled, was a place where I could pour mine. Or was I only seeing what I wished to see?

"I'm not going anywhere, Haven."

The door behind us banged open as Vex steered a mute and frightened Shira in. Again she was the girl from Varys's tent when she was in the clutches of my ravenous second, so terrified of her own demise. I would have to break her of that fear, and many others, if I was to release her from her cage.

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I turned to face the pair. Vex was in high spirits, savage glee scrawled across her twisted features. "My lady has a purpose for you, it seems," the wight said as she pulled Shira in, kicking the door closed behind her. It effectively trapped Shira between Vex and the two of us.

"Your mannerisms are unbecoming," Haven said formally, his black eyes fixed on Vex.

Vex waved her hand like she was swatting away a gnat. "I am not here to be presentable and courteous, Haven. I am here to be a crucible."

I held up a hand. "There is a conversation to be had first," I said coolly.

Shira's eyes settled on me, devoid of the firelight I had seen in the solar with Melody. There was only fear and uncertainty.

Haven stepped away from me, linking his hands together in front of him and bowing his head respectfully. I knew it was his way of fading into the background. He always made his opinions known privately, not publicly.

I stepped forward, stopping directly in front of Shira and meeting her gaze with my own. "I believe in choice, priestess. Not fate. In accordance with that, I will offer you a choice."

Vex released her hold on Shira, leaving the young woman shivering in front of me. She flinched when I drew Woe.

"There are three parts to a sword in Luth'alen martial tradition," I said, holding my beloved longsword out in front of me, balanced perfectly on two fingers. "From the tip to the middle, this half of the blade is the jhaan, the weak.'" I looked her straight in the eyes as I spoke. "You could go home, escorted by Vex to the edge of the Eternal Kingdom. There is a chance that Varys or his people would find you, but you would have the protection of your priests." Then I tapped the blade closer to the hilt, where it tapered wider to meet the crossguard. "This is the ahl, the strong." I didn't let my gaze waver for a moment. "You could accept death in this moment, at the bite of Woe, and go to your goddess in defiance."

Shira raised her hand, fingers trembling as she moved them through signs. And yet, I could see it in her again. That fire, that anger, that drive.

"She wishes to hear the last option, my lady," Vex commented offhandedly.

I touched the hilt. "This is luth. The hilt, the connection to the wielder, to all the power that makes a sword what a sword is: a tool." I knew she was listening when I heard her breath catch. "You could stay, willingly, and learn to become more than what you are."

I let the blade stay balanced on my fingers, watching her breathing flutter in her throat. For a long time, there was only silence. I knew she just needed the tiniest breath of life into that spark.

"Which do you wish to be, Shira?" I asked quietly. "The protected servant of a goddess who has already abandoned you, the honored dead sacrificed in some Rusan advance, or the hand that moves?"

Shira did not look at either Vex or Haven. A stillness spread through her body and then I saw the fire spark in her eyes. She closed her hand around Woe's hilt, still meeting my gaze head on.

I covered her hand with my own, holding her grip to Woe. "Very well," I said. "I will make you suffer for this choice of yours as very few have suffered. If you are alive at the end, you will be a warrior with few equals."

The fingers of her other hand flicked.

Vex laughed, the sound sharp and mocking. "She is promising you something ridiculous."

"Translate, Vex," I ordered sharply. Shira's eyes were still on mine, still burning with those coals of resentment and righteous fury.

"She says that when she is finished, she will lay you peacefully into your grave for this mercy."

I smiled coldly. "Then she understands precisely what kind of mercy this is." I pulled the sword swiftly, yanking her hand from the hilt and drawing it across the length of the blade. It sliced across her palm, spilling crimson across the floor. It gleamed scarlet on Woe as Shira cried out in pain and clutched at her hand. "That scar will remind you of your choice, priestess."

"What would you like me to do with her?" Vex asked, watching Shira sob helplessly without lifting a finger to comfort her.

I knew it was necessary, but the sight of those tears coursing down her face wounded me like an arrow. I thought again of sunflower eyes, of the others that had come before. I reached out and touched her face, just long enough to catch a tear, but pulled my hand back before she could recoil. "It's not your fault, this weakness," I said gently. "Your gods robbed you of your strength, but you will claim it back."

"My lady?" Vex prompted.

"Bandage that injury," I ordered. "The first part will be learning to move, then conditioning. Then we will start on technique."

Vex covered her heart with her hand and bowed deeply. "As you say, my lady." She caught Shira's shoulder and pulled the former priestess back, away from Haven and I. "Come along, little morsel. That's nothing a few stitches won't solve. Then we can get started."

Haven stayed at my back, again assuming the role of my shadow.

"I hate it when they cry," I said quietly, heartsick for a long moment. Slowly it ebbed, but I knew I would feel it many times over as Shira walked the path she had chosen. I looked back at my faithful caretaker, the echo of my oldest friend. "I have a task for you too, Haven."

"Yes, my lady?"

"You will tend to her with the same care you would give me. Vex's loving hand will leave her with many bruises, many scrapes, many wounds. All of them will need care, attention, and a tireless ear. Melody has too much on her plate already to be the girl's safe place. That is why I am asking you."

Haven placed his hand over his heart, black eyes solemn. "As you wish, it will be."

The smile I gave him was faint, but it was sincere enough to reach my eyes. "I knew I could count on you."

"Always, my lady."

Perhaps that was why I preferred the company of the undead called lesser. They were constancy, an absolute, a comforting compass in chaotic and changing times. "Good." I pulled in a deep breath, letting my mind rest on my other problem. "Before you seek her out, would you send Melody to my rooms? She and I need to have a talk before I speak with Lord Rhandiir at his little victory party."

Haven's face didn't change, but I imagined the lip curl of contempt he would have made in life at the very sound of Rhandiir's name. "I thought that invitation reeked."

"Your sense of smell has always been impeccable." It was tempting to bring Shira and flaunt her in front of Varys, but he would be aggravated enough by my mere presence. As much as I wanted to cut him into ribbons, diplomacy would likely have to rule the day. All of that, of course, was mutable based on what secrets Melody could whisper into my ear beforehand. I looked down at Woe, still dripping Shira's blood onto the floor.

In that sanguine spill, I could see a new beginning.