She sat there for a long time. She may have even slept a bit, if sleep were possible in the Realm of the Dead. Finally, an ache in her shoulders and hips became a jab, then a cramp, and she unfurled herself, creaking like an old woman.
She froze in place.
There were little bluebells growing all around her, each tiny flower growing in the exact place where she had dropped a tear for Aglaia.
She sighed, and felt strength flow back into her. The flowers were a sign, she realized. She should have known. This was the Realm of the Dead. It had its own rules. Aglaia might be dead, but she might not. Khaidu had no way of knowing. But whether she were truly dead or not, Khaidu would not rest until she paid Aglaia her final service. She would find her grandson Antomír, and she would return him to
