“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, moving forward an inch. This is the first time any of their names have been said out loud since being here.

He doesn’t respond; he doesn’t move.

Guilt swirls through me as if I’ve drunk the ale. I take another step.

“Braizen…” I whisper.

“What’s there to be sorry for?” He says, breaking his gloomy trance to flash me a cheeky smile. “He did have good taste—the best taste of all of us—except for me, of course. Here, let me look.” He strolls past me, picking up bottles as quickly as he sets them down.

“Not this one. Oh, no, definitely not this one. He’d never drink this piss.” He fiddles with more choices as I slowly approach.

“Braizen,” I say, even softer this time.

“Now, what in the four hells?” He shakes one of the bottles and grimaces. “I think this one might actually be piss. I’m not joking; look at the foam.”

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” I stop a few feet behind him.

He turns his cheek slightly toward me. “I’m fine, Sparrow.”

“No, you aren’t.”

He moves to the next beverage. This time, he uncorks it and sniffs.

“Not piss,” he reports. “But not what we’re looking for. Torr would want something stronger.”

I take another step forward.

“I said I’m fine, Idalia.”

My chest aches; I wish more than anything that I could touch him if only for one second, to bring him some form of comfort.

“I know you’re hurting, Braizen. I know that while you tease and joke, your heart is breaking for them. You can leave now if you want to. I’m safe.”

“Leave?” He’s perfectly still.

“Yes, you can go and try to find them. I know that’s what you really want to do.”

Braizen takes a swig and laughs without turning around.

“You have no idea what I want.”

“Maybe not,” I concede. “But I at least know how deeply you’re hurting. When I lost my mother—”

“This is nothing like that,” he bites out.

“Braizen, my mother died right in front of me! How can you say that?”

“Your mother died because your father is a crazed tyrant,” he says coldly. “My friends are dead because they were saving you.”

My nostrils flare along with my hands. He’s lucky I can’t touch him, or I’d have him by his throat.

“My mother died because of your—” Before I can finish the sentence, my tongue begins to scald against my teeth. It’s the calling. The magic. I shake my head. “She’s dead because of your—” The flames rage up and down my windpipe.

It does not want me to say it. It does not want me to fight him. Not now.

Braizen finally turns on his heel and faces me, waiting for my curses against him and Baelliles.