“Calm yourself,” said Hogan. “It hasn’t come to that yet. First, we need to know what has happened.”

She coughed and her breath rattled in her lungs. “I’m sure the Fir-Noy gave you the full report,” she said.

“I don’t care about the battle,” said Hogan. “I want to know about the stork and your child. And what happened to the harvest master’s family afterwards.”

“I thought maybe someone else in the Grove decided to take justice in their own hands,” said Argoth, “but it wasn’t anyone in the Grove. Nobody I know could have drained the bodies like that. Not even a Divine can do that. I inspected the bodies, and they were dry. Completely wrung out.”

Argoth referred to the Fire in the bodies of the family. Death was the separation of Fire, soul, and body. Some said the soul took the Fire with it. Others claimed the Fire poured forth like smoke or steam. However it separated from the body, there was always some that remained and leached away only very slowly. Fire could be found in bones a hundred years old, yet the bodies of Barg’s family had been empty husks.

Argoth continued, “There were the markings of an immense draw of Fire, a blackening of the skin. It looked almost as if some monstrous hand had grasped hold of each victim’s face.”

Purity was silent for a long moment. And then, “I know nothing of what happened to the harvest master’s family.”

Hogan squatted down next to the cell. He reached in and gently stroked Purity’s shaved head. “Whatever you’re hiding, you need to let us know so we know how to set it right.”

Purity looked at them then. Large cuts and bruises covered her face. Her left eye was almost swollen shut. Her lip was split.

“Give me the poison,” she said. “You cannot free me. I have broken our trust. I am willing to abide by the covenant; cut me down and preserve the rest.”

Not a tear fell. And how could she weep? She was broken. Argoth’s heart ached for her.

Hogan continued to softly stroke her hair. “We decide if the covenant is broken. Besides, not all is lost. Your children yet live.”

Argoth had not known that.

Purity looked at Hogan, and now the tears began to well in her damaged eyes. “I have done horrible things.”

They waited for her to continue.

Purity was a handsome woman, but her grief had shattered her. And now her face twisted with what she was about to tell. “In the early autumn of last year the children brought in a young stork with an injured wing. It could not join the others in their flight south, so we decided to nurse it back to health. Sugar and Legs made a pen for it next to the chicken coop and brought it frogs and fish to eat. They loved the excitement of that long, dangerous beak.

“It was a smart bird, and a temptation came to me, a forbidden and foolish thing. I wanted to reach out and touch its soul, to see what the mind of this great bird might be like. I’d done it before with other animals and knew how to be careful. Every few generations someone in my family manifests this gift. I’d been taught by my great-grandmother. But I had never done this while pregnant. I was only a few weeks from delivering Cotton.”

Argoth suspected he knew where the story would end. This poor woman… and yet, that’s why the codes were so strict.

Purity continued, “Something in me slipped. I felt it leave. I knew it was soul and broke the connection. I was horrified, but nothing happened. I lay awake at nights worrying what might happen to me. I inspected myself and the bird every day. But there was nothing. Nothing. Then Cotton was born. He was jaundiced, but that’s common enough and the yellowing quickly faded in the sun. All seemed right. And I thought I had perhaps imagined the slipping.

“The bird healed, but would not fly with its kind. It always stayed close by, as if it were one of the family. We stopped feeding it, but it would not leave. And whenever Cotton was outside, it would come down and eye the babe. At first we thought it saw the babe as a tasty morsel, but it never tried to nip. It would only turn its head to eye him and then settle down somewhere close. This went on for weeks, and we just accepted that the bird thought we were his flock.

“Then one frosty morning I went out to the garden to dig onions. Cotton lay wrapped in the bassinet. This bird rose from its perch on the roof and flapped down to join us. But this time I noticed something… a sore on its head. Of course, I thought it had been in a fight with some animal, but when I inspected, I saw the bud of an ear. And then hair where feathers should have been.”

Purity stopped her tale and stared off into space. Moments later she continued. “Cotton’s foot had been roughening despite the butters and salves I rubbed onto it. And it was very clear what had happened; my soul hadn’t slipped-Cotton’s had. I probed, hoping to untangle them, but the two of them had mixed. My honey child”-a dry sob wracked her-“and that bird. I killed the bird, thinking only a small portion slipped and might return to my boy. But Cotton did not heal. He worsened, then died not many days later, lying in the bassinet on our kitchen table. I could not bring myself to burn them.”

She did not continue, but Argoth could guess. In despair, she’d buried them together, because her son had been in both bodies. She concocted her kidnapping story. And it would have worked had the floods not come this year.

Hogan looked up at Argoth, but they didn’t need to say anything. Argoth drew back his coat and showed Hogan the poison. By the Order’s law, she should die.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked Hogan.

“How could I?” she asked.

“Then what about this family that was slain? Is there some dark grove we know nothing about?”

“No,” said Purity. “No. I would never.”

“You were not supposed to touch souls either,” said Argoth.

Purity didn’t answer. She didn’t sob, beg, or plead.

Hogan shook his head. “There’s no way to redeem you from the Order’s law,” he said.

“What about my children?” asked Purity.

“They’re safe for the moment,” said Hogan, his pain showed plainly on his face. “My dear Purity. This can’t be a quick death; we don’t want them to link it to our visit.”

Purity nodded. “Tell them I’m sorry. Tell my children…” but she couldn’t finish her sentence.

Argoth reached for the tin and then stopped. She wasn’t someone who flouted the covenants of the Order. And if they could get her away from this place, if they could give her another chance, he knew great good would come of it. To be sure, there were many covenant-breakers who needed to be put to death. But the good to be achieved by this woman’s death was so little compared to what could be achieved by devising a way to help her live.

“She must die,” said Argoth. “But I don’t believe there is any part of the covenant that determines how soon that must be. In fact, is there not precedence for delaying execution?”

“For a day or two. A week,” said Hogan. “But it was expedient in those cases.”

“What if I said we could get her out of here?”

Hogan waited for Argoth to continue.

“We could use the sally port,” he said. “Tomorrow night. The sally port and then down the cliffs to the sea.”

“You can get her past Droz?” asked Hogan.

“That’s the one sticking point in every plan I’ve devised.”

“It’s too risky,” said Purity. She held her hand out. “Give it to me now.”

It was all fine to have strict rules requiring the death of renegade members, but rules could never have prepared him for this. Lords, but this woman had advised him on how to repair the seemingly dead relationship with his own wife. Her strong purpose and wry humor had been invaluable. He couldn’t do it.

Hogan’s face was grim.

“I have a plan,” said Argoth. “Tomorrow night I drug the guards and free you. You dress in the garb of one of the men. I take the drug so they don’t suspect me. Then you walk out of here on your own with a report from Droz to the warlord. I will hide another set of clothes. You change into them and as a servant escape through the sally port.”