"Do not divide the janquer," Aya's warning was forceful. "If you love the nation, do not make them chose between us."
"You can not imagine my love."
Aya took a step forward but Manerra stepped back.
"Explain," Aya demanded.
Manerra lost his nerve.
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Vantrann's hands might be bloodless, but the strings he'd cast had snared misguided birds. Foreknowledge could be debated, but that called for an honesty she believed Vantrann lacked.
She slid bare feet over the edge of the bed, crossed the room, and reached for the folded tribal robe Alva had placed on a chair. Dressing, a tremor shook her--from a cold that entered through more than the floor.
She had taught Vantrann. Whatever his crimes, they were no less her own.
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He had gained his knees when she reached him. She dropped to his side, her gasping breaths joining his as she threw an arm around his shoulders . . . like hugging a rock, his muscles were so tense. "Kayarra!" she shouted, needing him to recognize her. "Kayarra."
"Man in fire," he cried, twisted, and almost escaped her hold.
She moved then, afraid of where his mind dwelt, not strong enough to handle his reaction if he confused hallucination and reality.
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