On the first, young Indrani had died. With cold nonchalance the Dead King had raised his hand, spoken a word and sent out a flickering spike of void too swift for even the Pilgrim’s eye to follow. It had ripped through the Archer’s forehead, the flesh not wounded or even vaporized so much as… unmade. Gone. The sorcery around the flesh was so strongly concentrated it obscured even his sight.

- Book 5, Interlude: Reverberation

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Whatever might have followed that was to remain unspoken, for with a gasp Indrani returned to the land of the living. I limped past the Tyrant, making my way to her side. Tariq had put her on her back before digging into his aspect, and now miraculously enough there was no trace of the hole that’d been blow through her head save for dried blood over her face.

- Book 5, Chapter 46: Abdication