Sonya sees the arrow too late.

It strikes Hestia right below her collarbone. Her sister staggers backwards. Claws desperately at the air and the arrow. The side of her hand brushes against the shaft. But Sonya knows Hestia does not have enough life left in her to pull the arrow free.

This was all that a witch had to look forward to. Sonya had always known that. But the difference between knowing and believing is stark. In her memories, the Faithful had all been shadows: deathless and empty imitators of things mortal and full. So it is astonishing to see that they have any life in them at all.

It is also horrifying.

This is the worst moment Sonya has ever lived. It is worse than the three hours she and her sisters had spent on the stairs to the priory as they waited for their father to return for them. Worse than all the hours she spent in the temple's near-darkness memorizing incantation after incantation. Worse still than all the lashes she endured from the clergy for her casual and impious remarks.

It is worse than the day her father returned for them all. Her sisters had cried heartily to know that they were finally wanted. They would be invested with a purpose. Would finally possess power.

Hestia looks at her with eyes that should have been her own. Says, "I should have just lived... as I pleased... like you..."

This is not just any battlefield. The Father himself is here to wage war against them. Sonya can feel Him under her skin. In every part of her that is not her mind. This is the battlefield. So she should not kneel down to cradle the head of the dying in her lap.

Only Sonya does.

One hand strokes Hestia's hair. The other rests against her cold cheek. The Father might fight alongside the Faithful today, but He does not care that Hestia is dying. Sonya cannot think of anyone who will. Not even whatever is left of Marla will care.

Only Sonya does.

"I wish you had," she says. Wrests the arrow free.

Hestia dies. An unearthly wail sounds from somewhere. It takes Sonya a moment to realize that she herself is that somewhere. She traps the next cry inside her throat. Stands up.

This was inevitable. Marla's fate will be the same. For all Sonya knows, Marla could already be dead. Undoing the clasps on her cape, she drapes it over Hestia. The cape makes for a poor funeral shroud. It is not long enough to cover Hestia's legs.

It occurs to her that she will have nothing to cover Marla in.

That second sob escapes her then.

This is the new worst moment in all her life. It is worse than all the hours she spent in solitude after escaping the priory. Than all the hours spent in the company of those undesirables just as unwanted and unlikable as herself.

It is worse than seeing those three Archanean sisters together. Sonya despises how she had lingered on the edges of their conversations. How her heart twisted in on itself whenever they laughed as one. Despises how much she longed to see a trinity unbroken.

But Sonya had wanted to see what she and her sisters could have been.

Jedah. He shadows all these thoughts. Yet he himself is no shadow. There is enough life in him for her to crush. If nothing else, Hestia has proven that.

His ample robes would likely make good funeral shrouds for her sisters.

She has never been all that pious. Nonetheless, she internalized Duma's teachings: take what your heart desires by force. All her life, Sonya has lived by His tenets. She knows that she will never truly unlearn them. Knows that she does not want to.

Sonya will seize her freedom with her own power.