Part 4:

Swords and Moonlight

But it became clouded,

when there came a time

that no matter how hard I strived,

I could not bring myself to look unto its surface. Now,

I see within it myself, but

I see myself changed, and I fear

the one that stares back from my reflection.

~ from The Room,

Ruminations on Vampirism (1811),

Wilhelm d. Blanc

“Illian, as it turns out, knew nothing of Cevora’s chosen destination. Strange that when so little information of Alti has made it to our modern day, one piece that remains is the existence of Libertia. Vampires from such a place might be among the only survivors of Alti to persist. How long a vampire can truly live…that is something they have not shared with the agency.”

~ Bek Trent, M.A.S.O

The Sacred City Libertia was all twists and turns, a maze as much as it was a city. No single road ran the length of it, though a few broad streets clearly served as main roads and spiderwebbed off at seemingly random angles to a variety of destinations. Just as in Alti, streams and fountains bubbled at every turn, water sending a shifting array of glimmering reflections across the stooping edifices of crumbling buildings. Those buildings seemed to grow from the roads themselves, spawned of the very same dark, blue-gray stone, pitted and cracked and shattered just as the cobbled streets were. Mosses and grasses grew where mud or clay glistened wetly through the stone, lending to the city an ever-present glow of greenery.

If by season the nature of that greenery would change, then over time, the nature of the city itself had changed as well. That change was written into its very walls. Nearer the arch where the people of the outpost first entered the city, many of the buildings were broken or crumbling, reminding Silver of abandoned and haunted castles whose battlements had been worn away by the constant damp of the city and the passage of time. There was neither glass nor ice nor water in the gaping pits that would have housed windows. Where doors might once have stood, there was now only shattered wood overgrown by plants and fungus to the point of unrecognizability.

Deeper within the city, however, it was a different story; green grew extravagantly from even the most upkept of buildings, while houses were accented by strikingly new and well-oiled pine doorways, windows, and support beams. Even the mortared walls stood watchful rather than defeated, worn by time and water till they were smooth and cold as ice.

Although the summer had

been dry and at times unbearably hot in Alti, particularly when Holtson had them running around the outpost, there was an ever-present damp within the inner city. Water ran eternally in thin, scraggly rivulets down and across the stone of its buildings, dripping from the eaves of the houses and falling in thin and continuous sheets where the stone walls were broken by windows. Summers fell gently in the shaded interior of the forest, burning slowly like the embers of an old hearth fire.

After Olrier welcomed the people of the outpost into the city, the hostile glares of its inhabitants receded, but did not vanish. For the most part, while the eyes of the townspeople followed them, the townspeople themselves did not – several very normal looking children served as the exception. The day Silver and the others arrived, those children gave chase, at a good distance, from street to street. They stopped only when they received a loud scolding from an old housewife that sprung on them from an open doorway. Sometimes thereafter, Silver saw those and other Libertian children, hanging around the streets the people of the outpost had occupied. They often peered at the dragons, eyes wide, before running off for some new game.

Wariness of outsiders abounded in Libertia. It was, nonetheless, tinged with excitement, as if the city itself had been holding its breath for the day that fresh blood would lend new life to its streets. Fresh blood, Silver later thought wryly to herself, might literally have been the problem, though from the sights and smells of Libertia, it seemed that vampires enjoyed normal food as much as any denizen of the outpost. She was left to wonder if at night the city ever came alive with those who would not chance even the overcast and drizzling skies.

If so, neither Silver nor anyone else ever saw them.

Indeed, to say that the city did not bustle with as much or more activity by night than by day would be a lie, but to suggest that the people who stalked its crooked roads beneath the moon were different from those who hailed the sun would have been. Silver knew because, as it turned out, there were no especially large buildings within the city except the crumbling ruins at its gates. With no choice but to split up amongst the available structures of Libertia – which did little to assuage the fears of anyone worried that they were now deep within would-be-enemy territory, surrounded on all sides and under constant watch – the people of the outpost had no choice but to walk a block or more to communicate with each other. That was true even in the dead of night.

Sori summed things up rather bluntly when she said they were all, in effect, a well-trained and well-armed herd of sheep cowering at the very center of a wolf pack’s den. Bek kindly added that the wolves were just as well armed, and much, much stronger.

So it was that Illian’s absence was sorely felt in those first few days after the people of the outpost arrived in Libertia. Olrier seemed to be as near a leader as the vampires had. No one questioned him when he showed all of them around the city, nor when he left them more or less to themselves. He made clear that food would be brought to them unprepared – they could at least have the privilege of preparing their own meals. He also suggested they could request materials as necessary, from textiles, to food, to supplies to repair some of the uninhabited buildings the vampires had chosen to lend to them.

Within hours of their arrival, Cevora scouted out the buildings that were not in immediate need of repair. She picked the one with the largest room to serve as a meetinghouse. The second floor of the building consisted of a small space that might house half a dozen people at most, which Cevora promptly claimed for herself and a handful of people she called out by name. Silver was among them.

Tight quarters were required for the rest of the outpost to receive adequate shelter, but not so tight as to be problematic. Most of their people ended up segregated by role and then by rank, though the space allotted to each of them hardly differed. The captains shared the top floor of an older building not far from the meetinghouse, while the newest recruits bunked directly below them. Just to the south of the meetinghouse was an old stone building with an oven that might not have been used for a hundred years – it would serve as the kitchen, nonetheless. Outhouses were designated across three city streets, along with storage buildings and a functional stable.

Cevora oversaw everything, delegating duties to the five captains, Sara, and Holtson. Within a week, significant progress had been made. There was not one person who did not know where they belonged. Cedar tables had been erected outside the kitchen. Soap had been passed out to the various houses, along with wooden bowls and pitchers. Meal times were decided, and the captains posted patrols in the streets. Sara had designated a place for herself, keeping Cara as busy as ever. The witch and her assistant lost no time in setting to the wounds obtained as the previous occupants of the outpost fled to Libertia.

Having taken command, the princess - alone with Holtson, Sara, and the five captains of the guard - was left to mediate the stream of nervous disputes that broke out among normally well-mannered and even-tempered men and woman. Silver did not envy them the job, even when the would-be riders and their dragons finally relented to the captains’ earnest suggestions that their beasts perch like gargoyles above the streets frequented by the uprooted people of the outpost. For all that it made Silver feel particularly stupid on the occasions where she stood by Seijelar’s side, watching the proceedings below, it seemed to calm their band of soldiers to have such an imposing and powerful presence on their side – the dragons, of course, not her. Though being the rank five who had thrown a vampire into the mud on the day they arrived in Libertia had won her a bit of a reputation. So had her attack on Holtson. And so had her survival of the plague.

Her survival had also earned her an audience with Sara, who was clearly determined that the fact Silver had recovered from the Ruveris Plague meant there was a way for others to do so as well.

It was Bek who hashed the story of Silver’s survival out to the witch. Silver tried to explain once, but her body betrayed her. She could hardly get the words out. There was nothing wrong with her anymore, but that seemed to make no difference. Every time she thought back, her body broke out in a cold sweat, and the breath caught in her lungs. The fear from the moments when she had realized she was dying was still too fresh. The room. The lake. The crow. If anything, she wanted to forget. Not recount. Not describe what she had been through in excruciating detail. Sara did not push her, and for once, neither did Bek.

By the end of the eighth day of their stay, it was clear Cevora was itching to lay down their plans for the future, Illian or no. It was equally clear that many people, not least of all Silver and Bek, had questions they wanted answered.

Thus, nearly before the glow of the sun had faded from the horizon, Silver found herself seated with Bek and Cevora at a broad, flat table in the meetinghouse. They were joined as usual by Sara, Cara, and Holtson, all those who had gone to the castle, and three of the guard captains besides the newly appointed Estir – a tall and powerful brunette called Helrian, a younger, black-haired and bearded man called Agrivis, and a short woman with wispy auburn hair and round features who was known widely as Galbi. She was the same Galbi, in fact, who often manned the kitchens. And, of course, Faei, asleep at Cevora’s back. The wolf had not left her side since their arrival in Libertia.

The wide rosewood table accommodated the lot of them, hinting at the apparently excellent woodcraft of the Libertians. The walls themselves were mortared with the now familiar, blue-gray stone of the city, the window to one side of the room filled with the silvery sheen of falling water. Only an array of well-used, animal-hide rugs saved the ground from being either as cold or as damp as the rest of the building.

Silver reached back, entangling her fingers in the coarse coat of the wolf, who was stretched conveniently behind her, as everyone settled in the room. There were murmurs of conversation already. They quieted quickly as the last of the captains took their seat.

“I’ve called us together,” Cevora said as the shuffle around the table quieted, “to discuss the state of the Juran, and our plans in Libertia. As my most trusted council and the primary leadership among our people, I would first like to address your questions.”

A tense silence descended as Cevora’s sea-green eyes roamed the table, picking at each of them in turn. It was, in the end, Galbi who finally opened the conversation by asking, “So, what’s all this talk about the past and the queen and such, dear? I don’t believe any of us dreamt the vampires were still around, much less hidden away in the Issurak. And your mother…” as if fearing she was saying too much, the woman trailed off. “It’s all very unfortunate business, if you ask me. But you say the queen was coming here the night she died? What on earth for? Why these, these…vampires?”

“I would ask the same,” Ami said softly. She, in particular, had grown unnaturally silent since they entered the vampires’ city.

“As’d I,” Holtson said with a nod, folding his hands across his broad chest. “In all my years at the castle, I ne’er heard like as there bein’ some relationship b’tween the royal house and the vampires. ‘Course, ne’er thought the king’d be workin’ with the dragon that murdered yer mother, either.”

“Vampires and ill news aside, let us not forget that we have yet another unprecedented wonder here. Cevora, you asked us not to speak of the plague,” Estir reminded them in her usual, inarguable tones, “but we all want to know what happened. How did Silver survive, and how did the king’s dragons find us? And how, pray tell, did you suddenly get so strong?” Estir was staring at Silver, dark eyes steely.

“We cannot hide this from the vampires for long, Cevora kuirsrinn, hmmm,” Sara stated flatly. “Seven others have fallen ill. I’m afraid at least two won’t live out the month if things progress as they did for Silver.”

“I agree that this matter is urgent, so let’s address the plague first. Sara, share what you know with us,” Cevora silenced them all, looking to the old witch.

Sara rubbed a strand of chalky hair between her fingers, brown eyes sharp as she glanced at Silver. “I wish I could say more, hmmm. Most of what I know has been shared with the captains already. The Ruveris Plague strikes quickly, causing severe fever, unbearable pain, coma, and death. It does not respond to treatment with magic or with any of the medicines I would recommend for magic exhaustion, nor does it appear to spread like most disease among those kept in close quarters. As for the unusual case of our single survivor, Silver appears to be fitter now than in the weeks since Illian brought her to the outpost. I can conjecture that she fell ill despite her rank due to the effects of magic exhaustion, and never recovered. I’ve seen stranger things. It’s a good warning to the rest of us to be cautious how we use our power in the months to come, hmmm?”

“Are we to believe there was no sign, until the day she collapsed in front of us, that she was ill?” Terald asked.

“She had been seeing you for weeks prior to this—,” Sori began, and Sara raised a hand to explain.

“She had. I don’t need to be making excuses, hmmm, but even after so many years, I make mistakes. We are complicated creatures, mind and body. My arts are inexact. It’s easy enough, as all of you know, to split a man’s skull open. Harder for me to put it back together. Three times, by the way,” Sara raised three gnarled fingers, “three times in the last week alone I’ve put a man back together after you lot ripped him apart, hmmm. I’m no Seer. Till someone comes back to me and Cara with some new problem, there’s no way to know if I’ve patched them up alright, or if there’s a rot deep under the skin, eating them alive.”

Several people glanced at Silver, and she did her best to ignore them. “Hmmm, now,” Sara cleared her throat, and wheezed, “if you or any of your subordinates experience irregularities in their magic, or the inability to control it correctly, they should come to us immediately. With more warning, hmmm, it’s possible we could save at least some of our patients the way Silver was saved. If I had a real healer to consult with, I have some ideas we could put into practice related to Silver’s experiences. We have options now, hmmm, hope where there was none before.”

“You’re suggesting we should work with the healers in Libertia,” Cevora surmised.

“Yes,” Sara said tartly.

“I don’t like it,” Galbi huffed.

“I don’t recall asking how you feel,” the witch bit.

“If it saves even a few o’ our men, seems to me there’s not much to lose bringin’ the vampires in on this,” Holtson growled, “If we’re goin’ to ally with ‘em, better out sooner ‘an later.”

Several people around the table raised objections to what he had said, and others objected to them in turn. The confusion of voices continued for nearly a minute before Agrivis slammed his fist down on the table, the sound amplified by some strange magic.

“Our kuirsrinn wishes to speak,” he declared as the chatter subsided.

“We’ve already determined that we can’t hide the plague from the vampires. Tell me, how exactly was Silver saved, Sara? All I know is that Illian took her to the port city,” Cevora asked, eyeing the witch narrowly. Sara merely glanced in Silver’s direction, eyes creased in thought. Silver did her best to stare at the wood grain in the table, wishing there were not so many eyes on her.

“What exactly did you do, Silver?” Ren asked, leaning forward across the table. “Whatever it was, it forced Illian to play his hand.”

“I discussed at length with Sara,” Bek surprised Silver by explaining in her stead, “From what I witnessed that night and everything Silver has said since, the plague is the result of some external magic that disrupts our natural abilities. She expelled it, using the tenyan, but caused damage within the city as a result. Rather than give either of us up or have the blame to fall on the beasts—” Bek explained, eyeing her sideways.

“An external magic?” Galbi interrupted.

“A curse-like power,” Sara agreed, “distasteful to deal with, even for a witch. It could have been cast by one of our enemies on the mainland, which would explain how much more heavily Atlantis has been affected. They have more enemies than we do.”

“The magnitude of this casting would have been huge,” Ren disagreed, leaning back, “I would suspect someone in Atlantis first. If the casting failed, as I would expect, the backlash would have been tremendous.”

“We can discuss who might have cast it later,” Cevora said, “right now, we only need to a way to deal with it. We are to believe then, Bek, that it was this expulsion of magic that forced Illian to forsake the outpost?”

“Illian had no need to explain himself to me,” Bek said carefully, “but that’s what I believe happened. You can ask Illian more when he arrives.”

Cevora smiled slightly. The smile did not reach her eyes. “I will. Sara, I will go with you to discuss with Olrier. Keep us informed of your progress. Maybe we can find some way to help your patients safely expel this external magic.”

The witch grinned toothily, inclining her head.

“What happened with Holtson, then?” Estir pressed, turning to glare in Silver’s direction. “I’ve seen you in training. You have no skill with the sword. That was not the work of a curse.”

“I wouldn’t say no skill,” Hiyein defended her with a wink, “but it does feel a bit like you’ve been holding back, Silver. When you woke up and made that vampire – Olrier, isn’t it – eat dirt, I couldn’t have been the only one gawping.”

“You weren’t,” Ren agreed from beside him, eyeing Silver as if he had just understood something. Holtson was watching her carefully as well, his grim glare suggesting he saw something in her face he did not like. She swallowed.

“I don’t know,” Silver said after a long moment.

“You don’t know?” Estir looked unconvinced.

“Silver, whatever you think you can’t tell us, you can,” Sori said gently.

Cevora nodded, narrowing both eyes at her. “This isn’t a game, Silver. We need to know what you’re capable of. People will die if we don’t know how to allocate our resources on the battlefield.”

“I don’t know,” Silver repeated, feeling the frustration of shouldering all of their stares and having no answer. He fingers clenched in the wolf’s fur. “Magic moves. It moves everywhere. Can’t you feel it? It’s – it’s maddening. I remember everything, and I can do it again. I’m sure of that. But not with that clarity. I don’t know where it all came from—”

“She was delirious,” Bek said.

“Delirium does not make people better swordsman,” Estir stated calmly, “and it does not make vampires treat you like one of their own.”

“That was only for a moment,” Sori argued.

“Moment’s sometimes all it takes,” Holtson grumbled.

“Watch yourselves,” Sara said, glaring in the trainer’s direction. “Those vampires might save your hairy old ass from the king’s kivgha.”

“Damn,” Hiyein nudged Ren, who ignored him pointedly.

But Silver was looking past them all, staring at the open window.

A crow.

It stared at her, spreading its wings. Cevora noticed the direction of her gaze, and turned slowly. A moment later, the princess looked back, meeting her eyes. The crow was gone. Or more likely…it had never been there.

“Who did you see?” Cevora asked. Everyone stopped their chatter, looking between the two of them. No one spoke. They were all waiting, Silver realized after a moment, for her answer.

“No one.”

Silence fell around the table, a silence in which Cevora watched her speculatively, then folded her hands in front of her so that she could rest her forehead against her clasped knuckles as she spoke.

“This can be discussed in private, later. To get back to matters at hand, when Sara and I consult with the vampires in regards to the plague, we will see if there is not someone among them who could discover the origin of this curse. Now, I’d like to redirect our conversation and answer Galbi’s question…”

After waiting for the murmur of commentary around the table to fade, the princess continued.

“The truth, one that must never leave this room, is that the vampires are strongly associated with the Altian royalty. Throughout history, vampirism has affected the royals more commonly than anyone else. Occasionally a king, sometimes one or more of the princes. As you know, they were not all Altins. It made no difference. It’s safe to say that for most of the history of Alti, vampires have had some hand in the ruling class, even if the king himself was not a vampire. Especially in times of war.”

Cevora paused meaningfully. The hush around the table was made more tangible by the cascade of water that hissed past the window. Cevora resumed after several seconds, raising her head from her knuckles to look at each of their faces in turn.

“Because the secret was so jealously guarded, the vampires among royalty were never treated as anything other than human. Otherwise, word would reach the people...”

“And the MASO,” Bek affirmed. Cevora gave a hardly discernible nod in his direction.

“The MASO, who have long been charged with keeping military power in Alti, the guilds, the heads of the school of kivgha. Any of them could have moved to overthrow their srinn, destabilizing the entire kingdom. We stand at the outskirts of a period of two hundred years of unmarred peace. No war. No civil conflict. No vampires among the Altian royalty. All of it, reduced to myths that no one believed...and then the peace ended.”

“The great war with Atlantis?” Terald asked. There were several whispered confirmations around the table, and again, Cevora’s barely discernible nod.

“When my father was a child, the king of Alti protected us from Atlantis. He was a man until that day, when he nearly died at their hands. Then, he became a vampire.”

“But dear, that’s….” Galbi gasped louder than before.

“It’s not impossible,” Kit said severely, “you’ve seen them here. They walk in the daylight, they eat normal food. How would anyone ever know what he had become?”

“The queen hid my grandfather’s secret,” Cevora said calmly, “My grandmother, a woman not be underestimated. If she were here now, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“That was how the queen knew of this place,” Estir stated, and though she clearly did not think her words to be a question, there were scattered noises of agreement and disagreement throughout the room.

“You know what the cause was,” Bek interjected, watching the princess, “why the king became a vampire.”

“Izathral,” Cevora responded with a sigh, “the king’s sword.”

Izathral – the Sword of Light – a powerful name, Silver thought, for a blade of any kind. And a strange name, for one that turned men to vampires.

“A relic,” Sara clucked her tongue, “it would take more than that to turn a man into a vampire.”

“It’s not just a relic. It is the sword given to us by the dragons to symbolize the Keliarn Agreement. The queen believed the beasts would follow whoever bears it. The tree wolves confirmed that when we arrived here. But I have no idea how my mother learned the sword was in Libertia. This city…until we arrived here, I hardly believed something like it could really exist,” Cevora admitted.

“Why hide it all the way out here?” Agrivis asked. “Why would the king not keep it close at hand? With the Ottomans sweeping their navy across the coasts and Atlantis still at our throat, the guard have been training for war for decades.”

“That I also do not know,” Cevora admitted with a sigh, “it may have been my grandmother’s idea. This,” she pulled the parchment she had shown to Olrier the day they arrived from her clothing, “is not written in my mother’s hand. I didn’t know my grandmother well, but I believe it was hers. It says that the sword was placed in the vampires’ keeping.”

“So, Cevora, you lead us here to find this sword, didn’t you? But doesn’t that mean you’ll…If you try to use it,” Ami looked vaguely uncomfortable, but her blue eyes were level with the princess’s. Silver agreed wholeheartedly. Cevora was indispensable to all of Alti, and she was indispensable as a human.

“I suspect that’s the reason Olrier is reluctant to give it to me. He is a kinder man than he appears.”

“He’ll have you see how the vampires live before letting you choose whether to become one,” Bek surmised. Cevora averted her gaze for a moment, but that was as good as a nod.

“Even without the vampire’s blade, we have the beasts’ promise,” Estir said severely. “The dragons and the mur have confirmed that they will follow you.”

“But think, Estir, if we could also have the vampires on our side,” Ren said, glancing at Cevora. “Isn’t that what you’re thinking, Cevora kuirsrinn.”

“Then there is really no choice but that you wield it,” Hiyein looked uncomfortable.

“Yes,” Cevora said simply. Again, silence fell. It was possible, Silver thought, that no one knew what to say next. Some decision had been reached. That was certain. If not by the rest of them, then by Cevora. The princess had every intention of wielding the sword, Izathral, even if it meant becoming a vampire.

Bek seemed to see that a decision had been made as well. He stood slowly, staring around the table, and nudging Silver to stand beside him. Elorian rumbled.

“It’s late, Cevora,” he explained calmly, “and there’s nothing more Silver or I can contribute to this conversation. I need a quick word with her, and then you should also rest.” The princess seemed startled for a moment, but then she smiled, and nodded wearily.

“The vampires came to us today,” she said slowly, “they have prepared a space for us to continue preparing for the battles to come. Holtson, you’re to begin training them as well, tomorrow. Agrivis, Estir, Helrian, Galbi – send word to everyone, including the members of the guard. And you two,” she fixed Bek with her green eyes, “I’m sure Olrier will find you, if he hasn’t already.”

“I’m sure he will,” Bek agreed.

No one questioned when Bek gestured up the stairs. Not even the wolf, who looked at Silver, but did not follow when they started up the wooden steps. She held the door for Bek when they reached the top of the stairs, and closed it gently behind them. Whatever he had to say, she did not want the others to overhear. Neither, by his look, did he.

“Silver—” he began.

“I know I screwed up and you’ve wanted to talk to me about it for days,” she had interrupted him cleanly and he stopped, blinking and staring at her for a moment. “Seriously, Bek, I know. The outpost is gone because of me. I never wanted Estir to look at me like that. How did it come to this? I…thank you, for everything you did while I was…”

As she spoke, she looked around the room, at her feet, anywhere but at him. She bit her lip determinedly.

“I lost control of my magic. Completely. Before that…I don’t even understand how it all happened. You said someone took some of my memories. What were they? Why do I know…I know, Bek. Things I shouldn’t…” she gulped, at a loss for words, but he was absolutely silent, simply watching her as if there were something he could see in her, or beyond her, if he stared long enough. When he looked down for a moment, she knew that when he looked back up it would be to fix her with those dark, angry bronze eyes, scolding her with a voice as soft and dangerous as she imagined Illian’s could be.

She was wrong.

“You’re apologizing. Now, of all times. After everything you did…” he said.

They had fallen seven hundred years into the past only for her to royally screw everyone. Silver knew that well. And even now, she expected to feel the burning pain coursing in her veins any moment, driving her back to the brink of insanity. She still feared that the next time she used her magic would be her last.

“Do you even realize that we thought you were dying, Silver?” Bek asked. He finally looked at her, and she was so startled by the intensity in his gaze that she took a step back and stared at him, again speechless. There was no anger. No anger in his eyes, or his voice, or in the way that he held himself stiff and still.

“You were dying, Silver,” Bek repeated.

He took both of her shoulders in his hands, and stared at her with his burning bronze eyes, as if staring could make his words hold more weight, or force her to feel them deep in her soul. “Do you...” He paused. She saw what he felt now, in his eyes.

Fear.

It was the very same fear that she had seen in Cevora’s face when she stood over Olrier, the very same fear she had seen in Zien’s eyes when she saved Biarn. Fear of her magic, fear of what she could and could not do. But no, she realized after a moment – this was different. Bek was not afraid of her; he was afraid of what he did not know.

Secrets upon secrets upon secrets. And the more we learn, the more we suffer.

“What are you, Silver? To wake up from near certain death to fight a vampire?” His voice was not loud; in fact, it was so low that it frightened her more. Abruptly, he was leaning close to her again, so close that she felt his breath against the hair on her neck and the brush of his sandy blonde hair against her face. His hands tightened on her shoulders, and then his grip went slack as they slid down her arms to her wrists. He fell silent, and, unsure how to react, she did the same. This time, she was not sure what he was searching for – something in her, or in himself.

Her ears strained to hear what he said next, he was whispering so softly. And when he was done, he let her go and left so quickly she had no time to even react. Alone, she stood in the empty room, turning to stare at the door he had closed behind him. For the first time, something stirred within her; a sense that she and him really were, whether she knew it or not, more than strangers.

“Sometimes…I think I’m fighting the world itself.”

That was what he had whispered. Strange, lonely words. Words she understood, after everything that had happened to them.

“And me?” she asked herself softly, looking at her empty hands like they might hold some sort of answer. “What am I fighting against?”