After breaking their sworn oaths in a fit of forbidden passion, a sacrificial bride (Shekalane) and her fearsome escort (the ferryman Dravidian) find themselves alone and on the run in the subterranean river-world of Ursathrax.
From Beyond the Black Curtain:
"Shekalane …"
"I've had a great amount of time to think, Dravidian. It's—it's in our nature; we women, that when faced with a closed door yet another door opens … in our minds. And I've decided that Valdus has been right all along: the Lottery must end." She paused as the great ship rumbled all around them. "And I've decided something else; which is that his methods are justified, after all. Indeed, what is death—physical death, I mean—when compared to imprisonment and the suffocation of one's soul? The former at least provides an escape; but the latter …. No, Dravidian, I will not cooperate. Not even if I am tortured unto death."
"You don't mean that, Shekalane."
"What know you of what I mean and what I do not? You, who mistook a ploy, and a successful one, for an expression of love for Valdus? You, who in turn used that to retreat into your former self and turn your back on all that we have learned and experienced? No, I tell you plainly that I will not submit, and you—your order—will be forced to destroy me. Now please, go away. For, although I love you, I cannot abide by what you have done."
At last Dravidian lowered his head. "Nor can I abide by what you have done, Shekalane. For by aiding and abetting Valdus, if only in bringing him comfort, you did also turn your back—on all his crimes and victims. And you would aid him still." He stood and swung his mask around on its strap, prepared to put it on. "It would seem we are at an impasse, at last. Whatever our fates, then …" He fingered the façade's velvety lining. "Know that you, too, are loved."
Then he whirled to leave and, whirling, came face to face with a brownie in a dung-colored goblin mask and holding a tray—who quickly looked away and just as quickly looked back, as though recognizing him as someone personally significant to him. Dravidian stared at him for perhaps two breaths, taken aback by the directness of his gaze, and sensing, too, something—well, he could not define it, and quickly placed his mask to his face and depressed the pad at his temple, sealing it with a hiss.
