She speaks so softly. I remember that was my first impression of her, and remember how I thought she was weak. But I can no longer dredge up that reaction either. What was once weakness now looks like quiet strength, and a capacity for compassion that I’ve never seen in anyone else.

And she’s so maddeningly calm. It drives me crazy that she can wear such a mask when I’ve basically thrown myself at her feet these past weeks.

I surge to my feet. “I’m tired of being your plaything.”

She takes a cautious step back. Neju’s sword, she’s hard to read.

“Look, Zivah, I know it’s hard to be rosemarked. It must be. And maybe it’s too tempting to have the other Dineas throwing himself at you, playing out your fantasies of a normal life, but—”

The blood drains completely from her face and she makes a faint choking sound. She takes another weak step backward.

I walk toward her, but she stops me with a word. “Stay away from me.” The raw emotion in her voice throws me back.

“Zivah, I didn’t mean—”

“You have no idea,” she whispers. “You have no idea how it feels to be locked in here like a living corpse. To be cut off, reviled, unable to touch another human being unless it’s someone who’s also slated to die.”

I open my mouth to speak, but she silences me with a look of pure steel. “I won’t deny it,” she says. “I’ve enjoyed the moments I shared with y—with him. And there have indeed been times when I was tempted to let it go further than it should. Times when I couldn’t be as distant as I needed to be.” She shakes her head. “But don’t you dare mock me, or paint me as some manipulative, self-serving temptress. I’ve given up too much, and I’ve suffered too much to take any more abuse from you. I may not have much dignity left, but may my Goddess strike me down now if I let you be the one to trample what’s left to me.”

She throws a pen and a piece of parchment at my feet. “Your memory will fade away soon. Write your report for Gatha.” And then she turns deliberately away from me and sits down at her herb table.