“Don’t I?” Rhodry went on. “I’ve fetched the dragon like Jill told me—” He remembered suddenly that Jill was long dead. “Or, no, wait, that all happened years ago.”

“Over forty years ago, truly,” Dallandra said. “Rhodry, do you recognize me?”

“Of course I do! Ye gods, Dalla, I had the strangest dreams last night . . .” He let his voice trail away. “Not dreams.”

“No. Not dreams at all.” She stood by the edge of the bed. “You’ve been ensorcelled for a very long time. It’s going to take you months to get everything clear in your mind. You’ve got Angmar and your daughters to help you. Do you remember meeting your daughters?”

“Yes, and I never forgot Angmar.”

“I know, and that’s what saved you.”

“So it did. Where is she?”

“Just outside the door, waiting to come in.” Dallandra turned away and started toward the door in question.

“Wait!” Rhodry said. “There’s one thing I have to ask you first. Cerr Cawnen. Is it true, that the town’s been destroyed?”

“It is, and the Horsekin army with it. Don’t you remember?”

“I was hoping it was a dream, a nightmare more like.”

“What? Why?”

“There were slaves there, innocent souls. I saw them so I know. What choice did they have? Why didn’t I see that before? Why couldn’t I remember my shame over Slaith? Why couldn’t I see that—”

“Hush!” Dalla laid her hand over his mouth. “Because you weren’t a man at that moment, Rhodry. Because you were on your way to becoming somewhat cold and cruel. Soon you wouldn’t have been a man at all.” She took her hand away. “We brought you back just in time, before you became a dragon in your soul.”

“So you did.”

At that moment, Rhodry couldn’t bear to look at her. He covered his face with his hands as if he could physically block out the memory of the earth’s blood boiling up and the screams of men dying in agony. He heard Dallandra moving away, heard the door open and the murmur of Angmar’s voice. The door shut again. He lowered his hands, thinking he was alone, but Angmar stood quietly, leaning against the closed door and holding a small cloth-wrapped bundle in both hands.

“Be it that you want me to leave?” she said.

“Never,” he said. “If you’ll forgive me for the things I’ve done.”

“I care not, Rori.” She walked over, laid the bundle down beside him then perched on the edge of the bed. “Whatever it be that makes your heart feel shamed, it’s naught to me now.”

“Truly?” He held out his hand.

“Truly.” She caught it in both of hers.

“Then I never want you to leave again, and even less do I want to leave you.”