Honestly, given my reaction to his shit childhood, and his desire to have me as a friend, I was pretty sure if there was a divinely-appointed relationship in store, it would be an affectionate one. But if that was the case, we'd have to play a dangerous game, making sure people believed we could become enemies still. Kamharida had said I'd have friends either way, and my guard Ciradyl's existence suggested that my helper was right, but the dislike of the kill-Dain faction was bound to be dangerous.

"You didn't answer my question," Dain said, sounding hesitant.

I closed my eyes, unhappiness creeping in despite my enjoyment of the day. "I'm already trying to be your friend, I think," I said. "I'd like it if you returned the favor."

"Far be it from me to leave a favor unpaid," he replied, something strange in his voice.

I didn't look over at him. I wasn't sure I could deal with hope or happiness on the face of the Beast of Phazikai, who had taken me from my home and might keep me here forever. Maybe if he's your friend, he'll let you visit your family, I thought, and almost burst into tears. I swallowed, fighting back the devastation, not wanting to weep in front of Dain.

A tear escaped anyway, sliding down my cheek and dripping into my ear.

"Is it such a horrible concept as to deserve your tears?" Dain asked, his voice harsh.

I sobbed without meaning to, more tears falling, and shook my head, sharp and unhappy. "It's not that," I said through the tightness in my chest. "Really, it's not," I said, expecting his reaction without needing to see the disbelief on his face. "I'm homesick and scared. Someone I love is dead. Right now people are searching for a body they'll never find, and my parents are weeping. My little brother is probably curled up in my old bedroom, holding the stuffed animal I gave him when he was three, telling himself they're going to find me." My breath caught in my throat and I rolled onto my side, curling up in the fetal position, my back to Dain.

"Your mom may be a grade-A bitch, but mine is wonderful." The words came out hoarse, the tears sliding down my skin. "She bakes rhubarb pie in the summer and always has lemonade ready for the neighborhood kids. She likes to sing when she does dishes and she self-publishes the most gruesome mystery novels you can imagine. Every weekday, she puts a little love-note on an index card in the lunch she packs for my dad to take to work. She's been doing it for thirty years, and he's kept every single one."

Dain didn't say anything. I didn't even hear him moving.