The pounding of Vera's heart felt like it was in the very center of her chest instead of in the left corner; thudding hard until her stomach turned. Emotion could make someone sick, couldn't it? Anger never mixed well with grief. Yet there it was. It sat in her body like bad food.
Vera told Eragos of her grief, confessed what had pained her her entire existence. She told him what she believed and why the High Lord had been important to her. She had placed his hand on that mark and he...
He was like a stone.
Did he not care at all? Or did Eragos think that she was trying to convince him of something? There was no fight in her now for lawful justice or a trial. Twenty years saw the end of her father's regime coming by sword, rather than before a judge. Twenty years it took to fail her country's concept of law. Of sovereignty.
No judge would preside over a trial of her father's crimes. No one wanted to die.
If Vera laughed, it would be hysterical and she might double over and vomit.
Vera tried to understand, but she was tired. She could not tell what Eragos thought because he did not say it. As much as men feared she read minds, she did not.
Vera was unafraid to search his eyes, but his eyes revealed nothing. Her own eyes burned.
She pushed her sleeve back over her wrist.
"You will never let me in there, will you? That place you go to when you let the moments pass in silence. Have I wronged you so, that the world will go dark before you are honest with me?"