“What I needed?”

At last, her gaze rose from the desk. Dark eyes bore into his. “Don’t play the fool, Josiri. It doesn’t suit you. Or are you now to pretend that Calenne’s broken wedding wouldn’t have changed your plans?”

Josiri flinched. “You’ve sent her straight into harm’s way. The north-wealders are on edge. The Hadari are coming. This was no time for indulging my sister’s selfish fancies!”

Anastacia’s eyes pulsed. “Only your own, is that it?”

“You want to explain that?”

She rose, wreathed in golden haze as temper slackened control over her form. A small, distant part of Josiri’s brain shrank back – urged the rest of him to apologise. But he held his ground and willed a trembling knee to stillness.

“Calenne’s wishes have never mattered to you,” said Anastacia, “not unless they mesh with yours. She wanted her freedom. I saw no reason not to grant it.”

“She could die.”

“So could you! At any moment. So could any of us. In the end, the Raven takes us all.”

A sombre tone swelled beneath the final phrase. Taking it for a crack in resolve, Josiri pressed on. “And if the northwealders find her roaming free? Do you know what it will mean if Yanda and Makrov realise they’ve been played for fools?”

“Then you’d better get your revolution underway, hadn’t you? I’ve set the shutters in place, calling for a meeting. Revekah and Crovan should be here for noon. I suggest you have something to tell them.”

Josiri couldn’t decide what was worse – the betrayal, or the sensation of losing control over his own life. He supposed it to be his own fault for assuming equality that plainly did not exist. For all Anastacia’s professed adoration, for all the intimacy they’d shared, no bridge could span the chasm between them.

“I suppose you’re pleased with yourself?” he said bitterly.

Her shoulders slumped to match softening eyes. “Oh, Josiri. What I am is tired of waiting for you to leave. I just want it over.”

Her sudden sorrow almost quenched Josiri’s anger. But not quite. How could he be certain this wasn’t another of her games? His heart might have convinced him, were it not already heavy from her betrayal. And beneath it all, there was a spark of sullen resentment that Anastacia might be right. About Calenne. About him.

“Then I’ll leave you to your sketches,” he bit out, deliberately misreading her words. “I’ll meet you by the oak at noon. I think it’s better our paths don’t cross before then, don’t you?”

She stared unblinkingly, her expression unreadable. “Yes, your grace.”

He nodded, recognising that the formality of her tone widened the chasm yet further.