Rizla closed her eyes. She’d said it, he’d heard it, and there was no way to undo it. Their fates were intertwined, for the Tu’el had ordered them not to kill him yet see that no trouble ensued. The dark works quietly. Do not attract the Light. 

         “Yes, it is us until I clear myself of your folly. Pulling trees from the garden, at the base of the Bone Tree itself! That will be you.”

         She could feel, more than see him relax, and it infuriated her.  “In the meantime, clean this up.” 

         “What?”

         She didn’t bother to reply. Shelves fell, bottles broke, shards of clay pots flew as the deformed ash trees scattered on the floor, then floated as the metal vats overturned. The floor was a sea of red and would remain so indefinitely, for the drain to moat was too small to handle so much flow. Candles hissed like cats as they fell from the crude sconces, and then, when there was little else to destroy, Rizla let out a blood curdling scream and stamped her foot. The little man in the corner pressed himself even deeper. He could move now, for her outburst had also shattered his collar, but no one must know.

         Her fury spent, she stood at the door in her boy-form, looking innocent as a lamb.

         “Clean this up,” she told him. 

         Covered in blood, he’d clutched a table so as not to fall, but he was covered in blood and nodded. He didn’t stop nodding until her footsteps receded into silence. He believed the Wabber in the corner to be dead, for he was now curled in an unnatural position, but he lacked the energy to make sure. As soon as he recovered his strength, he’d call for Strout and Root to do the work.          He watched as the largest black ash floated by.