Now she’s dead, horribly, painfully dead, because I “never found the time.”

He shook the bottle, surprised to find it empty already.

Oh, well, there’s another where that one came from.

He didn’t even have to get up; the second bottle was cooling on the windowsill. He reached out an unsteady hand and somehow managed to grab the neck of it. He’d already taken the cork out when he was sober, then stuck it back in loosely. If he hadn’t, he’d never have gotten the bottle open.

Gods, I’m disgusting.

He knew this was not the way to be handling the problem; that he should be doing what his heart was telling him to do—find Talia, and let her help him work it all out. But he couldn’t face her. Not like this.

I can’t let her see me like this. I can’t. She’ll think I’m-I’m worse than what Naril called me.

Besides, if he did go to her, she’d read the rest of what was on his mind, and then what would he do? Gods, what a tangle he’d gotten himself into.

I-I need her, dammit. But—do I need her more than Kris does? I don’t know. I just don’t know.

He couldn’t ask Kris for help, not when Kris was the other half of the problem. And music was no longer a solace, not when every time he played he could hear her singing, haunting every line.

Damn the woman! She steals my friend, she steals my music, she steals my peace of mind—

In the next instant he berated himself for even thinking such things. That wasn’t fair, it wasn’t her fault. She hadn’t the least notion of what she’d done to him.

And so far as he’d been able to tell, she really hadn’t been spending all that much time with Kris since she’d gotten back. Maybe there was hope for him, after all. She and Kris surely weren’t behaving like lovers.

But what would he do if they were in love?

For that matter, what would he do if they weren’t?

The level in the bottle continued to go down as he tried—and failed—to cope.