Up and down, in and out, Samir ruthlessly guided the vision so that Varajas and Ruan had to watch, had to feel, had to relive every moment as he had. Four years, he hissed. Four years I was trapped like this.

At the time, it had felt like an eternity.

Varajas was silent. Ruan struggled for words. Samir could hear the shape of his apology, his penitence building. Samir wanted none of it. You could have stopped it, and you didn’t. Nothing he could say now would change that.

Samir was angry—so angry. It burned like poison inside him. Angry at Sidaine all over again. Angry at Girald. Angry at Varajas and Ruan, at the church that had turned its back on this abuse.

Deeper still, beneath all the easy targets, he was angry at himself. He’d chosen to go to Sidaine, after all. And whose fault was it really that it had taken him four years to break free of her?

How? Varajas asked softly. How did you get out?

Magic, was the simple answer. But words couldn’t answer this question, couldn’t make them understand.

He had to show them.