The first prisoner, Yemon, was now dragged on his knees right to the queen’s feet. He whimpered, but when he would have turned away in shame and terror from the queen’s shiny, masked face, strong hands grabbed his head and held it so he could not move. Viyeki expected Akhenabi to read a list of charges against the prisoner, but instead the Mother of the People reached down and touched Yemon’s forehead with her white-gloved hand. The hapless secretary began to quiver harder and harder, until it seemed some huge, invisible predator shook him in his jaws. The guards abruptly let go, as though they had found themselves holding something hot. Yemon began screeching, broken, wordless cries, even as the chant of the Lightless grew louder and the air in the cavern grew warmer and thicker.

Now a strange shadow slipped across the prisoner from the place where Utuk’ku’s hand touched him, rippling slowly outward, spreading down his head and over his body like ink spilled on a blotter. Yemon’s shrieks subsided into little more than whistles of escaping air, then he abruptly dissolved into a cascade of ash or black dust; Viyeki barely restrained a cry of disgust and horror.

While the crowd watched in rapt, uneasy silence, the next bound figure was dragged forward to the queen and the scene was acted out once more, and then again with each of the accused traitors. By the time the last prisoner, Host Singer Nijika, was dragged to Utuk’ku’s throne, she had to kneel in the drifting remains of her predecessors.

Nijika did not wait for death in silence, or whimper as Yemon had done. Instead, she proclaimed in a loud, clear voice that all the gathered nobles could hear, “Hikada’yei! I do not know precisely what I have done, but if my queen and my master say I am guilty, then I am guilty beyond question. Know only this, as my last and truthful words. I love my queen more than my own life, more than the honor of my family, clan, or order. I swore when I became one of her Singers that I would gladly surrender my life for her, and the manner of that surrender is of no import now. I die without regret, because it is my Mother’s wish.”

Light from the Well played across Utuk’ku’s silver mask as the queen paused, and for a moment Viyeki thought she had been touched by the Singer’s words and might pardon her. Then the queen reached forward, but instead of touching Nijika’s face, she placed her fingers on the Host Singer’s breast, as if in blessing, and the Singer threw her head back in some unknowable pain or ecstasy. The queen leaned farther forward. Her hand seemed to pass into Nijika’s body. The prisoner cried out, a moan of uttermost extremity like nothing Viyeki had ever heard, then the blackness swept over Nijika like wildfire and she crumbled into a mound of dark motes indistinguishable from those who had died before her. But as this ashy powder settled to the cavern floor and the wisps of smoke dissipated, Viyeki saw that the queen held something in her hand. It was Nijika’s heart, still wet, but blackened in places as though it had been pulled from a fire.

Here, Song-Lord. Utuk’ku’s thoughts, though directed at Lord Akhenabi, pierced Viyeki like darts of ice. Keep this with honor in your order-house. Her circumstances may have made her traitor, but the host singer’s heart remained true.

The Lord of Song accepted the burned thing from the queen, nodded in apparent gratitude, and then stepped back. “So ends the conspiracy,” he announced. “So must it always come to those who betray our queen and people.”

Many of the audience in the Chamber of the Well now cheered and called out their thanks, praising the queen and Akhenabi for preserving them from the traitors, but Viyeki could not help noticing that Muyare, marshal of all Sacrifices, leader of the queen’s armies, was not one of those caught up in the moment. The great warrior stood with eyes downcast, his arms at his side, and Viyeki realized that whatever was happening here, it was not yet over.

“Hear me now, as I speak for the queen!” intoned Akhenabi. “Hear now why you are all needed, why your strength and loyalty are our only defenses against destruction!” He raised his arms again, waiting for the shocked murmurs of the onlookers to fade to stillness. “Yes, destruction! You all know of Ineluki Storm King, who fought the mortals until they destroyed him, then returned from death to fight them once more, before being destroyed forever in the War of Return—the same war that forced our queen into the healing sleep from which she has only now awakened.”

As Akhenabi spoke the queen looked upward, past the Well and the Breathing Harp, her masked face staring into the farthest heights of the chamber, where cold from above met the damp warmth from the mountain’s depths and flakes of snow had begun to swirl.

“When Ineluki of the Zida’ya was still a living king,” Akhenabi continued, “defending the great fortress of Asu’a from the ravaging Northmen, he turned to our queen for help in his struggle against the mortals. She sent him the finest hearts of the Order of Song, five of our eldest, wisest, most skilled Singers. These five lords of Song—Karkkaraji, Sutekhi, Ommu, Enah-gé, and Uloruzu, may they all be remembered as long as the Garden itself!—were afterward called the Red Hand. Adding their strength and knowledge to Ineluki’s, they bent the walls of time and space and sung up ancient powers and dreadful spirits, but not even the Red Hand were powerful enough to defeat the swarming Northmen and their iron weapons. In desperation, Ineluki sought for a weapon so devastating that it would scour the plague of mortals from the face of our land forever . . . but his summoning failed and he was destroyed. The five Red Hand perished and died beside Ineluki. Asu’a fell to the mortal invaders.”

A cry of grief and loss went up from the crowd, as if the old and familiar story were being told for the first time. Even the Lightless Ones seemed to hear it with dismay, and their alien voices thrummed in counterpoint from the depths.

“Thus passed the last kingdom of our kind from these lands,” said Akhenabi, “—the last, that is, but for our home, this mountain of Nakkiga. Ineluki’s Zida’ya kinsmen scattered to the woods and other hiding-holes. We Hikeda’ya sealed ourselves behind our great gates as the tide of mortal men swept across all we had known and loved. But Ineluki, though his earthly shell had died, was not truly gone. His anger was so strong that he lingered in the Places Between as a spirit of helpless rage—until our queen found him again.” He bowed and made an elaborate gesture of gratitude toward silent Utuk’ku. Most in the crowd imitated him. “Yes,” he went on, louder now, “our queen risked her own precious life to search for him in those dark regions where life itself is the enemy. And when she found what remained of him—a small, deathless flame of rage—she brought him to sanctuary in the endless corridors of the Breathing Harp. Together, our queen and Ineluki Storm King summoned back the spirits of the Red Hand as well.”

We thwarted the true death for you! The queen’s thoughts were ragged, but so powerful that many of those listening cried out to hear them. All for you! And now that death stalks me in turn! Some of the Hikeda’ya were slack-mouthed and moaning.

“And so we prepared to strike at the mortals once more, and the War of Return continued,” said Akhenabi. “But again treachery overcame us! This time those of our own race—Ineluki’s own cowardly kinsmen—sided with the mortals. The turncoat House of Year-Dancing led the remaining Zida’ya against us, and less than half a Great Year ago we were defeated at the very gates of Asu’a. Ineluki Storm King, that great heart, that sacrifice for his people, was delivered to Unbeing and is forever lost to us—one of the bravest of all our kind, unmade. And when Ineluki and the Red Hand failed this time, our beloved queen was also nearly destroyed.”