“None of this explains why you have killed Naberius Tern.” Ianthe cocked her head to one side, drunkenly, to take him in. The violet of her eyes was dried-up flowers; her mouth was the colour and softness of rocks. “Then you weren’t listening. I haven’t killed Naberius Tern. I ate Naberius Tern,” she said, indifferently. “I put a sword through his heart to pin his soul in place. Then I took it into my body. I’ve robbed Death itself … I have drunk up the substance of his immortal soul. And now I will burn him and burn him and burn him, and he will never really die. I have absorbed Naberius
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