Our magic destroyed him. Justice save me, he’s past saving.

If she’d been alone, she’d have howled her grief aloud.

Remmie eased her back onto the cot, then sat cross-legged beside her on the felt matting floor. “It’ll be light soon. Or as light as it gets in these sun-forsaken woods. You’re tired, Barl. Rest.”

Yes, she was tired. But how could she rest when she was so heartsick it was hard to breathe?

Remmie and I, we are two of only one thousand, seven hundred and sixty-four living Doranen, that we know of for certain. Before we abandoned Dorana there were at least a hundred times as many.

Memory taunted her with the faces she’d never see again. Ibbitha. Master Arndel and his artisans. Lady Grie with her careless favours. Barton Haye and Remmie’s pupils. All left behind or dead or swallowed by the hostile lands beyond Dorana.

But her sorrow was nothing compared to Remmie’s. Poor Remmie. Having found his Irielle, he’d lost her again. The girl from Granley had perished in the slaughter near Vharne. He never spoke of her. Whatever grief he felt remained locked in his heart. But despite that, somehow he’d forgiven her, for everything. Irielle. Morgan. All their dead and maimed. The nightmares. The hauntings. The loss of home and hope.

Overwhelmed, she let the tears fall.

“Don’t, Barl,” Remmie said gently. He was her other self, and always knew. “What’s done is done. And you know, I’ve been thinking. We’ve been gone a long time now. Dorana could be healing. It might not be ruined after all. And a lot of people stayed behind.”

The horror of the dream—or whatever it was—crashed over her. “To face what, when Morgan is free? Remmie, when he breaks my binding he’ll—”

“You don’t know he’ll break it,” Remmie said quickly. “Barl, don’t—”

“But I do know,” she said, shivering again. “Why else did I push Venette until she agreed we should keep running, risk those terrible mountains, if I wasn’t sure he was a danger?”

Remmie dropped his gaze. And because she was his other self, and always knew, she knew what it was he’d not allow himself to say.

Why did it take you so long to see the truth of him? Why did so many of us have to die before you’d believe?

The answers were a whip, flogging her. She couldn’t bear to give them a voice. Instead she touched his knee.

“You should be in bed, Remmie. You’re as tired as I am.”

“I was helping Pother Ranmer. Barl…” He looked up. “Someone else has died.”

She should weep for the loss. But after so many deaths her soul felt as dry as this dry land they’d stumbled into.

“Who was it?” she said at last. “Don’t say another child.”