His first impulse is a joke, but the right words won't come and the failure of humor outlives the urge; it dies. Sorrel's second thought is no thought at all, only a stiff emptiness. She wants him to be happy.

He's never been happier than this past season, as full of hardship as it was, with the possible exception of some ignorant, childhood idyll. All of that is the cause of Sina, a blame and boon he lays firmly on her shoulders. And she's dying.

"How?" He strangles out, finally, when he realizes she can't help but read his anguish, pressed together as they are. Too long quiet, and it sends a message all its own.