IX.

Half of the Duat was behind her, half of her quest done, when Vanessa, in the middle of fighting her way through a part of the sea that seemed to consist solely of knives and the sharp teeth of crocodiles, lost her left hand.
She had been holding Jeanne's sword with both hands; it had seemed the time to use it, and amplified with her magic, it had served her well in this ocean of blades. But then one of the blades slipped through and cut away a hand, the sword fell on the ship's deck, and Vanessa, stunned, stared at her arm. At the stump that had been her arm.

It is only mind, not matter, she told herself, and wished her hand to grow back. It didn't. Nor did blood pour out of the stump, as it would have done had she still been alive. She did not understand. The sense of sudden weakness, though, was overwhelming.

"Peter," she cried, "Peter."

"You always did think me weak," he said sadly.

He looked as he had on the last day she'd seen him alive, when he had come to visit her in her own illness, the only member of his family to come to her after the great scandal, to look at her only in love, concern and forgiveness. When he had come to say goodbye, before leaving to travel with his father to his death.

"I loved you for your weakness," Vanessa said, as she wished she'd told him at the time. "But that is not why. Teach me, Peter."

"What?" he asked. "I died in pain before I could learn anything. You lived through pain, and became stronger, Van. What lessons could I give?"

She had brimmed over with self loathing on that last day; self pity, too, and rage at everyone. But in his eyes, there'd only been affection and kindness when he had looked at her. Her Orderly, Vanessa suddenly thought, her friend had been somewhat like him in that regard, when they were locked together in the place of whiteness and no shadows, where they had tried to turn her inside out. And then, when she'd found him again as Mr. Clare, there was kindness still, but also rage; he'd become more like her.

"How to love someone like me, Peter," she said softly. "Teach me that. I don't think I'll ever be whole again otherwise."

"Oh, Van."

The birds which still dragged her barge forward had all stopped flying by now. They were sitting on the railings, watching her. She didn't doubt that if she lost her hold on them, they would still try to tear her to pieces.
He took her remaining hand and kissed it.

"I loved you for your courage," he said. "I still do. For your pride that was never cruel. For your laughter that was never mocking. For your beauty. I didn't desire you, not the way I was meant to, but you made my heart glad when I looked at you. I loved you for your compassion."

"What courage?" Vanessa asked. "What compassion? What pride? Peter, I failed so many times. I broke myself because I did not want to face what I had done to Mina. I wanted everyone to pity me instead. And then, when I was finally ready to face who I was, and what I'd done, I could not bear to do it alone. I had to do it with someone whom I could blame as much as he blamed me, that is why I went to your father. Compassion? I've made my bed in a charnel house, Peter, and I've watched men, women and children drained like beasts, by beasts, while they called me their Queen. And then I made Ethan kill me. That was the cruelest thing I ever did, to one who loved me, and you say I was never cruel?"

His mild brown eyes remained unchanged. But now she saw what she hadn't allowed herself to see before, that he was different from the young man who'd said goodbye to her. There were hollows in his cheeks and bits of old blood on his lips. There were no nails on his fingers anymore, only raw flesh.

"You did all that," Peter said, "and so much more. You broke yourself, and put yourself back together, Van. That was an art I never mastered, and a strength unrivaled. You went through hell, and were willing to go back there if it meant to put an end to the suffering of others. What greater compassion is there? And despite all that you've lost, all that you've witnessed, you were ready to share your heart, again and again. There is no greater courage."

He kissed her forehead.

"You were my hero, Vanessa, when we grew up. You still are."

Tears blinded her. When she wiped them away, the way she'd done as a child, with the back of her hands, she realised she had used both of them.

Peter was gone.