For an instant, Kit could not breathe for the pain in her chest. She had told Sereva just the other day that she no longer loved Jex Zanlan, and yet this letter pierced her with arrows of longing, regret, and memory. She had tried to imagine what she would say to him the next time he sent for her—how she would tell him she could not accept his careless brutality and ruthless zeal—but in those mental conversations he had been the bloody revolutionary and not the tender lover. How had she believed she could so easily put aside those sweet memories, those desperate passions, the hurt and delight and confusion that were her relationship with Jex?

And to never see him again? To not have a chance to say goodbye? To receive only this letter and then, for the rest of her life, to wonder where he was and how he fared? Who would know of him? Who would speak of him to her? Even if Jex communicated with his father, there was no guarantee that Chay would relay any information to Kit, if Chay himself lived, though it seemed he might—

And then Kit had a thought that stopped her heart completely.

She read the letter again. I had a visit this morning from Ariana Bayless herself, telling me she has decided to set me free. Why would Ariana Bayless make such a visit? Why would she come to such a decision? What master plan could she hope to accomplish by freeing Jex Zanlan?

What other odd visitors had gone to Jex Zanlan’s prison cell in the past few weeks? What other strangers had come bearing remarkable gifts and seemingly joyful news? He laughed about being careful of weapons and meals, but Nolan had explained how easy it was to inoculate someone with this dreadful virus. Who had come calling at the Complex prison, and what had they used to infect the inmate?

For Ariana Bayless would never release Jex Zanlan, healthy and vengeful, to wreak mayhem on her orderly city. But a dying Jex Zanlan, polluted with a disease he did not know about—now, that man she would be happy to set free among the city gulden. And he would surely be dying; the mayor had learned her lesson with the prisoner’s father. She would have kept him in his cell until the disease was uncontainable, beyond the reach of any fabulous antidotes. And then, for a few brief days, she would give him back his life.

Kit sank to the floor, the letter still clutched in her hands. He was dying, and he did not know. He was dying, and she could not go to him. He was dying, and she could not save him. He was dying. Jex Zanlan was dying.

No matter how often she said the words, she still could not bring herself to believe them.

*   *   *