The last word raked her with shame. She had done nothing to save her Aedolians, nothing effective anyway. It was the lightning that did it. Lightning and luck. Her skin burned, and she slipped an arm from beneath the blanket, studying the ruddy pattern, a sharp, bright sensation that might have been fear blooming in her mind.

“They’re alive,” she murmured. Tears streaked her face.

“Normally it’s a good thing when your men make it,” Lehav said, cocking his head to the side. “Doesn’t always happen that way.”

Adare stared at him. “How do you do it?” she asked, voice little louder than a whisper.

“It?”

“Decide. Who lives and who dies. You’ve led men, both in the legions and for the Sons of Flame. Some of them must have died on your orders. As a commander, how do you make the decision?”

Lehav glowered at the storm. “You don’t think about the dying. You decide what needs to be done, you pick the best men to do it, and you send them out. The dying, that’s Ananshael’s business.”

Adare looked at the soldier. “And the things that need to be done,” she asked. “You ever wonder if they really need to be done?”

He met her gaze squarely. “All the time.”

When Adare woke again, it was night, the storm had settled to a quiet patter of raindrops, someone had lit a lantern beside her bed, and Lehav was gone. For a while she lay still, feeling the burns lacing her skin, the bright ache like a spike of light in the meat of her mind. Unlike her earlier awakening, this time she remembered everything.

“Sweet Intarra’s light,” she breathed.

“You’ve been a ’Kent-kissing prophet half a fuckin’ day and you’ve already started with the holy horseshit.”

Adare started up, yanking the blanket around her. Nira sat in the chair by the head of her bed, tapping impatiently at the cane laid across her lap. Adare swung her legs off the bed, letting the blanket drop, then realized that Oshi stood in the far corner, inspecting a section of chipping plaster, and hastily pulled it up again.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “How did you get in?”

Nira raised her brows at the tone. “You’ve only got the three guards, girl. Two of ’em are still try’n’a walk straight after almost getting tossed in a burning well, then skewered by fire, and the third seems t’ve had a change of heart after your show down there in the city.” The woman raised her bushy brows. “Ya do know what them dumb fool fucks in the street are sayin’? What they’re callin’ ya? Intarra’s second prophet. That’s what.”