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I frowned, but Galon could more than handle anyone who attempted to strike at Prisca. And she had just proven she could more than handle them herself, even without her power.

Orivan arranged for a couple of horses for us.

“The hags are dangerous,” he said as we walked toward the camp’s stables. “Allow me to send a few of my best men with you.”

Marth snorted—likely at the idea that I needed the protection of hybrid soldiers. I sent him a killing look.

“We can handle the hags. Thank you.”

Surprise flickered in Orivan’s eyes, making it clear he hadn’t expected basic manners from the Bloodthirsty Prince. But within a few minutes, we were mounting a couple of saddled mares and heading back toward the Cursed City. There was a chill in the air this close to the mountains, and my neck itched from the feeling of thousands of eyes watching us leave.

We rode in silence for a while. Marth scowled into the distance. He’d been deeply unhappy for a long time now. And it was time to talk about it.

My neck itched some more.

“Will Eadric’s and Soltor’s deaths be enough?” I asked him. “Will Regner’s?”

He didn’t ask me what I was talking about. He knew. And he didn’t lie to me either.

“No. It will never be enough.”

“Because you blame yourself.”

He shrugged, refusing to look at me. My temper stirred.

“I’ve seen Cavis,” I bit out. I hadn’t told Galon this yet. It was a conversation I’d wanted to have when we were somewhere quiet. Somewhere we could mourn. But Marth needed to know now.

Slowly, Marth turned his head. And his eyes were a wasteland.

“I’m not jesting,” I snarled. “You know I would never jest about this.”

Understanding dawned across his face. Even at his most depressed, Marth was quick. “Because you died. And Prisca brought you back.”

“I didn’t just die. I shattered. My heart didn’t just stop, it ceased existing completely. Perhaps that is why I’m now seeing and hearing the dead. Or perhaps it is because Prisca enraged the gods by her actions, and this is the consequence.”

Marth gazed at me hungrily. “Tell me.”

“I heard his voice at first. The night you were stabbed in Sorlithia.” I scowled at the reminder. “And then the day I married Prisca, he stood next to us briefly.”

Marth looked away, but not before I caught the wetness in his eyes.

“He was mostly focused on Prisca. But he looked at you. And he smiled that crooked smile. You know the one.”

Marth pressed his lips together and nodded, still staring straight ahead. I steered my horse around a chunk of stone lying on the trail. We were already close to the city.

“He didn’t say a word about blaming you. He didn’t frown or scowl. He wore that expression. Half impatient, half amused. It was the same look he wore each time you were late to meet us because you were rolling out of some woman’s bed.”

Marth’s shoulders slumped.

“And then on my wedding night.” I wouldn’t tell him all of it. That was for me. “I was haunted by the dead. Cavis helped me come to terms with my actions. And that night, after Prisca went to sleep, he came once more.” I leveled Marth with a stare. “Cavis doesn’t forgive you,” I said, and his shoulders tightened once more. “Because there’s nothing to forgive. I’m not sure why he hasn’t moved on to whatever comes next, but it’s not because he needs anything from you except for you to stop blaming yourself. You do him a disservice when you reduce his sacrifice to something you could have prevented.”

Marth looked at me now. And his eyes were wet. “I don’t know how to move on. I don’t—”

“You start by mourning Cavis. You’ve been so busy blaming yourself for his death, you haven’t celebrated his life or come to terms with the fact that it has ended. There’s only one thing he wants from you. One day, when this is all over, he wants you to teach Piperia how to skip stones. The way he taught you all those years ago.”

His lips tightened, but he nodded.

Hopefully he would think about what I had said. It was all I could do.