He laughed—or perhaps it was a sob—astounded at her forceful defense of her lover, as if he were the one who had suffered injury and had to be protected from more harm.

“My son,” he said, gathering himself together and speaking more calmly. “You’ll let me see him?”

“If you can find the time,” she said. “If this is what it takes for you to notice him, I should have made this decision a long time ago.”

He looked down helplessly. Once or twice he opened his mouth as if hoping words would emerge that could change everything miraculously, but each time he closed his mouth and shook his head as a fresh look of pain and disbelief seared through his clouded gaze.

“I hate this,” Miranda whispered.

The Trickster glanced at her, his expression curious, not kind. “Does this help?”

The room shifted. The group of witnesses changed from eavesdroppers at a window to a small front-row audience in a theater. Miranda inhaled sharply and gripped the arms of her seat, tears spilling from her eyes.

“There,” said the Trickster, looking at the figures on the stage, looking away from her face. “Suspend your belief. They are only players, and the action is in the past. It’s the future that concerns us now.”

“Don’t be so hard on her,” said Chance softly. “She does this every day, you know. Perhaps not as directly as this, but enough to have to distance herself or go mad. You’ve been human for long enough to know that.”

A small smile quirked the Trickster’s lips. “Of course I know the effects. Haven’t you noticed a significant increase in my own personal store of eccentricity? I think you had the right idea, going through so many years of your life in self-imposed, blissful ignorance.”

“Shhh,” said Miranda, still weeping but still intent on the drama before them.

“I’ll leave,” said Niko suddenly. “I’ll take a post on a ship. It’s hard work, but it’s a lot of money in a short time. We’ll take some time apart and discuss this when I get back.”

“Nothing will change,” Marinel began wearily.

He rushed on. “You should stay here till I get back. Don’t upset Lukas’s life. Not yet. At the very least, it will give us a chance to do things properly, calmly. Without haste. Without regret.” His voice was strengthening. He spoke as if he knew this was the one tactic that could work: when prevention fails, delay.

She shrugged, but she did not say no. His breathing relaxed and quieted at this small scrap of hope. She got up and left the room, but he stayed at the table, breathing slowly and with increasing deliberation. Only the look of naked shock that remained in his eyes spoke of the blow to his soul.