Chapter 9: What She Carried

The green light in the cave rippled over Oren's face.

He was waiting, and he did not push.

"I found thirty of them," Ilsa said.

Her voice sounded thin and far away.

"The Sacred Whale told me he already had sixty-eight."

"He said they came from the old days, and I only had to find the rest."

"I thought they were beast cores."

"I carried them to him one at a time."

"I put each one into his hand."

Her fingers had begun to shake.

Oren caught them and held them still.

"Sixty-eight from the old days," he said slowly.

"That is ten mages, if each found about seven."

"Ten who walked into the deep, as you did, and did not come out."

"Ten," Ilsa whispered.

"Cronstedt women."

"I would think so," said Oren.

"The old blood hears the pearls. They answer the hands they know."

She pulled her hand out of his.

She sat with her knees drawn up and her wet hair hanging over her face, and she felt sick.

"I cut you open," she said.

"I didn't know it, but I did."

"You carried me to a whale, a piece at a time."

"I'm sorry."

"I don't think you understand how sorry I am."

Oren was quiet.

When she looked up he had moved closer, and he was watching her with an expression she could not read.

"Ilsa."

"Don't forgive me."

"I won't," he said.

"Because you did nothing that needs it."

"I did."

"You were handed a lie by someone you trusted, and you worked for him like a hero."

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