In the morning, Douglásc was up, pacing around. He looked as frenzied as Sif had ever seen him.

When he realized Sif was awake, he stopped in his tracks and pointed at him.

" On the day we leave to cleanse the faybane, you will kill Calsar," he declared. " It should be easy. It will be easy. And it will be Brannagh's blood that I spill to destroy these insipid, plundering people."

Sif blinked stupidly at him.

" Shut up," Douglásc snapped, waving his hand; the gem in Iudrige's ring caught light and gleamed. " Shut up! What can fucking Lelleyn do?! He doesn't care for these rats!"

Sif's fingers dug into the blanket, crunched the dried blood from his fight the evening before.

" Douglásc," he said, " Isn't there anything we can do to help Iudrige at all?"

" After... Maybe after," Douglásc said. " With enough blood and bone, my lord could grant her a new body... I'm sure he will. And if he rewards me for his revival, then surely even Iudrige will have to accept what's necessary..."

He continued muttering to himself.

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