24 February, 1997: Echo sits in the center of her bed, wrapped in a comforter, rocking herself in the dark. A single candle burns on the on the bedside table. By its flickering light one might just see how pale she is, but the faint bluish tinge to her lips is invisible. The thoughts roll through her head so crazily as almost to make her seasick... Marieke... Nb... Catz... Cyano... Exodus... Regicide...
What did it mean that Reg had not spoken to her or even let her know he was there in the Tavern? Why had he left behind the three items she now kept carefully in a pocket of her healer's pack: Deicide's gold ring, the lock of his daughter's hair, and his own lucky coin? He had gazed at her, his face thin and ill-looking, for a long moment before slipping out the door. So exhausted was she after being attacked by Exodus that until she had found these things on a table, she had thought her glimpse of him to be a hallucination. Now she knew otherwise... knew he had seen her naked and scarred, knew he had seen the pool of her blood on the floor... and yet had left without a word. And the illness she saw in that one fevered glimpse of him was so much worse than the last time she'd seen him... in spite of their broken engagement, he would always be a dear friend, and fear for him tore at her heart.
Why... WHY had Exodus asked this new horror of her? "Say you want me," he had ordered, "and you won't die." Again and again she had refused, while he stripped her of her clothing, piece by piece, in front of all the Tavern's patrons, until he grew impatient and stabbed her. Death had been near... yet looking back, Echo realized she was glad she hadn't given in. Self-respect is beyond price, and that, she still had... in part...
Her fingers traced the new scars, waiting for her to have more energy before she could heal them entirely. A thin line, the length of a dagger blade's width, in her back, where Exodus had thrust the knife into her, then stepped on it to force it in deeper, and pulled up on her head at the same time... a small mark on her belly, where the dagger's tip had forced its way out again... and the long slash across the throat that had all but killed her. Two friends had saved her life: BlackIce, who transported her away from Exodus and into the rafters, and Starr, who had given more than was wise of her own waning strength to heal her. The scars remained for now, since Starr had wisely done only essential healing, not cosmetic, and Echo herself still did not have the strength to remove them, nor would have for some time, after giving more than she had to heal first an enemy, then a friend...
For Nb was safe at last, freed by Catz from his prison and healed, though incompletely, by herself and Magnus. With rest and nourishment, Nb would be fine, his own vampiric nature would see to that now that he was out of immediate danger. Surely no mortal could have lived for four days through that kind of hell. But with his freedom came new threats...
How long would it be before Cyano went hunting for Marieke? Soon Marie was bound to learn that the Tribunal had ruled she and Nb were still husband and wife. Would Marie be willing to give Nb a divorce? Cyano had sworn to kill her if she refused... but somehow Echo believed Marie would rather die than divorce the man she still loved with all her heart and soul. And there was every possibility that Marie's death would mean Echo's, too...
She touched her face, not the scars on the left side put there so long ago by her mother, Hera, but the fresh scratches on the right from Marieke's nails. No self-respect here. Marie's rage was justified, Echo's guilt ate at her soul...
But that last thought was not to be borne. Echo gulped down the sleeping draught she had prepared earlier, curled up in a tight ball on the bed, and waited for sleep to free her, for a time, from the noisy prison of her own mind.