“You told me you were ill,” Ramus said.

“There was a woman—a shaman—and she used magichala to tend wounds and treat illnesses. They kept me in one of their highest stilt houses, fed and watered me, and they wouldn't let anyone come to visit. Not Beko, not anyone.” She looked at the Serian captain to make sure he heard every word, because this was a confession for him as well.

“Go on,” Ramus said.

He lost me Timal, Nomi thought. But her anger had suddenly drained, and she felt hollow and devoid of emotion.

“The shaman woman came to me morning, noon and night for three days. She made me talk about my dreams and nightmares, and gave me potions. I had no idea what was in them, but she wanted to help me. Even though I wasn't Ventgorian . . . It was as if she was ashamed that I'd caught such an illness there.”

“What was it like?” Ramus asked.

“Something inside me that shouldn't be there. Growing. A cancer, but fast. And as my eyesight began to fade, the shaman told me there was only one way to save my life.”

Ramus nodded, a terrible acceptance. “Pass it on to me.”

“She came with a doll made of mud and reeds. No features, just a torso with arms, legs and a head. She pressed it to my chest and said it had to feel my heartbeat for a night. In the morning I would imagine a person and name them, and the shaman would pass the sickness on.”

“You're lying,” Ramus said. “You know there's something wrong with me—I don't know how. And you're sick that I ruined it with Timal, so you're trying to go one better. Make me believe you're responsible for this.”

“You have nightmares that aren't your own,” Nomi said. “That's because they're mine.” It was a stark statement, making her feel so exposed.

But Ramus's face dropped and he believed. His anger simmered behind his eyes, but still he wanted to know. Perhaps he wanted to kill her . . . but not yet. He was Ramus the Voyager, Ramus the explorer, and here was something beyond his experience and knowledge.

“How . . . ?” he muttered.

“Someone I knew well, the shaman told me. Someone whose soul I had felt. And all our differences aside, you were the only one.”

She could see Ramus trying to work things out, casting through the dates in his mind, and she knew that it would make sense because it was true.

“You cursed me to die,” he said.

Nomi's tears came. This was revenge of a sort, but she was cursing herself as well. “It hurt so much, I didn't know what else—”

“It's your fault that I'm going to die.”

“You took Timal from me,” she sobbed.

“After you did this to me!” he screamed, slapping at his head as if to loosen the illness. “That's nothing! I didn't kill you! I didn't doom you!”