“And where you are now is in a small room, burdened with guilt and regret, revealing deep wounds to a friend who would heal them if she could. You’re here, struggling to save an island against impossible odds, willing to die so others may feel hope. It’s enough, Cyrus, I promise you. You have nothing more to offer, for you have already offered everything.”

Cyrus used his free hand to wipe away the stubborn tears that had built up over the past minute.

“Such kind words, and ones I needed to hear. It’s almost like you used to be a paladin or something.”

“Or perhaps you’re not alone in living with ‘what if’s.” She sat up straight, and a phantom of her own pain shimmered across her face. “By all rights, I should have hung with the rest, yet random happenstance spared me. Life is like that, Cyrus. A thousand decisions on top of a thousand more coincidences. There is no going back, only looking forward.”

“What do you mean, you almost hung?” he asked. “I don’t remember hearing about this.”

“Normally I’d have been in the mansion crowd before your arrival, spreading a few choice rumors. Thorda contacted me half an hour prior, asking me to run a message to a resistance cell down near the docks. Such a random little thing, yet without it, I hang from the gallows.” She ran her hands over her braided ponytail, tightening the knot at the top with practiced motions he knew meant to hide her unsteady emotions. “It could have been me, but it wasn’t. I tell myself… I tell myself there is a reason. Maybe luck. Maybe fate. Maybe a goddess. Regardless the reason, I’m going to make sure I give my everything to justify this life I have.”

Luck? Fate? Fire burned in Cyrus’s belly. No. None of those, not even a goddess, were to blame for this.

Save your anger for the traitor in your midst…

Cyrus jumped up from the bed. He tried to hide his nervousness, his anger, but there was no disguising the shaking of his hands.

“I need to speak with Thorda,” was all he offered in explanation as he strapped his swords about his waist. Keles glanced at his swords, then at him. The question floated unspoken between them in the air, but he did not answer it.

“All right, then,” she said instead. “Stay safe, Cyrus, will you?”

There was no pleading in her eyes, but the invitation to remain with her was there. He didn’t have to go. He could stay, and talk, and perhaps do even more than talk. The weight of the day was heavy, but she was willing to share it with him.