Toiling over the creation of her weather incant’s final, most important piece, Barl felt a searing pain shaft through her. Crying out, she staggered then slumped to the floor of Gribley’s village hall.

Remmie. Remmie. Oh, no. Remmie. No.

Pain blazed in her throat, in her bones, in her blood. There was a filthy taint inside her, a grotesque twisting in her mind. A cruel, familiar presence, crowing even as it screamed.

Dimly she heard the hall’s door bang open. Heard panicked footsteps racing over the wooden floor.

“Barl? Barl! Justice have mercy, what’s wrong?”

Venette. Of course Venette. She couldn’t play a part in the weather map’s creation but still she insisted on remaining close by. Just in case.

She’ll never let me forget she was right.

“Barl!” Venette shouted, dropping beside her. “Is it Remmie? My dear, please tell me it’s not Remmie!”

Her throat hurt too much for speaking, but the truth must have shown in her eyes. Venette sobbed once, wildly, hands flying to her face.

“Oh, no. Oh, no. I should never have helped him!”

She wanted to scream, No, you shouldn’t, Venette! This is your fault!

But it wasn’t, and she knew that, and to say so would be cruel. After Dorana, after the things she’d done, she’d sworn she’d never be cruel again.

Remmie was dying. She could feel it. His life was ebbing fast. She could feel his tears. They were her tears. They were weeping together now.

I took you out of my diary, Rem. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.

And now it was too late. There’d be no time to put him back.

How far away was he? So far… and slipping further. They were twins. She could feel him. If she reached out with her mind… with her broken heart… would he feel her? Could she touch him? Was there enough time left to—

“My love, my love, your brother’s dead. I’m sorry. It wasn’t me. I promise. Poor Remmie killed himself.”

Morgan. Unbound.

Shuddering, she felt herself roll into a ball. Felt Morgan’s roaming lips on her, felt his hands caress her skin.

“Barl! Barl, for pity’s sake, what’s happening?”

She couldn’t answer Venette. Her skin was crawling, her mind whirling, she wanted to scream and sob and retch.

“My love, my beloved, I know where you are. Remmie told me. Such a little scamp. I was in his mind as he died. Beyond the mountains. A land called Lur. Full of simple, ignorant people. They will make such beautiful dravas. A thoughtful gift, my love.”

“No,” she moaned, writhing. “Remmie… Remmie… no…”

“Wait for me, my beloved bitch, my treacherous slut, my whore. For I know where you are, Barl, and you have no place left to run!”