"Because... because not everyone among the Houses agree the Ninth should exist. They do not see our guardianship as essential," she says. "Many believe we have crossed into heresy; worshipping our charge rather than praying for her containment."

She exhales, trying to gather her composure back. It was easier when it was 'the Reverend Daughter.'

"I was raised in the knowledge of what had been done, and in the vital secrecy, and in the tremendous need for it to be... repaid. When I was small I used to pray, The Tomb I will serve for the rest of my days, and then see me buried in two hundred graves. My aunts taught it to me."

"I tormented Gideon Nav. It was my only solace. I hated her for living, for reminding me of what was lost. For being free to dodge responsibility and play with swords while I learned to make the dead walk before my own legs were trustworthy. For--I don't know. I was a child. I hated her because she was there. I hated myself for being alive and I thought someone should share the opinion. I don't know."

She tries to pour more tea, and she can't. Her hands are shaking. She curses herself internally; cuts the nerves to her hand and moves the bones manually, her mind a diamond, her motions a model of precision. "She won many of our fights at first--she is so much bigger--but as I got older my tricks got dirtier. As I got older, though, I took less and less pleasure in it. My shame grew every day."

"I was ten years old and the bloody victor of another fight when I decided to commit---blasphemy."

She sips the tea, and her throat lurches convulsively; refuses it, as it refused to shape a different word than blasphemy.