Trent looked down at the book, his mutilated hand showing strongly on the lined paper. “He has a book mirroring mine. If I don’t keep writing, he’ll know something has captured my attention, and he’ll come and see. You need to leave.” Numb, he wrote the time and initialed it. The pen hitting the paper sounded loud, and he turned to look at me straight on.

Numb. He was numb, but there was a seething anger fueled by helplessness underneath. My mouth went dry as I realized he was on a knife’s edge. He could do anything. He had vowed to keep his daughter and Ceri safe, and now Ceri was dead.

“Trent, I’m sorry,” I whispered, and his eye twitched. “This is not fair.”

“Fair?” he said, his anger showing. “When has fair ever entered into my life?”

I backed up as he struggled to take one careful, deliberate breath after another. “When fate levels the field,” he said flatly, “the rich man finds himself struggling to survive while the man plagued with bad luck his entire life is ironically strong enough to prosper. I’m both, Rachel. I’m both.” He hung his head, his fine hair hiding his eyes. “I wanted to believe that love could survive that which fate decrees, that love could remain when all is taken from you. But now . . . The Goddess has surely left me.”

“I didn’t think you believed in her,” I whispered.

His eyes were empty when they met mine. “Chance can’t build such a pit as I’m in. Only a god.”

Trent rocked forward, and I jumped, startled. “There’s no reason you can’t carry on with our plan,” he said suddenly, his voice holding a frantic determination. “I can’t help you, even after you find something to bind multiple strengths together. I have to stay here and keep Lucy safe.” He took my shoulders and gave me a shake. “I will not leave her. I’m going to do everything he tells me to. You have to find what you need, get it, and make it work. Understand?”

His resolve scared me, and I nodded. “Yes.”

He let me go, and I breathed again. “Quen maybe,” he said. “He will protect you when you move the imbalance, show the demons what Ku’Sox has done, and if they do nothing, I will be here to kill him.”

I blinked fast. “K-kill him?” I stammered, my thoughts flashing to Pierce. “Trent, you are not a warrior poet. If Ceri and Pierce couldn’t do it, what makes you think you can!”

Trent turned, looking furious. “Don’t—” he shouted, a finger pointing to make me drop back, and he lowered his voice, his eyes still virulent. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do,” he whispered. The scent of spoiled wine and broken fern grew strong.