[Something tickles at back of her mind, a memory of a woman's voice tetchily correcting her pronunciation, as it wouldn't do to have her tongue give away her poor breeding. No doubt something Mother once said to her.

Carver's getting under her skin again, and her tone makes that obvious.] I suppose to those of ill breeding, even the most mundane of words must seem fancy.

[As for his question, Shadowheart knows all the tricks, even if she isn't skilled at using them.]

By all means, do keep changing the subject until you're satisfied that we're on the same side. [She glowers at him.] We're not dead.

[She knows enough about the afterlife – the afterlife of her world, anyway – to be certain of that. She may not be certain which god will lay claim to her soul, if any, but she knows where her soul is bound when she dies. And yet... Those ghosts had warned her that those who failed Echo's tests, those whose worlds were destroyed, would be trapped here after death for eternity.

The truth, or merely another cruel trick? Her hands clench and unclench, the blackened skin on the back of her hand uncomfortably tight around the unhealing wound there.]

You spoke enough of your god, the last time you were here, that I'd think you'd know what happens to the souls of the dead.