In the flickering flame of her prayer, she embraces the object of her worship, the sword between them like a chaperone, the salt-water scent of the water all around her.

And the corse of the Locked Tomb whispers in her ear:

Have you realised that this whole thing has been about the union of necromancer and cavalier from start to finish?

We're alive through dumb luck and Jeannemary isn't--stop worshiping the sound of your own voice and listen to me--

And she tries to pull away, but the cold fingers grip her tight.

When I release you from my service you will know about it.

I love you. I have never stopped loving you. I will always love you, and you will always love me. Don't forget that.

Harrowhark Nonagesimus opens her eyes--her own eyes, black as the Plutonian shores of a Ninth night--and dabs away tears.

"Forgive me a question that will sound coarse--do you know where Wei Wuxian sleeps?" Only once it's out of her mouth does she realize he may not.