“Roshar says that my mother is very sick. No one knows why. It’s a sudden illness and unlike anything anyone has ever seen. My father needs me. I don’t even know if she will still be alive when I reach home.”

Sid suddenly looked so small. I saw how utterly defenseless she was against this looming, enormous loss. I wanted to touch her cheek, to pull her into my arms, but if I did, I would never be able to let her go.

She asked, “Would you force me to stay?”

I bit my lip. I thought about what I had done to the councilman, how I had forged a fake memory in his mind.

I could do that to Sid, if I wanted.

Make her forget her parents. Make her stay in Ethin.

Maybe it would be a kindness. After all, if she couldn’t remember her mother, Sid would never grieve her loss.

“No.” I shook my head, horrified at my temptation, at how easily I could dupe her. I could force her to remember me as the only one she would ever love. I could make her always mine. “I would never do that.” My eyes were wet. “Go, you should go. I will miss you so much.”

Her expression changed, losing its hesitation. She reached for me, her lips touching my tears. “Don’t cry,” she said. “Come with me.”

I went still. I drew slightly back.

“Won’t you?” she said.

“What would I be there? A servant to the princess?”

“No,” she said with a flash of frustration. “Have I ever treated you like one?”

“Then what?”

“My…” Her frustration grew as I saw that she didn’t have any ready words to answer me. “My honored guest.”

“Everyone will know exactly what we are.”

“Let them. I want them to.”

“So I would be there as your lover.”

“Yes.” Her voice was firm.

“In a country I have never seen.”

“Herran is beautiful. You will love it as I do.”

“I don’t know the language.”

“Your memory will help you. You will learn quickly.”

“Your parents want you to marry a man. They won’t want me there.”

“I want you.”

“I will have no place. I will know no one and nothing. I will have nothing to call mine.”

“You will have me.”

My eyes were dry now. They ached. I stepped away. Her hands fell from me, and she lifted her stubborn chin. She said, “You owe me a yes.”

“No,” I said. “I can’t.”

“Why?” she demanded. “You have been treated terribly here. One way or another, you have lived your life imprisoned. The people who should protect and care for you have failed you. I will never do that.”

“Won’t you? What will you do when your parents pressure you to marry?”

She hesitated, then said, “I will refuse.”