Below, on the true ground, there was the ancient city, of course, but from Selden's description, it was little more than a lump in the swampland. The little bit of solid ground around it was devoted to the workshops for salvage and exploration of the city. No one lived there. When she had asked Selden why, he had shrugged. “You go crazy if you spend too much time in the city.” Then he had cocked his head and added, “Wilee says that Reyn might be crazy already. Before he started liking you, he spent more time down there than anyone else ever had. He nearly got the ghost disease.” He had glanced about. “That's what killed his father, you know,” he'd added in a hoarse whisper.

“What's the ghost disease?” she had asked him, intrigued in spite of herself.

“I don't know. Not exactly. You drown in memories. That's what Wilee said. What's that mean?”

“I don't know.” His newly discovered ability to ask questions was almost worse than his former long silences had been.

She stretched where she lay on the divan, then curled back into her coverlet. The ghost disease. Drowning in memories. She shook her head and closed her eyes.

Another scratch came at the door. She did not reply. She kept still and made her breathing deep and slow. She heard the door rasp open. Someone came into her room. Someone came close to the bed and looked down on her. The person just stood over her, watching her feign sleep. Malta kept her pretense and waited for the intruder to leave.

Instead, a gloved hand touched her face.

Her eyes flew open. A veiled man stood by her. He was dressed completely in dull black.

“Who are you? What do you want?” She shrank back from his touch, clutching the coverlet.

“It's me. Reyn. I had to see you.” He dared to sit down on the divan's edge.

She drew her feet up to avoid any contact with him. “You know I don't want to see you.”

“I know that,” he admitted reluctantly. “But we don't always get what we want, do we?”

“You seem to,” she responded bitterly.

He stood up with a sigh. “I have told you. And I have written it to you, in all the letters you've returned to me. I spoke in desperation that day. I would have said anything to get you to go with me. Nevertheless, I do not intend to enforce the liveship contract between our families. I will not take you as payment for a debt, Malta Haven. I would not have you against your will.”

“Yet here I am,” she pointed out tartly.

“Alive,” he added.

“Small thanks to the men you sent after the Satrap,” she pointed out acidly. “They left me to die.”

“I didn't know you'd be in the coach.” His voice was stiff as he offered the excuse.

“If you had trusted me enough to tell me the truth at the ball, I wouldn't have been. Nor my mother, grandmother or brother. Your distrust of me nearly killed us all. It did kill Davad Restart, who was guilty of no more than being greedy and stupid. If I had died, you would have been the one guilty of my death. Perhaps you saved my life, but it was only after you had nearly taken it from me. Because you didn't trust me.” These were the words she had longed to fling at him since she had pieced that last evening together. This was the knowledge that had turned her soul to stone. She had rehearsed the words so often, yet never truly known how deep her hurt was until she uttered them aloud. She could scarcely get them past the lump in her throat. He was silent, standing over her still. She watched the impassive drapery across his face and wondered if he felt anything at all.

She heard him catch his breath. Silence. Again the ragged intake of air. Slowly he sank down to his knees. She watched without comprehension as he knelt on the floor by her bed. His voice was so choked she could scarcely understand him. The words flooded out of him. “I know that it's my fault. I knew it through all the nights when you lay here, unstirring. It ate at me like river water cuts into a dying tree. I nearly killed you. The thought of you, lying there, bleeding and alone ... I'd give anything to undo it. I was stupid and I was wrong. I have no right to ask it, but I beg it of you. Please forgive me. Please.” His voice broke on an audible sob. His hands came up to clench into fists against his veil.

Both her hands flew up to cover her mouth. In shock, she watched his shoulders shake. He was weeping. She spoke her astonished thought aloud. “I never heard a man say such words. I didn't think one could.” In one shattering instant, her basic concept of men was re-ordered. She didn't have to hammer Reyn with words or break him with unflinching accusations. He could admit he was wrong. Not like my father, the traitor thought whispered. She refused to follow it.