[God, what a miserable woman. There's only one time where Ianthe's seen her in quite so pitiful a state, and it was when Augustine held her in his arms as she wept, as they looked out the windows and into the Empire they had condemned to die. Ianthe can't even bring herself to hate her eldest sister or blame her for the mess she left in her lap. She should. Wants to, even. But she doesn't. At least not as vehemently.]

He was running rather low on Saints, wasn't he? [There's a tinge of bitterness to her own tone. Contempt, even.] Only natural he'd bring out the spares and dress them up.

[But the unhappiness is gone quickly, and Ianthe lounges back against the docks, lying on the stiff wooden boards. She has been doing quite well. That's a fact. It's not something anyone can take away from her. Without her, his empire crumbles. Without her, the Nine Houses crumble. Without her, he's about as defanged as a toothless kitten - whatever a kitten is.

It really should be enough. It isn't.]

Someone has to. [She smiles wryly, staring up into the blood moon.] Death is for suckers, after all. I'd much prefer to live.