The words choked off in a scream. Anastacia slammed her fist into the statue. Dust exploded into the mists. Thick spider-web cracks jagged out across the slime-ridden stone.

Revekah stepped back, her hand once again at her sword. Tarn had been right about leaving well alone. Soon as she’d stepped into Krayna Dell, she’d left the real world behind. This was the stuff of folktale and drunken imagining.

“The deceiver. Does he have a name?”

[[Akadra.]] She spat the word. [[Viktor Akadra.]]

Revekah nodded, relieved that there was to be no further intrusion of myth. There was, after all, already a superfluity to hand.

“A busy bugger, that one,” she said. “Calenne’s trailing him like a lost kitten. Josiri’s knotted up with frustration because most folk think Akadra’s bought his loyalty. And then there’s you.”

[[Josiri?]] Pity fell away into concern. The new tone was no better a fit. [[How is he?]]

“Raging inside and out. Looks like you must know something about that.”

[[Whatever pain he feels is nothing to mine.]]

Now that sounded like Anastacia. “I don’t know. I rode back with him from Maiden’s Hollow. Reckon the only thing kept him from screaming is pride. He doesn’t know where to turn. But don’t take my word for it. He’s at Branghall. See for yourself.”

Anastacia hung her head. [[I can’t. Look at me. We were barely the same before. Now . . . Now, I can offer no respite. I feel neither the chill of the mist nor the warmth of the sun. Not the fall of a hand on my shoulder or fingers on my cheek. My embrace would as likely crush him as bring comfort. Why would he want me now?]]

“Because he loves you. Never understood why, but he does.”

Anastacia stiffened. [[And what use is that now? To him or to me?]]

“Nothing? Everything? But you’ll not find answers skulking out here in the mists.”

[[Maybe I don’t want answers. Maybe I want the Raven to take me away.]]

Irritation burned away the last lingering fear. “Then you’re a fool. I buried my son fifteen years back. My husband, two years prior. I’d give anything for another day with them. Another hour, even. And that’s whether or not they could feel the warmth of my hand. Or if they were clad in white and gold, like a mummer dressed up for Reaptithe carnival.”

Anastacia turned. Baleful black eyes blazed within her perfect, beautiful face. [[You dare match your loss to mine?]]

Revekah held her ground. “No. Because however much you reckon you’ve lost – and I’m not saying it’s nothing – you’re still here, and you still feel. Folk who feel nothing don’t weep for their loss, not even when they think no one’s watching.”