him ached to go, to reassure himself that she was well, and that it was not some
misapprehension between them that had driven her away. Things had changed. Crit
being back, and Tempus-gods knew what was in her mind.
If this visitor makes an end to what is-was-between us-
It’s yours to say-
His to say. His to say, by accepting her command to stay away tonight? or by
defying it?-He suspected one and then the other with equal force; he agonized
over it and called up every nuance of her voice and body and behavior over weeks
and months, trying to know what she had meant, whether it was keeping that
unspoken pact with her inviolate or defying it and risking (he sensed) his life
to pass those wards tonight- that would cancel that doubt he had felt in her. Or
confirm it.
Damn Crit. Damn Tempus’s coming now, late, when he had everything virtually in
hand. Damn their arrival that suddenly undermined everything he had built and
poisoned the air between himself and Ischade, the only (he suddenly conceived of
it as such), the only unselfish passion he had ever owned, the only peace he had
ever conceived of having in the world.
The bay horse picked up its pace again, moved with astonishing quiet over the
cobbles and down the long street where the scars of factional violence still
lingered.
Factions and powers. He waked suddenly, as if he had been numb since Ischade
flung him at Crit and Crit flung him away again. He heard Ischade’s voice
whispering in his brain: The only man-the only one who understands how fragile