Eragos shoved the door open with more anger than he felt. No, not more, less. He was a fool. Twice a fool tonight, but that wasn't even the worst part of his foolishness. Talon had him twisted into knots without even trying. He should have taken Eithne in his arms and tried to give her something. Anything. A word, a kindness, so that when all of this was over she would remember him as more than a hateful wraith. He should have told the Lady Vera how he felt. It wasn't just Talon. He was a fool for loving two women and not knowing how to show that love, not knowing how to honor the faith they placed in him. And now that it was over he would go back and set it all right. Give in, do whatever they wanted. Only Talon couldn't be allowed to live. Gola shouldn't have been allowed to live; he was already paying for that mistake. Too many mistakes to count in the last month. He should have known that it was never as simple as being what some would call a right man. There were some things, upon reflection, that he didn't want to know or do. Killing was one of those, but there was no one else. He could see it like a grim vision of the future. The courts collapsed, or useless, and the men of Beit-Orane doing whatever they pleased to the country which had all of his loyalty.

( Vargis eyed him from beside the fireplace. )

"No matter what happens, say nothing," Ithacles told him firmly.

"No matter what."

"I mean it."

"I know you do."

"And you're just going to do what I say?"

"Sure, why not?"

"You're a liar."

"True."

Skandra gripped Ithacles' sword in his hand, and would have admired the craftsmanship of the basket hilt, if he could see a damned thing in front of him. This staircase must be the one installed for access to the very bowels of hell. Walking without making a noise was easy. All you had to do was hold in your coughs. Behind him someone else was walking. Quiet. Too quiet for him to remember the name of the person. In the darkness you couldn't rely on anything like light to give you aid. Light would have died here. More darkness was welcome. He could make out the edges of stairs well enough. Could hear the clanking of an armed guard's gauntlets. After being so close to death he was surprised that he felt this good. Then he remembered. Laying off the tonic made him feel worse. Physically he was better. He was seeing the ghosts that followed him again. He was seeing them and hearing them and -

"You want to raise an empire, but what would you build it on?" Gershul's voice asked him from the shadows.

"What were you gonna build yours on?" Skandra laughed low. "If you take a thousand people and move to an island, it doesn't count as raising an empire. That's taking your ball and going home."

"I shouldn't expect you to understand."

"So why do you keep talking?"

( It was Eiron's prison. )

When Vera was young teenager and still under Rider Agrippa's mentorship, she traveled in groups of three to six Riders across the country. Often times they took camp along the road or just slept under the stars. When the weather was too harsh, a farmer would allow Riders to share his or her home. All of them, in white uniforms and masks and muddy boots, crammed into a small kitchen that had the hearth fired up to the max. The Riders sat there until they fell asleep at that table or were told to keep quiet by the kind farmer. Even as skinny as she'd been, Vera sometimes had to squeeze in between two older Riders with her knees jammed against the table and her back rigidly straight against a chair.

Laughter, crude jokes, boastful accounts of thrashing criminals, sad stories about Riders lost and funny ones of lords with their pants caught down. There was always a lot to take in. It took months for Vera to warm up to such conversations. The smile she learned was gradual, but she always listened. She'd stay awake, sometimes until everyone else fell to sleep, just listening. Vera had never known the sounds of a home. The Red House weeded out the noise of living with its emphasis on discipline and control. There had been too much elegant pain in her childhood to incite the soft feelings she had, sitting with older Riders in those tiny homes. Those nights were part of the reason Vera had come to love the White Riders. She never felt more at home than at one of those uncomfortable tables.

( The cottages here reminded her of those small farmhouses... )