'Ariss…' West fumbled with the name. 'I knew your cousin. Knew him well… a good man. He always used to talk about… how beautiful you were. And rich,' he muttered, vaguely aware he should not be saying this, but unable to stop his mouth from working. 'Very rich. He died. In the mountains.'

'I know.'

'What are you doing here?'

'Trying to help with the wounded. It would be best for you to sleep now, if you—'

'Am I whole?'

A pause. 'Yes. Sleep now, if you can.'

Her dark face grew blurry, and West let his eyes close. The noises of agony slowly faded around him. He was whole. All would be well.

Someone was sitting next to his bed. Ardee. His sister. He blinked, worked his sour mouth, unsure where he was for a moment.

'Am I dreaming?' She reached forward and dug her nails into his arm. 'Ah!'

'Painful dream, eh?'

'No,' he was forced to admit. 'This is real.'

She looked well. Far better than the last time he had seen her, that was sure. No blood on her face for one thing. No look of naked hatred, for another. Only a thoughtful frown. He tried to bring himself up to sitting, failed, and slumped back down. She did not offer to help. He had not really expected her to. 'How bad is it?' he asked.

'Nothing too serious, apparently. A broken arm, a few broken ribs, and a leg badly bruised, they tell me. Some cuts on your face that may leave a scar or two, but then I got all the looks in the family anyway.'

He gave a snort of laughter and winced at the pain across his chest. 'True enough. The brains too.'

'Don't feel badly about it. I've used them to make the towering success of my life that you see before you. The kind of achievement that you, as a Lord Marshal of the Union, can only dream of.'

'Don't,' he hissed, clamping his good hand across his ribs. 'It hurts.'

'No less than you deserve.'

His laughter quickly stuttered out, and they were silent for a moment, looking at each other. Even that much was difficult. 'Ardee…' His voice caught in his sore neck. 'Can you… forgive me?'