Her captured Aedolians were in the same building, although the Sons of Flame had them chained and locked in a deep basement. For two days, Adare had been forbidden to speak with them. She had railed against the restriction, but the horrible secret truth was that beneath the fury and indignation, she was relieved at the enforced separation. If she wasn’t allowed to see the Aedolians, she wouldn’t have to witness her own deceit in their eyes, wouldn’t have to tell them what her allegiance with the Sons of Flame had cost. Wouldn’t have to tell them that they would be the ones to pay. In the end, however, her own objections caught up with her. Just that morning, Lehav had agreed to let her see the two men. Adare wanted to vomit.

The commander of the Sons of Flame met her on the rain-soaked balcony, glanced out at the storm, then gestured her inside.

“It’s time,” he said, when she stepped through the door. “Ivar will show you to their cell.”

She nodded, voiceless.

Lehav considered her for a moment. “A piece of advice,” he said finally.

Adare nodded uncertainly. She was shivering uncontrollably, the water from her soaked robes puddling on the floor.

“The less you talk,” Lehav said, “the easier it will be for everyone.”

“I owe them . . .”

“What?” He raised an eyebrow. “An explanation?”

“Yes.”

“You can explain a lot of things to a man. His own death is not one of them.”

Each Aedolian was wrapped in enough chain to hold a small bull, bound at the ankles, wrists, and throat, then locked to iron rings set into the stone. They looked as though they hadn’t slept or changed clothes since the day Adare fled. Their long traveling cloaks, usually so immaculate, had turned brown with kicked-up dust and mud. Weeks of hard travel had scraped away any spare flesh, leaving their cheeks hollow, eyes sunken in their sockets. Birch’s golden mane had gone brown and stringy, and Fulton must have lost twenty pounds. The room stank of spoiled food and rot. A small puddle that might have been groundwater or urine had collected in a lower corner of the chamber.

Birch blinked at the sudden light, then twisted against his chains to get a better look.

He managed an awkward nod.

“My lady,” he said after a moment, voice a weak rasp. “The yellow robe suits you. Brings out your eyes.”