Chapter 10: The Black Book

The sword came away from her throat.

Alaric did not drop it.

He lowered it very slowly, until the point rested on the stone floor, and stood looking at her.

"Chapter," he said.

"It's a word for a part of a story."

"I know what a chapter is."

"Then you know I'm not making a joke." Lysandra pushed her wet hair off her face with a shaking hand.

"I'm not from here, Alaric. I'm not the woman who lived in this body. She's gone. I woke up in her eight days ago."

He said nothing.

"Where I come from, this place is a book. I read it on a train."

She forced herself to go on.

"There's a Saintess and a Prince, and a Duke who divorces his wife in the third chapter. The wife is hanged at the Banquet in the twentieth."

"The Duke goes mad. He burns the Temple, raises the north, and the Prince kills him in the snow."

She stopped.

"That's you," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wasn't going to say it."

For a long moment the fire ticked and the wind howled in the chimney.

She thought he would raise the sword again, or call the guards, or laugh.

He did none of those things.

Instead he put the blade down on the table with great care.

He turned his back to her, went to the saddlebag lying on the bench, and took out a small book bound in black leather.

"You'll want to read this," Alaric said.

He held it out.

Lysandra took it.

The pages were covered in tiny hard handwriting, entry after entry, each one dated.

She read the first line and felt the floor tilt.

"Day one. The Court. She is holding the wine. I will not read the petition. I will not read the petition."

The ink was blotted where his pen had pressed too hard.

Below it, a line:

"She refused to sign. She gave me the glass, handle first. That did not happen."

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