“Around?” She blinked. “You’ve been around? I nearly died. Sephryn did die, and now we’re facing a massively powerful sorcerer who will likely annihilate all of us, and you’ve been . . . around? Did you know that our First Minister is also a sorcerer, or Artist, or whatever? And why in the name of Maribor’s bearded grandmother did Sephryn let Sheldon get that horn? She knew who he was, and yet she trotted over and just pulled it out. She had seemed sane enough just seconds before when she was talking about prophecies and such. I’m sure you know why. Care to share?”

Kile only stared.

“Didn’t think so. No one does. Is this future-forecast something only men know? Because all of them appear to be privy. Not me, though. I’m only the imperial princess. Never once has anyone whispered, ‘Psst! Hey, Princess, come here so I can tell you about this funny little list of cataclysmic disasters headed our way!’ We traveled together for more than a week, and you never mentioned a word of it to me . . . why?”

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said and took a step toward the door.

“Don’t you dare leave.”

“I can’t answer your question. Not yet.”

“Then why are you here?”

Kile stared at the door as if he needed to escape.

“Why are you here, Kile?”

“I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Really? I was starting to think you had all the answers.”

“Not this one.”

Farilane took a breath. She folded her arms, then took another. “What is it?”

“Did you know that The Book of Brin was enchanted such that magic couldn’t harm it? So that nothing can harm it?”

Farilane looked at the book still resting on her desk.

That’s what he was doing when I came in. He was looking at The Book of Brin.

“Honestly? I don’t even know that now. It’s not like I’ve been trying to set fire to the pages.”

Kile nodded. “That’s what I thought.” He wiped his face. “I kept trying to convince myself that somehow you knew, that—being smart—you had figured it out somehow. But every time I ran through it, no matter how much I wanted to find an excuse . . . I couldn’t. There’s just no way you could have known—not to that degree of certitude, not enough to step between me and Mawyndulë . . .”

Farilane had no idea why this was a topic for discussion. Of all the things on the giant table between them, her simple and feeble effort to frustrate Mawyndulë’s attack wasn’t worth the time. “If it makes you feel better, I hardly thought about it at all—before or since.”

Kile took a deep breath. “No . . . no, that doesn’t make me feel better. No, not at all.”