"That reminds me, Mhera."

"Hmm?"

After another day filled with endless questions, decisions, and problems—not least among them the problem of his feelings toward his wife—Matei had retired to the emperor's private drawing room to share an evening hour with Mhera. They had talked for a while about matters of importance and had gone over some correspondence together, and the stack of letters setting on the tea table had reminded Matei of the folder of visions he had uncovered so many weeks before.

When Matei looked at his wife, he was startled by the way the warm glow of the fire crackling in the hearth lit her features with hues of peach and gold, lending color to her face, which was normally so pale. The dark circles beneath her eyes, token of the sleepless nights and endless fatigue that seemed now to be their lot, were softened by the low light, and the curve of her lips was rosy.

She was lovely.

Giving him a questioning lock, Mhera raised her eyebrows in expectation. "What, Matei?"

"I, ah—" he said, closing his eyes with a laugh. "I'm sorry. I lost my train of thought."

"I think I'll take that, then," Mhera said, reaching for his cup of wine. She smiled at him as she held the crystal goblet up to the light. "Come, now, you haven't had that much, have you?"

"After this day, I think I would have been justified in sneaking a few glasses—but no."

Mhera sipped the wine, tilting her head. "You were saying something. I reminded you...?"

"Oh, yes." Matei rose to his feet and crossed the room toward Emperor Korvan's writing desk. His writing desk now, he thought. He had to continuously remind himself that the palace was theirs, the things in it were theirs. Around every corner, shadows of the Corpsemaker lurked, threatening to throw Matei and Mhera into shadow. They could not let him.

It was the work of just a moment to undo the magicked lock. He reached in and pulled out one of the leather folders, opened it just enough to ensure that it was the one he wanted, and then closed the drawer.

"What's that?"

Matei settled back into his seat, the folder resting on his knee, and looked at the unembellished cover reflectively. "I found this in Korvan's desk. I think it might be...useful. But I wanted to ask you about it first."

"All right. I can't say I know much about his papers, though, Matei. May I see it?"

Looking up to meet her gaze, Matei said, "I think you know quite a bit about these ones."

Mhera smiled and narrowed her eyes, clearly trying to work out what he meant. "I never..." And then, her colorless eyes, which had taken on all the brilliant points of light thrown off from the snapping hearth, went wide, and the expression of amused skepticism slipped from her features at once.

"You know what it is," said Matei, reading the recognition in her expression.

She looked down at the folder and set the wine glass aside. "They are my visions."

Matei nodded. He was about to explain his line of reasoning—how he thought there might be a wealth of information in those visions for them to pore through together, how they might uncover some wisdom that would help them with some of the challenges facing them—but to his surprise, Mhera's eyes filled with tears.

Alarmed, he asked, "Mhera, are you all right?"

"I'm sorry, Matei. I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Confused now, Matei set the folder of journal entries on the arm of his chair and reached for Mhera's hand. "Didn't know—?"

"You don't believe me, you can't—and I understand that you can't—but I had no way of knowing. And besides that, I thought I was doing what was right. You were dead, and they were responsible."

"Mhera, I—"

"I kept it from you, and I'm ashamed, but I couldn't bear to tell you the truth of it. I'll take the shame of it to my grave. Please forgive me."

Matei stopped trying to interrupt her and took a moment to gather himself, trying to divine what on Arc she could mean. She pulled her hand from his and covered her face, lowering her head and beginning to cry—deep, wrenching sobs. Not knowing what to do and horrified at how his innocent question had led to this, he let her cry for a moment, then slid to the edge of his seat and put his arm around her shoulders. "Mhera, it is going to be all right."

"I don't know how it can be—I don't know how you can forgive me—"

He gently rubbed her back and said in a soothing tone, "I don't even know what you're talking about, dear heart." 

She turned her tear-streaked face up to his. "The mill. You must have read about it."

"The mill?" Matei echoed. There was only one mill that had ever meant anything to him, and that was the mill near which dozens of his friends and comrades-in-arms, good Arcborn people and some of the strongest members of the rebellion, had been ruthlessly slaughtered by the crushing force of the Starborn army. It was the mill where Rhodana had been captured and condemned, and where he, Matei, had also been taken.

And Mhera could not mean that mill.

Her expression was changing now. Something like horror was dawning in her eyes. She drew back from him. "Didn't you read—?"

"I didn't read them," Matei said. His voice sounded hollow.

Mhera blinked at him, her lips parted. Shock. Regret.

"You," he whispered. He shook his head in disbelief as everything settled into place in his mind.

"Matei—"

"You. It was you." He stood up, took a step back from her. "We wondered—we had no idea how they could have known where to find us. The worst place. The worst time. Perfect for the enemies of the cause. They came upon us like butchers on lambs."

She did not even try to speak, and Matei knew there was nothing she could say. If it had not been for her, if it hadn't been for the visions she had packaged so neatly for His Grace, Maker of Corpses, hundreds of men and women might very well still be alive, including the woman who'd taken him in when the whole world had cast him out. Matei watched her cry, standing apart from her, and while some small, rational part of his mind insisted that it had not been her fault, that they must talk about what had happened, that she needed his compassion, his heart hardened toward her and he had to resist the urge to push her away from him, disgusted by her tears.

Matei turned away from Mhera and strode toward the door, fully intending to leave her there with her tears and be damned to her, the witch who had brought a rain of fire down on so many people he'd loved. But no sooner had he taken two steps than a fierce pain gripped his heart and he stumbled and fell, hard, to his knees.

The bond that linked their hearts would not be undone, and it would not go ignored.

With the pain of his rattled kneecaps resonating through his body, Matei knelt there with his back to Mhera, and something deep in a dark corner of his mind screamed, and screamed, and screamed.

...And on this unhappy note, we bring Part II of Duty-Bound to a close.

Thank you so much for following this story! It's a thrill to reach the milestone of Chapter 50 with all of you.

It's midway through NaNoWriMo, and I hope anyone who is participating is blessed by their muses and is appropriately caffeinated for the journey! Good luck on your word counts today, lovelies!

On 11/16, which is Friday, we'll open Part III with a visit to a certain golden-haired prince and a certain freckle-faced healer...