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Vertigern drew up alongside them in a flurry of jingling tack and the heaving breath of his horse.Theyve sod all to offer. A lot of pleas to ride on and leave them be. They think theyre cursed, said theres nothing left to take. They can’t offer troops and can barely feed themselves. Which meant Vertigern had been raiding the lands hereabouts, despite his assurances to the contrary, stoking the fires of this war. She let it pass. What was the point now? Gilliad had fallen further than she thought imaginable. Part of her wanted to weep and howl. The rest wanted to bury a knife in his heart. Rowan nods, understandingly, adding Rosies husband to his mental list of people in dire need of a punch in the face. Rowan feels his mood lift with every step he takes away from the cottage. Theres a mizzling rain slapping at his face and the low cloud makes it seem that hes looking at the world through a cigarette paper, but hes never prescribed to the notion that beauty only belongs to warm days. Before they clinked glasses for a final time, Rowan had mentioned to Pickle that Violet had accepted hisfriend request, and that he was going to speak to her creative writing group the following evening. Pickle had asked that he pass on his regards and to tentatively enquire whether she would be willing to pick up some cargo from a friend of a friend if her pilgrimage happened to take her near Kandahar. Rowan, feeling warm and convivial, had prodded the screen of the mobile and painfully typed out a jaunty hello. He worked at the school and yet nobody had been to check on him? frowns Rowan. Thats a bit …, Hed sealed it shut but I had to! she wails. How could I not look? I had to know what I was sticking in the coffin with him that was so important. It was a good question, better than good. One he should have asked himself. One he should have asked the moment it happened. Because she was right.I dont know. The thing in the bare brick room: the shape on the wall. Theyve unsettled him. He feels somehow unclean, as if his skin were rimed with some greasy lotion: big oily smears of bacon-fat streaking the vulnerable flesh beneath his drenched clothes. But it had to be his decision. His alone. Her eyes were dark brown. Jerens eyes. Im sorry, Ylandra, he murmured. I truly am sorry. And you found them all except Salyer? I never did, says Rowan, surprised at the accusation. Oh gods, Shan, please... The gasp ripped its way from her and he needed no more encouragement..