As Merc faces me, he does not duck his eyes. He knows exactly what I’ve seen. Maybe he planned this exhibition of something he’s undoubtedly kept hidden in ways that did not get my attention. I wonder if he’s aware of what answers I have just received.
I think he is, and it’s why he’s had to come clean.
When he starts walking forward, his body is revealed in all its power and raw beauty—without any wound at all on his chest. The bandage that was there when we made love last night, the wound that I assumed was beneath it, are gone as if they had never been. My mind instantly fractures at this, splitting into a denial of what I’m seeing and a terror at all that it reveals.
I back away from him—and angle the retreat so that I get to his weapons. I grab the first thing I find that isn’t his broadsword because I can’t wield it with any reliability—
A dirk. I have his dirk in both my hands and I stick it straight out in front of me.
“Stop,” I command. “Or I will—”
“I’m just getting dressed.”
His voice is flat, and as I continue to back away, he does indeed merely go over to the pile of clothes. As he pulls on his britches, he’s efficient about their fastening, and after that, he’s the one retreating from his weapons and our horses: He goes over and stands in the footsteps that he made as he walked into the water.
“What are you,” I say in a cracked voice. Even though I know. So I answer myself: “You were sent to kill me. I’m your target.”
In devastating succession, I recast everything, all the way back to when this started. “It was you… who killed the cows outside our wall. You fed onthem as you cased my village, knowing I was there, planning your attack. And that night I sensed something coming after me as I went along the lane… it was you.”
He doesn’t deny any of it. Because he can’t.
“When we were at the Outpost.” I cover my face with my hands, in an attempt to block the thoughts, the conclusions, that are as inescapable as fate. “What they found the morning after you left… the dead sheeplings by the body of the cook? That was you, too, the whole of it. You killed the man and then made it look like it was all done by a demon… except that wasn’t a staging.” My voice catches in horror. “That’s what actually happened… oh, fates, what are you…”
I bend over and retch, my eyes flooding with tears. And then I straighten. “Who sent you.” Even though it’s obvious, I want to hear him say it. “What sent you!”
There is a long pause. “The Dark King. Your father. And not to kill you, but to bring you home to him.”
The ringing in my ears reminds me of when I’ve ridden Lavante and he’s been at a gallop, and I’ve turned my head to look for Merc, and the wind was so loud.
“You are a demon,” I hear myself say.
His voice grows bitter. “Not by choice—”
Abruptly, I remember something else. “Oh, crescent moon, you took my body—”
My stomach revolts again and I jack over to vomit properly. As I haven’t eaten all day, I throw up bile and some of the water I drank in a stream, an hour ago. The world spins and jerks and I put out a hand to steady myself. Except there’s nothing to grab on to but air, no trunk to catch my balance, no branch… no strong arm that will keep me upright.
Merc doesn’t come to help me now.
What a wise man—
Demon, I mean.
Yet even as my body struggles, my mind remains painfully sharp. “Oh, fates… there was no horse. You didn’t have a horse to stable when you walked into the Gauntlet because you didn’t need one. You came out… of the Fulcrum.”
I try to stand up fully, but the dry heaving won’t relent. My throat is on fire, and I struggle to breathe through the spasms of my entire body.
When there’s finally a pause, I look over at him and attempt to focus my straining, watery eyes. “And that’s why I can meet your stare. You’re alreadydead.”
As with the symbols, I had everything all wrong. The blindness to his mortal destiny was not that I was willing to die for him. It’s that his death has already occurred…
“And all of the things… about me.” I shook my head. “What I can see about death. The compass. The skills I possessed that I didn’t know I had—you were never really surprised, you never asked any questions… because you already knew, didn’t you. You probably know more than I do about who I am—”
“Listen to me now, Sorrel.” He starts to talk quickly, urgently. “However this all started, you need to know that nothing has changed about how I’ve come to feel for you. I want to protect you, and keep you safe from him—”
“You’ve lied to me this whole time, about everything! This was all a performance—” I curse and want to slap myself. “You faked crying at that field of dead crops, so I’d be fooled—”
“I didnosuch thing—”
