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CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

THE WOMAN

BEFORE

T he woman was cold, and no amount of warm blankets seemed to help.

She curled up against the edge of the hut, shivering. It had been nearly an hour since she’d swallowed the last of the drug.

She could no longer hold back her tears.

Mother was going to be so disappointed.

The woman knew that it was not her fault, and she did not think Mother would blame her, but that was little consolation.

After everything that Mother had done for their chosen one, she had betrayed them.

Like a selfish, foolish, thoughtless child, she had thrown away the greatest of gifts.

The gift of blood.

Amira had taken her own life.

And with it, she had swallowed up the hope of a whole community.

The woman continued to weep, rocking back and forth, alone. No other human could comfort her now, though she knew she would have to go to those who followed her, to dry their tears, to help them believe.

But for the woman, the empire of light had never felt quite so far away.

Neither had Mother.

The woman had grown used to her presence, the warm slithering feeling in her chest, even when she had not drunk the liquid.

Now, Mother was gone, and she felt impossibly hollow inside.

She swallowed a sob, reaching up with the edge of her blanket to wipe away the tears that dotted her cheek.

She had to be strong.

Because whether Mother came or not, whether she comforted her or not, it would change nothing.

The woman would keep looking until they found the one.

The true chosen one, the one who would bring them home.

She would search the very ends of the earth if she had to.