He was snoring a little. His heavy braid had come undone and his long, coarse hair was spread like gray weeds over his shoulders; a strand of it had dropped across his face and was moving with his breath, tickling at his nose. She smiled tenderly at him and lifted the hair back, taking care not to wake him. Lazy old lion. She shaped the words with her lips but didn’t speak them. Big fat cat sleeping in the sun. She touched the tangled mass of hair. I’ll have a time combing, this out. Sorceror Prime tying granny knots, it’s a disgrace, that’s what it is. She patted a yawn, crossed to the vanity he’d bought for her in Kukurul a few years back.

The vanity was a low table of polished ebony with matching silver-mounted chests at both ends and a mage-made mirror, its glass smooth as silk and more faithful than she liked this autumn morning. Maybe it was the green light, but she looked ten years older than she had, last night. She leaned closer to the mirror, pushed her fingers hard along her cheekbones, tautening and lifting the skin. She sighed. Drinker of Souls. Not any more. I don’t have to feed my nurslings now. They’re free of me. She stepped back and kicked the hassock closer, sat down and began brushing at her hair. There was no reason now for the Drinker of Souls to walk the night streets and take life from predators preying on the weak. The changechildren could feed themselves; they weren’t even children any more. They came flying back once or twice a year to say hello and tell her the odd things they’d seen, but they never stayed long. Jal Virri is boring; Jay said that once. She paused, then finished the stroke. It’s true. I’m petrified with boredom. I’ve outlived my usefulness. There’s no point to my life.

She set the brush down and gazed into the mirror, examining her face with clinical objectivity, considering its planes and hollows as if she were planning a self-portrait. She hadn’t been a pretty child and she wasn’t pretty now. She frowned at her image.