She settled her hands in her lap as an old memory rose.

Glancing at her, he said, “You do know. You have an idea, anyway.”

She pressed a hand to her chest, feeling the viper stir. Years ago, she had bundled up her memories of her childhood and packed them neatly away into a chest; not a real chest, of course, but one that the viper wrapped around as a seal. It had been the best way forward at the time. Ao had never been able to let go of the past. Memory and fear had nipped at Ao’s heels all her life, had given her nightmares, abrupt gusts of stormy sobbing, stretches of weary calm; had given her love for a child who Ao adored and yet in whom she also saw the man who had assaulted her repeatedly. How did a person live with so many contradictions?

“I do know,” she admitted. “I know exactly when it happened.”

How strange it was to feel a sense of relief at speaking those simple words. To know he wanted to know. That he cared. That he saw her not as the stubbornly fearless sister who protected, the capable aunt who guarded, the intelligent young woman who reminded a grief-stricken old man of his lost daughter, the friendly deputy courier who asked the humblest people how they were and listened to their answers while saying so little about herself. He saw her. He saw El.

His silence was invitation. She had guarded herself for so long. It was astonishing to realize the warm feeling in her heart was the daring presumption of hope. She could tell him.

She could tell him, and he would honor her truth.

“Your Highness!” The shout came from behind them.

62 TOO MANY BLANK SPOTS

The haunt gave a soft groan, but it was too late. The two riders cantered up, having caught them at last.

In the countryside, grassy meadows were interspersed with isolated copses, the trees clustered about ponds or along streams. No hallow-wood grew here. Instead, the open ground was dotted with flocks of sheep. Shepherds shaded their eyes to stare at the distant road and the passing carriages and riders.

“So many sheep!” Ipis exclaimed with a big, broad grin.

Xilsi looked annoyed. For the first time, she spoke tartly, exactly like a woman who has grown up so assured of her status in the world that she might even think to scold a prince. “Your Highness, if we are to guard you, it means we must ride alongside and ahead of you to make sure you are not turned into a pincushion by bandits hiding behind bushes or setting an ambush in that copse up ahead.”

A sulky grimace flashed across his face. Was this a glimpse of the self-centered personality he claimed to have had before he had become one of the Shorn, stuffed away by a spell to await his chance to walk again in the world?