“Go!” he repeated, louder. And then again: “GO!”

For a split-second, her expression straightened out and the wildness seemed to leave her eyes. For a moment he thought maybe it had all been a horrible misunderstanding and the friend he cared about so much was about to offer one of her scathingly witty comments that would leave him offended but also amused, a talent that almost rivaled that of her actual Ability. But then the moment passed, her face twisting again as she said only, “So, so be it.” With a whirl of her dress that had little impact because of all the foliage caught in the fabric, she turned and was gone, slipping through the curtain of vines, still hovering a couple of inches off the ground. The moment she passed out the other end of the tunnel, Cintra’s wards would prevent her from ever returning to the Rocklands.

“Cainan? Are you alright?”

“You heard?” he asked without turning to face Cora.

“Most of it. You did the right thing. She left you no other choice.”

“Then why does it feel so awful?” Still he didn’t turn, because he knew what he would find in her expression. Comfort. Comfort that he didn’t deserve.

“Because she was a friend. To both of us.”

Those were exactly the kinds of words he didn’t want right now. “Please. Leave me. I wish to be alone.”

“Of course. I will be here when you are ready.”

Her words caused an ache in his chest, especially when set alongside Sinna’s. You love her, so you should be with her. “In another life, perhaps,” he said. “In another life.”

Ten years, Cainan thought. Not since he’d arrived in Comman Dur, but since Mick had left. Ten plus ten, of course, equaled twenty. Twenty years behind walls of stone. Twenty years without feeling the sun on his face, feeling the wind on his skin, hearing the sound of rain falling on a roof.

Kissing the lips of the woman he loved.

He wanted to smile, because Mick was back, but smiling hurt these days. In fact, everything hurt. He’d abandoned his daily exercise routine several years back when his body began to protest every movement, his muscles and bones locking up from lack of movement and malnutrition.

“How are ye?” Mick asked through the slot in the door.

“Great,” he grunted. He hadn’t spoken in a long time, and even that hurt, as though the word was barbed with curved hooks that scraped the inside of his throat as it emerged.

Mick didn’t seem to know what to say to that.

“There haven’t been any attacks in years, so I came back ’ere to work.”

“She visits me sometimes,” Cainan said, as though Mick hadn’t spoken.

“Who does?”

“Cora.”

“Yer…wife?”