Chapter 18: Handle It, Marit

I told him in the grey hour before dawn, with the bond humming between us.

I had planned to say it carefully.

I said it in order, plainly.

I gave him the night at the East Gate from start to finish, and I left out nothing he had done.

Anders lay on his back and listened without moving.

I felt him through the bond the whole time, and I felt exactly when he understood he was in it.

"I called you on the link," I said. "I was holding the gate alone. I asked for you."

"What did I say?"

I had thought about this moment for months.

I had imagined shouting it, and I had imagined being cold.

I found that I only felt tired.

"You said, 'Handle it, Marit. Linnea can't breathe.'"

He made a sound I will not forget.

It was low and wordless, and it came from the bottom of him.

"And then?" he said.

"And then I handled it."

He turned his face into the pillow.

His shoulders shook, once, hard.

"That man," he said into the cloth. "He was me."

"He was you."

"I wouldn't have..."

"You did," I said. "For twenty years. Not that night only. Every night you chose a cough over me."

I said it without heat.

I wanted him to hear that the heat was gone, and that what was left was worse.

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