Malachi sighed. “It’s bad. Captain Horden’s so deep in Tarev’s pocket that I’m surprised he can see the sun. I’ve pulled all the authority I have and some I don’t. But he won’t release you into my custody. I’ve tried. Your uncles have tried. No one’s listening. They’re talking about bringing you to trial before noon.”

“So soon?”

“You confessed.” Malachi choked back frustration. “Why did you have to confess?”

Rosa turned her gaze upon him. “Because it’s true. And I deserve this.”

“Deserve it?” Malachi splashed across the cell. The bunk-chains scraped as he sat beside her. “Aske attacked you. Raven’s Eyes, but it’s barely a week since she was ready to murder us all.”

“I got caught. She didn’t.” She didn’t sound sad, or angry. Just resigned.

Malachi shook his head. How could he make her see? If she withdrew the confession it might muddy the waters. He re-examined her words. And I deserve this. Guilt separate from the act. Rosa never misspoke.

“Why do you deserve it?”

“Because I couldn’t save him. I loved him, and I couldn’t save him.”

Malachi sank back. The words made sense of much, not least the depth of Rosa’s grief. Why hadn’t he seen it?

“Did Kasamor know?”

She shook her head. “Nor anyone else. You can consider this my last confession.”

“Don’t talk like that.”

“We both know I’ll be dancing the gallows jig at sundown.” She sighed. “And when that doesn’t work, they’ll burn me alive.”

Malachi frowned at the sudden twist of logic, nonsensical as it was. He decided against challenging the point – Rosa didn’t look like a woman with full command of her wits. Confinement broke people in odd ways. It would keep. “You’re tired. You need to sleep.”

“But I don’t. I haven’t slept since Kasamor died. I don’t sleep. I eat, though I never feel hungry. I don’t bleed. Liquor has no claim on my wits. I’m cursed, Malachi. That’s why I didn’t die last night. That’s why they’ll have to burn me.” Her voice grew distant. “I wonder if even that’ll work. Or whether they’ll hew me with axes and feed me to the dogs.”

Malachi shuddered at a conversation that had taken a turn for the macabre. “You’re not cursed. You’re tired, you’re grieving and your wits are scattered . . .”

Her exasperated sigh cut him off. “Don’t interrupt. A last confession is sacred.”

She pushed clear of the wall and swung to her feet. Fabric tore and stitches popped as she tugged at the torn panel on the front of her dress. Malachi, concerned that she was about to disrobe, looked hurriedly away.

“Rosa . . .”

“Don’t be such a child, and look.”