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the god who had sent them, Cadel could hear each of them. Brienne upbraided him for Tavis’s suffering in the days after her death, when her father tortured him in Kentigern’s prison. Chago told him of the tears shed by his son and wife in the few days since his death in the Great Forest. Eben blamed him for his mother’s descent into madness and his father’s suicide. On and on they went, and Cadel had no choice but to stand and listen.
    Most of it he had heard before-the lament of the dead did not change much over the years-but that did little to make the night pass faster. They would continue this until dawn, as they did every year. Telling him all that they had dreamed of doing with their lives, of that which he had denied them with his blade, his garrote, or his poisons. If they ran out of things to say, they merely started over, forcing him to hear every word again. But he didn’t have to look at them anymore; at least he didn’t have to see Brienne.
    He stood motionless, save for his trembling hands and the twitching muscles in his legs. He felt sweat running down his face, making his skin itch. But he dared not move, even to wipe his brow. He didn’t have to open his eyes to sense how close the wraiths had gathered around him. His skin prickled at the mere thought of it. He could almost feel their breath stirring his hair, though he knew this was impossible.
    There was nothing for him to do but endure their abuse and cling to the knowledge that dawn had to come eventually. He tried to occupy his mind with song, but their voices drowned out his own. He called forth an image of Jedrek, who had come to him as a friend earlier in this turn, on the Night of Two Moons. But the dead would not allow him any diversions. Their words demanded his attention, and he hadn’t the strength to resist them.
    He could not have guessed the time-if the midnight bells rang, he didn’t hear them. But after what seemed a lifetime, Cadel realized that the voices had stopped. Slowly, reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Brienne stood before him looking young and sad, despite her bloody wounds. The rest of the glowing figures had vanished.
    “It’ll be dawn soon,” she said, her voice low. “The others left me to see you to the end.”
    Cadel didn’t know what to say. His dead had never done this for one of their own before. Just as they had never waited to begin the Excoriation. In his mind, he saw once more how they had parted to let her come forward when this night began. Even the wraiths could see how special she was, how undeserving of this fate.
What have I done
?
    “You said earlier that you only have to face me once in a year, that you feared the Qirsi more because they were a part of your world.”
    Cadel nodded. “I remember.”
    “I believe this will be the only time in your life when you will have to face me in this way. By this time next year, I expect you’ll be dead and we’ll be together in the Deceiver’s realm.”
    He felt a chill run through his body, as if some unseen ghost had run a cold finger down his spine.
    “Is that prophecy, my lady,” he asked, fighting to keep his voice steady, “or an idle attempt to frighten me?”
    The ghost shrugged. “I’m merely telling you what I think. You can make of it whatever you will.”
    “You’ll forgive me if I hope you’re wrong.”
    “I will. It’s the only forgiveness you’ll ever have from me.”
    “And still it may be more than I deserve.”
    “Yes,” she said. “It may be.”
    In the next instant she was gone, and the first silver light of dawn touched the stained-glass window at the farthest end of the shrine. Cadel closed his eyes briefly, reaching out a hand to steady himself against the nearest wall, and taking a long, ragged breath. The dawn bells tolled in the city, the sound drifting among the stone pillars of the sanctuary with the morning devotions of Bian’s clerics. It was time for Cadel to be leaving.
    He straightened and began