My broken laugh makes the horses start. Ana rears back as if cut. I slam my teeth together, suppressing it. It surprised even me. “Because, Ana … my brother is dead. My brother. My father’s only heir.”

When she just stares at me, I continue, “I have to think about more than just my own wants.”

Silence hangs between us after I say that. I do not elaborate any further on what it is that I want. That would only pour salt in our open wounds.

Ana shakes her head ruefully. “You’re fooling yourself if you think you can hide all that you are just to be some asshole’s wife.”

“I’m not saying I’m going to marry Sebastian.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, they feel suddenly more possible. Ana’s eyes cut to mine. Her expression is carefully guarded, as if she is afraid to let anything slip through. Like hope. With the next statement, I crush any there might have been. “But I must consider marrying someone.”

“But I don’t understand why!” Her raised voice echoes against the cave’s walls. Tornado huffs in his corner, responding to his mistress’s anguish.

“I have responsibilities, Ana.” My voice is sharper than she deserves, but I am tired. So very tired. “I have people to care for. People like Magdalena. Everyone who lives on and works the Sonza lands. It’s not only my future I have to think about securing.”

She looks away, fiddling with the laces of her shirt. “I didn’t really think about that.”

That much is obvious. But saying so out loud wouldn’t accomplish anything.

“Please, just…” I squeeze my eyes shut, praying for even the slightest drop of grace from the Almighty. “Can we not talk about this? I can only focus on one crisis at a time, and right now, all I can think about is getting the answers we need to find Rosalita. And to get justice for my brother.”

That seems to mollify her. After a tense moment that seems to stretch on infinitely, Ana nods. “Fine. Truce.”

She’s quiet as she unearths her bedroll. I am quieter still as I retrieve my own bedroll. It was protected from the worst of the rain by the saddlebags but it’s still a bit damp around the edges. But it’s still better than the alternative, which is cold, unforgiving stone.

The silence between us is as uncomfortable as an iron spike through the eye. From the corner of my eye, I see her plop down, curling into a ball on her side with her back to me. With a soft sigh, I lie down on my own bedroll, staring up at the stone ceiling and its strange, wild paintings, praying for sleep to come. If I’m unconscious, at least I won’t be able to experience this horrible, awkward silence.

Ana