Page 40 of The Witch who Trades with Death

Chapter Forty

The next morning, when Khana went down for breakfast, Amati wasn’t there. “She’s not feeling well,” Heimili said grimly. “We’ll let her rest.”

That dampened the mood. Khana nursed some soup as Haz slumped next to her, yawning into his tea. She raised her eyebrows and poked a love-bite on his neck. “That’s new.”

“Hmm? Oh.” He smirked. “The city traders are leaving tomorrow. I merely wished to give him a fond farewell.”

Her heart lifted. “And we don’t have to feed him to Neta? Or Sava? Or Lueti?”

He snorted. “You are far too protective of me, and no. It was a really fun night.”

“I’m happy for you.” She finished her meal and went about her chores. Lunch was slow, and afterwards she went upstairs to check on Amati, who yawned as Khana poked her head in the room. The old woman was a caterpillar, cocooned in furs and wool blankets, only Khana had no idea what she would turn into. “How’s the dining room?” she rasped.

“Haz is cleaning up now. I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

The old woman grunted. “If you a have moment, fetch your lute. I’d like to see what my money bought.”

Khana was never going to turn down an opportunity to hold her new instrument. She ran to her room and came back, sitting next to Amati’s bed. At her insistence, Khana tuned it and did a few warm-up scales, the first she’d done in over a year, then a couple of easier classical songs, letting herself get lost in it.

“Play Raven-Headed Guide ,” Amati said.

Khana paused. That was a Reguallian song usually played at funerals. It was about a soul being guided to the afterlife by Muobra, god of death, lamenting his fate but also celebrating the life he had led.

Khana cleared her throat and began, strumming the notes on her lute and quietly singing the lyrics:

“Would you give me a year,

or even just a day,

for all that I own in this world?

‘No,’ said he of raven’s head.

‘I have no need

Of jewels or land or gold.’

Would that I could see

My friends once again

And laugh at their jokes and their tales…”

The song came in multiple formats, many of them shorter for the sake of time. Khana went through every verse she knew. By the time she finished, her fingers felt fuzzy, and her throat was dry.

Amati smiled. “I always hated that song.”

She was dead by nightfall.