Then we will give you the power to rule your own home. Not the story of Baru Cormorant, the brilliant furious young woman who accepted the Masquerade’s bargain: join Tain Hu’s rebellion, gather all our enemies together, and betray them to us. Not the story of Baru Cormorant, the girl who watched Masquerade merchanters coming down the reefs off Taranoke, and wondered why her fathers were afraid. So the end of her story is the beginning of another. Rare is that gift, isn’t it? Rare is the choice to write the end of your own story. She chose the meaning of her death, and she chose the method. And she roared defiance against the Empire of Masks, the Imperial Republic of Falcrest, the Masquerade that pronounced death by drowning upon the traitor. She wrestled the eyebolts and the pulleys drilled into the black rock. She fought the rising tide with her chains wrapped up around her brawny arms and battlehacked fists. THE Duchess of Vultjag went down roaring defiance. I will paint you across history in the color of their blood.
I will write your name in the ruin of them. Just as Falcrest would in time swallow the world-unless Baru Cormorant kept Tain Hu’s faith, and disemboweled the empire from within. The tide would come in, like history, and swallow the traitor. The Elided Keep’s silent marines took Tain Hu down to the drowning-stone and chained her up for the judgment of the moon and stars. Only Baru saw the bitter love behind the bitter smile. “I wish you’d done it sooner,” Tain Hu murmured.Īnd everyone but Baru misunderstood her, everyone but Baru saw Tain Hu wishing the betrayal had come more quickly, and not the kiss. “Congratulations on your victory,” Baru said, and she spread her hands a little, as if saying, look at me, I am your victory, are you pleased? Her lip brushed Hu’s earlobe and they touched for the last time:Īnd with grim joy Tain Hu whispered back: “Long live the queen.” Into her ear Baru whispered one word in Urun, the tongue of Tain Hu’s blood. She stepped closer, quick, like an assassin gutting the duchess, and with her right hand she grabbed a fistful of Hu’s hair. She grinned and Baru couldn’t stand that grin on that fierce unbreakable face. And the air between them shivered, like steppe grass under silver cloud, with the charge of their grief and their resolve. Now Baru came close to offer her the manacles that would kill her. “I will remember,” Baru hissed through raw-bitten lips. Remember the man in the iron circlet, and the ledger of secrets.” She gave Baru her arsenal, and her hope, and her faith. Until the dawn hours Tain Hu had whispered hoarse strategy to Baru: the names of her agents, and the shape of her plans. The Duchess Tain Hu smelled of brine and cold stone and the onions of her last meal. AT sunrise Baru shackled the prisoner for her drowning.
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