“Eyvind,” she echoed. “A fine name. A name for a leader, a hero. I’ve been saying it wrong all this time. Why didn’t you tell me?” She glanced up from the writing and was surprised to see a strange expression on his face, the ghost of a smile.

“I like the other name,” he said. “It is…it is between you and me, special, not part of those other things. I like to hear you say it.”

Nessa was unable to find words for a reply. She studied the markings again.

“You said mine is a leader’s name,” he said. “It cannot be so. I am no leader. I have had but one chance, and I took it willingly, confident that I would succeed. In a way, I suppose I did, for we fulfilled our mission exactly as our chieftain ordered. But it was…it was a dark thing. Terribly wrong. It was not a battle, but a bloody massacre. I cannot blame the man who sent me there. I was responsible.”

“Tell me.”

“I don’t think I can tell you, not if you want me to stay here. If I tell you this, I must leave. It would be impossible for you to shelter me.” Now his hands were shaking again; with a muffled curse, he thrust them under his armpits, frowning ferociously.

“This is what I meant,” Nessa said quietly. “Some sorts of courage are far more difficult to find. Putting some things into words can be very hard. You must know, by now, that I have guessed the truth about this. I understand, at least partly, what you have done, and I will not lie to you, the thought of it appalls me. I shrink from it. But I do not shrink from you, Eyvi. I’m here now, aren’t I?” If he had not been so tall, she would have put her arm around his shoulders for reassurance. “Give me your hand again, that’s it.” She moved closer, so he could feel her warmth. “Tell me, Eyvi.”