“But you intend to stay here, don’t you, pouring salt on the wound? Keeping just enough of a tie so there’s no clean break that will heal.”

“No.” She felt beaten, battered, unable to stand against the words.

“You stayed long enough for him to ask instead of resigning your position and getting out. So what happens to him now is on your head.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s gone to fight the jhinkas. Gone alone to face a savage race that hates Eyriens. And he’ll throw himself into that fight with your rejection ripping at him, keeping him unbalanced while he tries to survive odds that are against even someone with his unusual strength and skill. If he dies . . .”

“No!” Marian cried. “He can’t die. He can’t.”

“Everything has a price,” Luthvian said ruthlessly. “If he dies, that’s the price for loving you!”

Weeping, Marian sank to the floor.

“Go away, Marian. Disappear. If he manages to survive, your presence will only be a torment to him.”

Lucivar dying? Because of her? She should go to the Keep, find the High Lord. No. He’d blame her for this. If Lucivar got hurt, he’d blame her. And why shouldn’t he? Who else was there to blame?

Luthvian was gone long before Marian was able to stagger to the kitchen and splash cold water on her face. She’d pack. She’d go away. She didn’t want to be a torment to the man she loved.

She looked around the kitchen.

But first she had to deal with all the food she’d cooked. It would spoil if she left it out, and if he was wounded, he would need the meals she’d—

Tears spilled from her eyes, and her head ached from that cobwebby feeling that had almost gone away. Still, she went about the business of doing everything she could for him before she disappeared from his life.

As the afternoon waned, Saetan paced, trying to push the past out of his mind so that he could consider the present.

Something wasn’t right here. Something didn’t fit. And his son’s heart was bleeding because of it.

He called in his cape. Whipped it around his shoulders as he strode out of the room.

Something wasn’t right. And he was damn well going to find out what it was.

When the front door of the eyrie crashed open, Marian dropped the plate. There wasn’t time to think of the mess or broken crockery before Saetan stormed into the kitchen. He came to an abrupt halt when he saw her, his eyes filled with brutal intensity.

“Tell me why,” he said too softly.

“I don’t—” His power blazed in the room, making her feel cleaned out, hollow—and, strangely, as if she was starting to regain her balance after an illness.