Page 148 of Tin God

Stephen lived.

Temur lived.

And that was the truth she’d never wanted to admit.

Life persisted. In freezing winter. In fire and blood and loss.

Life persisted, and her quest to eliminate Temur’s blood from the earth—the blood of those who had killed and raped and maimed—was as futile as a single snowflake falling on warm glass.

“Tenzin?” Ben tapped on the glass. “Hey. I was looking for you.”

His smile was brilliant in the darkness.

Her amnis leaped in recognition, reaching out to draw him in from the cold.

“What are you doing up here?” He cracked the door open, and Layah flitted to his shoulder. “Hello, beautiful.” He reached up and touched the tip of his pinky finger to Layah’s curved beak. “Are you telling Tenzin your secrets?”

The ground on the riverbed was soft under Tenzin’s knees as she knelt next to Stephen’s body. Ancient words sprang from her, pleading prayers from a nearly forgotten part of her memory: “My mothers, guide my beloved to the tree of souls

My fathers, take his bones to build his next life

Beloved, let your soul rise to the stars

I will sing you to your next life

I will sing you to your next life

Your soul will not be lost when the mothers take you to the tree

Your body will return to build another with the fathers’ help

You will not be lost if you follow my voice

I will sing you to your next life.”

“What are you doing up here?” Ben asked again.

Trying to be philosophical about death when I would relentlessly hunt down anyone who made you frown.“I’ve been thinking about what we talked about on Penglai.”

Ben blinked and his eyebrows rose. “About?—”

“You told me only dead things don’t grow. And that I was not dead.”

Ben sat on a wooden stool by the door, and Layah flew back to the ficus tree. “Because you’re not.”

“And I told you that it was my right to judge Temur’s descendants. That I would kill who needed to be killed if I encountered another vampire with Temur’s blood.”

Ben’s voice was soft. “I remember.”

“And I realized tonight that continuing that quest is futile. In the end, hunting down any trace of Temur’s descendants—especially now—would be useless.”

Ben nodded slowly. “Why?”

“I’m telling you that you areright.” She forced the word out. “Can’t you simply accept that?”

“No.” He plucked at a thread on the seam of his pants. “Because I love you, and I want to know what led you to this.”

She walked over and knelt beside him, slicing the thread to the seam with the edge of her fingernail so he didn’t ruin his pants. “I was thinking about Stephen.”

---