Gerridon is dead. Jame went to him, and as much as she wanted what he offered her, as weak as she had been, at the last moment she had defied him. A futile protest, he had thought. (She had almost agreed. But they had both been wrong.)
She only scratched him (this time), but he is dead.
The knife—the Ivory Knife—is cold in her hand, cold as ice, cold as death. She can hardly feel that hand; her knuckles are white around the hilt. Destruction. Regonereth. (Had she even meant—)
When the apparition heals her, the blade clatters to the floor. Her mind is clear.
She has been lucky; the shifters haven't found her. She wonders how many of them are even here. Keral is probably still lying with his golden-eyed shadows. Tirandys is—
Tirandys has gone to kill Tori.
Gerridon is dead, and either Tori will follow him or Tirandys will, unless she can find them first.
Jame picks up her knife, clutches her cloak around her, and runs.