Josiri caught the fearful expectation in her voice. That was what she’d meant about it not being her choice whether or not she remained. If he asked – if he even spoke the wrong words or let his revulsion show – she’d leave. And then there was the unspoken question. How did he answer? How could he?

Easier to focus on hate. “Akadra must pay.”

[[He made an honest mistake. I compounded it through greed. Revenge offers no solace. Only . . .]] The grip on his arm slackened. She turned away. [[I have used my life poorly. I have sought only gratification. I have not stood beside those I loved when I should, and I have not fought when it was my time to do so.]]

“Anastacia . . .”

[[Let me finish. I once said you had it in you to be a great man.]] She held out her hands and stared bitterly at them. [[In seeking to spur you to that greatness, have I poisoned you with my own selfishness? If that is so, then whatever becomes of us, I beg you: be better than me.]]

Whatever becomes of us. Josiri knew what she wanted to hear, but didn’t know if he could utter the words. And what did that say of him? Of the love he’d sought so many times to profess? Was it truly as shallow as the skin she’d worn? Was he so shallow, for his feelings to sour when lissom flesh was replaced by clay? Surely Anastacia was no less real, her being no less an illusion?

But it was different. She was different. And so would they be, if his touch was no longer comfort to her, or hers to him. If Akadra had desired to drive them apart – to remind Josiri of the gulf separating his ephemeral yearnings from Anastacia’s deathless being – he could have found no better way. And yet she, who recalled every mouth of soured wine, every unseasonal chill and every last slight – bore him no ill will?

This was too much to bear. It would have been too much if he’d been well-rested, and no aftermath of drink taken fogging his thoughts. But this wasn’t about him, was it? If he felt thus, how must Anastacia feel, trapped in a body not her own? Numb to the sensations in which she’d revelled.

Calenne. Revekah. Even Crovan, after a fashion. He’d pushed them all away, and in the process lost pieces of his own being. If he rejected Anastacia also – now, when she needed him most, what remained of Josiri Trelan save his name?

And he needed her too. Now, more than ever.

“Anastacia?”

He laid a hand on her shoulder. After a moment’s resistance, she turned about, eyes brimming with wary expectation. Strange how they were more expressive now they were trapped within an immobile face. Josiri raised a faltering hand and cupped her cheek.