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30 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 31, 2019
“Distantly, over the too-loud sound of her own shuddering heartbeat, Eefa imagines she can hear the great white wolf of war padding through the streets, howling its glee.”![]()
“All of it, all that golden, brimming life, she has given to Ukhel, to war. Now she will give her Death to something else. To life.”
2020 Hugo Award Finalists
She lies in bed, tasting bile in her throat, thinking all her tired thoughts about the fucking Emperor and her fucking endless war and the terrible, unpayable cost of it all. And this is only half the price. Their enemies pay the heavier half, and this terrible red equation is called victory.
She knows by Talaan’s stiffness that she is awake, too. How many women and men have you slaughtered, my love? How many killers have I saved? She prays to Idral until dawn, a soft chanting that rolls and crashes in her mind, and imagines the daughter growing in Talaan’s belly: shining, innocent, unbloodied.
Six days later, Talaan goes to war.
Eefa has not berated her or begged her, but neither has she performed any of the duties a husband owes her wife. She did not oil or polish Talaan’s armor, rubbing fat into all the joints and creases until it is as supple as human skin. She did not make a sacrifice at Ukhel’s temple and kneel bloody-handed before her statue and chant Talaan’s name. She didn’t even fuck her properly, that particular battle’s-eve fuck that is wild and aching and mournful, which leaves both of them stunned and quiet like songbirds after a thunderstorm.