She was not thinking when she’d run from the hospitalis, and she was not thinking as she ran into the banquet hall. She did not think as she drew her boot knife, and did not think as she flung it at the chest of Zardria who stood triumphantly over the dead body of Yarrow. Anala did not think until, like a shock to her system, Caelum rose and took the knife in his back.
He arched then, and she felt the hit as if she’d suffered it herself. She did not know what she felt as she watched him fall to the ground, did not know what she felt as she realised the mark had been true and had hit him in the heart, did not know what to feel at the sight of the Empress rushing forward to catch him, the look on her face showing the same emotion that had rent Anala in two when Aro had died in front of her.
She did not know what to feel as she watched Zardria hold Caelum in her arms and cry, did not know what to feel as they kissed in farewell, did not know what to feel as the Consort died.
It was only when she saw Yarrow wake up and look at the two people beside her, bewilderment giving way to anguish on her face that Anala felt the sorrow and guilt wash over her like a waterfall, and she felt she should have died instead.