Downshadow

EPILOGUE

Myrin wasn't there when Kalen returned.

He hadn't really expected her to be, though he had hoped.

Too much had passed between them, and she had seen the crudest and worst in him, as he had seen it in her. And yet, he had held out hope that mayhap, just mayhap…

A parchment letter-wrapped around Talanna's ring-was waiting on the empty, scarred table. That table reminded him of Cellica. How many times had he lain there while his adopted sister stitched his wounds? How many times had they sat together to mend Shadowbane s armor?

But it was Myrin's table, too, where he had first seen her, eating stew. Everything in the tallhouse had her on it-her scent, her smile, her memory.

The letter was brief. There were gaps, where many things went unsaid. It sounded of her and smelled of her, that sweet perfume of her bare skin. She'd crossed things out, and the ink had run in places. The parchment was dry, but he could see water stains. Tears, he realized.

As he read, all he felt was persistent cold,

Kalen, I'm sorry.

I keep thinking [smudge) this wasn't supposed to happen like this. Mayhap I would wait for you, to be yours and to live out the rest of our story with you. Gods know I wanted [smudge]

But life doesn't work like that. I need to find my own way-/ can't have you make my choices for me. And until you see that [smudge] Here's your ring back, by the way.

Farewell.

I hope you find what you're looking for-and that I do too. -M

Kalen sat a long time, looking down at the letter in his hand. He let the aches and sharp reminders of the past days settle. He felt them more keenly, since Myrin had touched him-had kissed him-though he didn't know why.

A tremor of sadness passed through him. It might have been a sob, if he'd not been weighed down by so many years-so many scars earned in service to the memory of a long-dead god-that he could not weep. So much pain, inflicted and suffered. When would it be enough?

He realized, almost immediately, that it didn't matter.

She was asking him to make a choice that went against everything he was, or had ever been. He couldn't make that choice, and she knew it. That was why she had left.

If he followed her now-if he rose and limped out the door and tracked her down-would it be to set things right, or would it be for her? What would he say to her?

He moved to crumple the note and toss it in the bin, but he saw more words scrawled on the back. He smoothed the parchment with shaking hands.

I wasn't goingto say this. I scratched it out on the front, but you deserve to know.

I did something to you, Kalen-/ can't [smudge] I can't feel my hand well, as I write this.

When I kissed you, I took some of your sickness from you. I absorbed it. I didn't do it on purpose, it just happened, [smudge] I think you're going to live. Just a bit longer. Some of my life for some of yours. Call it [smudge] a fair exchange, for bringing me to life at all.

You don't owe me.

Kalen blinked. He stared at the letter for several pounding heartbeats.

He was out the window before the letter fluttered to the floor.