"Alanna," he murmured, and bent to kiss the emaciated cheek. It was cold, so cold.
Casting a fleeting glance over the other two, he saw Thayet's creamy skin was translucent and Roald's body was flopped on top of his mother's.
Raoul grinned up at Jon from his chair and winked. In his hand, Jon recognised a piece of lilac paper. Furiously, he wrenched the parchment out of his big friend's grasp.
"Not quite over our Lady Knight, are we?"
Heat burned inside Jon's head, throbbing away. Raoul knows. The chant began in his head, echoing round his skull. Raoul will tell. Alanna will laugh. He closed his eyes, visualising the scornful Lioness. No, she must never know.
"Does she know?" Raoul's voice was slightly disbelieving.
Raoul is an idiot. Idiots don't deserve to live. Jon shook the thought out of his mind, but it kept returning, reaching out to him. Raoul might be competition. Jon's dazed mind pondered over this last thought. Could Raoul be a threat - Could Raoul want the beautiful Lioness for himself?
Under all this confusion, one clear thought was forming; Raoul must die.
The headache loosened, and Jon fell out of the comforting grip insanity offered. In desperation to do something, anything, he fumbled for the knife. Seeing the stained weapon gave no peace to Jon. If anything, seeing the weapon that had destroyed those lives made the pain, the longing for Alanna buzz faster... faster... faster...
Grinning recklessly, riding high on the pain, Jon allowed insanity to rule him again.
Pacing the room, Jon considered his next move. If you actually thought about it, this was all Alannas fault. If she hadn't made him fall in love with her, then this would never have happened. Yes, blame it on Alanna. But what to do next? He sat on his haunches, palms facing the ceiling. If only looks could kill, Id bring you back in an instant, Alanna. It didnt make sense, but none of the thoughts swarming around did. "I want to be with you so much." That was it! He glanced down at his wrists, then at the dagger in his hand, and finally at Alannas body. I'll do it for you, he promised.
Taking the knife in his right hand, he examined the pulsating vein. Would it take one quick slit, or many? Two, he decided. One for Alanna, one for him. But hed had something like this done before, and it had worked. What had it been called? Ah, yes, the "Voice of the Tribes." Dully, he wondered why that name was so stupid. That didn't matter. The Bazhir were bad. He had lost Alanna with them. Suddenly, he was filled with that desperate longing. No time for further emotion, he thought grimly as he plunged the sharp blade into his chest. It pierced through his flesh, hurting like nothing he had ever felt before. Why had he put Alanna through this? His hand slipped from the dagger, as his body, too weak to carry itself, fell to the floor. He could feel his life pouring out. "I love you, Alanna," he whispered, as he gave his life to the Black God. Darkness swirled round him, filling his body. Then he felt no more.
Kalasin looked into the library, expecting to see her father, mother and brother talking. Laughing, perhaps. Well, they were there, but not as she had expected. She screamed, long and loud, before entering the room of death. She stared, horrified, at the bodies which she loved so much.
"Who did this to you?"