Crow looked like he’d been waiting a while. He shifted from foot to foot, both apprehensive and eager. His clothes kept shifting, too, from student robes to royal finery, ending with sober black, the Waterlow ravens overtop.

After a moment, the air shimmered, and a third person materialized. It was Lucius, but he hadn’t cleaned himself up for the reunion. His clothes were shabby and stained, his hair and beard unkempt. His face sagged into wrinkles like an unmade bed. His eyes were different, though—no longer milky blind, but a clear and lively brown.

Crow frowned, glancing at Han as if he’d made a swap. “This is Lucas? It can’t be.”

“Hello, Alger,” Lucius said in a tremulous voice. “You look just the way I remember. Before they beat and tortured you to death, that is.”

Crow took a step forward, extending his hand. “It is you. I never expected that the years would be so—so unkind.”

“Guess you never appreciated the advantages of dying young.” Lucius grimaced. He turned to Han. “Now I finally see what you look like, boy. You favor Alger—you really do.”

“But…but you’re a drunk,” Crow said, looking down at the bottles at Lucius’s feet. “I don’t understand.”

“I always liked my liquor. You know how we used to—”

“No.” Crow shook his head. “No. Not like this. What’s happened to you?”

“Be careful what you wish for,” Lucius muttered. “I wanted you to see the price I paid for endless life. I hoped to stir you to mercy. But maybe this will make it easier for us to talk.…”

His image shifted, changed, became taller, more erect, broader in the shoulders, until Han saw before him a young man, his hair a silken red-brown color, cut in an old-fashioned style. His solemn student’s attire mirrored Crow’s, but his stoles were emblazoned with crossed keys.

But something in his features was familiar—the breadth of the nose, the shape of the chin. It was a much younger, civilized version of the old man Han knew as Lucius.

“Ah,” Crow breathed, his face alight. “That’s the way I remember you.” He gripped Lucius’s shoulders. “I can’t tell you how good it is to see you. There are so many questions I want to ask you.”

The young Lucius fingered his newly luxuriant hair and licked his lips. Han could almost see the courage draining out of him. “You sure you don’t want to just let it be? Will the truth really make a difference after all this time?”

“I think it will,” Crow said. “You’ve been alive a thousand years, and I’ve been dead, and neither of us has been able to move on. I’ve been demonized, and Hana’s been made a saint, and you’re the only one alive today who knows that neither of those stories is true.”