“I fear I will die here, Nevare. I will tell you true, what I dare not say to Spink. I fear I will die by my own hand!” She took a shuddering breath. If I’d had a heart of my own, it would have stood still with horror. She lifted a slow hand to pat her baby’s back. Little Solina’s wails were subsiding, more from weariness than because she was comforted. “She is what holds me here,” Epiny said in a soft whisper. “I no longer live for any joy I find in life, or for love of my husband. I live only because I know if I killed myself, her misery would be even deeper than it is. Poor little bird. I can tell when the sorrow and discouragement wash through her. Sometimes I find her in her crib, staring at the wall not even crying. That isn’t natural for a baby, Nevare. I wonder that she can feel such things and still live. She does not eat well or sleep soundly. No wonder so many babies born at Gettys die before their first year is past. They have no will to live.” Her voice faded away. What followed was a shamed whisper. “Last night I asked Spink to desert. I told him that as soon as the roads were less muddy, we could all run away. Anywhere would do. There could not be a worse place to live; there could not be a worse life for us than this one.”

“What did he say?” The words dragged out of me unwillingly. I was stunned by her words. More shocking still was my tiny hope that Spink would do as she had suggested.

“Nothing,” she said sorrowfully. “Nothing at all. He had just come home for the evening meal. Not that there was enough food to call it a meal. He did not even eat his share of it. He just put his coat on and went out again. I think he went to join the work crews. They went out for the first time yesterday. They no longer care if they are hungry or cold. The prisoners were rousted to go out, but they did not need to be forced. Half our soldiers marched out there with them. I don’t know what is going on, Nevare. But Spink didn’t come home last night, and I don’t know if he will ever come back. Neither Amzil nor I dared to go out to look for him. Gettys has become a dangerous place for a woman or a child alone on the streets. All is darkness here, even in brightest daylight. I believe that I will die here, one way or another. I have come to understand Amzil’s fear; the worst would be to lie dying and know that your baby was alive and helpless. That would be the worst.”

A wordless horror rose in me. “Epiny. Do not do anything desperate. Please. Just—just live on. A day at a time, a night at a time. Things will get better.”

I had no basis for telling her that things would get better. I feared, as she did, that things could only get worse for her and for everyone at Gettys. Still, I lied bravely. “The supply wagons always start to run again in spring. They are probably already on their way. Hold out a little while longer. Have faith in Spink and believe in yourself. You are brave and strong, the bravest and strongest woman I’ve ever met. Don’t give up now.”

Her thought was strained as if she forced herself to form it. “I’ve told you, Nevare. I cannot give up. Not while Solina lives and needs me.”

“And she will live. She will. And so will you.” I hesitated and then plunged on. “As soon as the roads dry out, Epiny, as soon as they are passable, you must take your horse and cart and go back to Old Thares. If you tell Spink what you’ve told me, he’ll understand. Leave Gettys. Go to your father. Take refuge there until the regiment is moved to a better assignment.”

“Flee like the coward I am,” she said in a low voice. “Go back to live at ease on my father’s wealth, listening to my mother tell me what a fool I was to marry a new noble’s son. Live with her denigrating Solina. No, Nevare. Dying would be easier than that. But I shall do neither. I pledged my life to Spink when we wed, and here I shall stay, and do the best I can.”

“But you urged him to flee.”

“And that was wrong. And if—when he comes back, I will tell him I know it was wrong, and beg his pardon. No. I will stay here with him, come what may.” She sighed heavily.

The babe on her breast was finally asleep, but she scarcely dared move for fear of awakening her again. Her breathing deepened and our connection became less tenuous. Instead of merely feeling the sensations she felt, the rocking chair, her aching back, the warmth of the small fire, her hunger, and the weight of the baby against her, I found myself holding both her hands and looking at her. The aspect that she presented to me was very young and plain; she saw herself, I suspected, as childish and powerless to change her situation. Her lips were chapped and her hair fuzzing out of her braids. I gripped her hands firmly and tried to put my heart in my words. “Epiny, you are brave and strong. When you share that with Spink, who is brave and strong himself, you anchor each other. Don’t give up. You are right. I was wrong to tell you to flee to your father. Whatever becomes of you, you must face it together.”