Maggrai gave an impatient groan, so that Poppy would understand that her apologies were neither wanted nor of any use. “Will you help me?” he asked again. She nodded, and then disappeared for a moment. When she returned she held a shining silver knife — the hilt cunningly cast like a snake’s head, with ruby jewel eyes.
Maggrai half-closed his eyes. “Is that the only way?” he asked with resignation.
“I think so. There is no physick in the land that could heal you now.”
“So be it. Strike for the heart, and make it sure and swift.”
She raised the knife high, but the sight of him lying there, so wretched and alone, brought tears to her eyes.
“Go to your rest now, and may it be peaceful,” she breathed softly, and reached down to brush her mouth against his charred lips.
He felt a sudden,
