The corridor was empty.
Stone walls, torchlit, the same bone-carved architecture that defined every part of Gathrax's citadel. The guest quarters were behind Sinea. The seer's chambers were ahead.
She was alone.
Or she thought she was.
"You're up late."
The voice came from the shadows.
Sinea turned.
Vessa stepped out of an alcove. The seer's gray robes hung loose on her petite frame, her dark hair pulled back, her pale eyes catching the torchlight with that strange, luminous quality that marked her as something more than human.
They looked at each other.
Two women.
One holding power but not freedom. One holding guilt but not courage.
Neither holding the corridor.
"Sinea," Vessa said.
The name landed like a stone dropped in still water.
Not the succubus. Not the blonde woman. Not any of the titles or descriptions that Sinea had accumulated over eight years of running.
Her name.
The name that only Amanda had used.
"You remember me," Sinea said.
