What do you mean? Her amusement was gone—she was looking at him again, really looking. He would not recognize this blurry, occulted phantom even if he stood face-to-face with her, at least not by her features, but he would know the quality of attention she gave him anywhere, in any disguise.

I mean it’s too much. One horror after another. The gods themselves… The monstrousness of it all could not be explained. I’m cursed, that’s all. I’m not strong enough to live with it any longer. I thought I could—I’ve tried—but I can’t.

You don’t mean that. It’s a kind of…showing off.

I do mean it! I’d rather be dead. Dead, he might not see his beloved twin soul ever again—or this one either, this new friend in darkness—but at this moment he didn’t care. He was tired of the burden.

You can’t ever say that. Her thoughts were not plaintive but angry again. We all die. What if we only get one chance to be alive?

What if it’s all pain?

Push against it. Escape it. Change it.

Easy to say. He was disgusted and furious, but suddenly terrified she would leave him alone on this bone-white span over nothing—no, worse than nothing.

No, it’s not. And it’s even harder to do, I know. But it’s all you have.

What is?

This is. All of it. You have to fight.

Will you…will you come back to me if I do?

I don’t know. A flash of sweetness in the nothing, a smile like a fluting of birdsong in the dark before sunrise. I don’t know how I found you, so I can’t say if I’ll ever find you again, dear friend. Who are you?

I can’t say—I’m not sure. But come back to me—please!

I’ll try…but live!

And then the bridge, the pit, the girl, everything was gone, and Barrick Eddon was swimming slowly back up through the ordinary soundings of dream and sleep.

Ferras Vansen was relieved to see that the prince’s miseries seemed to have eased a bit. Barrick was no longer making that terrible wheezing noise, and although he still lay stretched on the stone floor of their cell he seemed to be resting now instead of suffering. Vansen, who had tried to comfort the prince once and had been hit in the face by a flailing hand for his trouble, let out a breath. Apparently he would live, although Vansen was still not entirely certain what had sickened him so badly. It seemed to be something to do with…

So what was that thing? he demanded of Gyir. That…door. You haven’t told me anything since we came back into our own heads except “Grab the boy’s legs” when he was thrashing on the floor. Why do you keep silent?

Because I am trying to understand. Gyir’s thoughts traveled slowly as summer clouds. What we saw seemed to have only one explanation and I do not trust such seemings. But the more I think, the more I come back again and again to the same conclusion.