A sleep in his room at Elvado’s modest Shooting Star inn, Remmie startled awake to find himself no longer alone. Tangled in his nightshirt, he struggled to sit up.

“Barl?” The fitful glimfire she’d conjured showed him her unexpected, distraught face. “How did you—”

“Don’t be stupid, Remmie,” she said. “Why are you still here if you didn’t know that I knew you never meant to go back to Batava without me.”

He dragged a hand down his face, feeling the scrape of stubble. “But I did mean it. I was going to leave days ago, only there’s word of a great working meant to banish the mage-mist once and for all. Elvado’s crowded to bursting with mages. I stayed to help.”

“Oh. So you really were going to—” Her lips trembled. “Oh.”

Seeing her standing there, he wasn’t sure how he felt. Every morning he woke, thinking this would be the morning he’d go back to the Hall of Knowledge and find someone who’d listen to what he had to say. And every morning he shrank from doing it. The first time, when they sent him away unheard, he’d been so angry with Barl he could barely think straight. Condemning her then had felt easy. Had felt just.

It wasn’t easy any more. His blood had cooled, and instead of anger he felt guilt and grief.

“Remmie…”

Never in his life had he heard her sound so small. So frightened. Never had he seen such a dreadful look in her eyes. He kicked the thin blankets aside and slid out of bed.

“What’s wrong, Barl?”

She gave an odd little hiccup. “Everything. Remmie, I know I was horrible. I know I’ve been arrogant. But you can’t let that matter. Not now. You have to help me.”

She was his sister and even when he was furious he loved her, but hurt was muddled with disappointment and an old, stale resentment. She never changed. She did what she wanted then afterwards said sorry. It was a familiar dance and he was tired of it.

“Barl—”

With a sparking splutter the ball of glimfire died.

“No, don’t try to reignite it,” he said, reaching for the sparker and bedside candle. “This isn’t your cleverly protected Danfey estate.”

“Sorry,” she said, as the candle flame created meagre light and deep shadows. “I forgot.”

Dropping to the end of the bed, resigned to at least hearing her out, he patted the blankets beside him. “Tell me.”

Sitting, she released a shuddering breath. Then she started to talk, her voice low and shaking. As her dreadful tale unfolded, her hand crept toward him and he took it, even though she’d stirred him to anger again. Her trembling fingers were cold. He ought to feel more pity for her, but his anger burned too hot.