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Farrendel didn’t turn to look at her and, when he spoke, his voice was flat. “Last time, they did not allow me to wake up until I was in Estyra.”

Essie wasn’t sure what to say to that. “Um, well, I made sure there’s enough hot water left if you’d like to wash.”

Farrendel nodded, eased to his feet, and disappeared into the water closet.

Essie curled up on her side of the bed. She tried to stay awake. She really did. But as the water ran and ran and ran, she eventually drifted off to sleep.

By the time Farrendelfinished his shower, the train’s water heating system was only spitting out lukewarm water and Farrendel’s skin was red and throbbing because he had scrubbed so hard.

Still, even after over an hour of scrubbing under water as hot as he could stand, his skin still crawled with the feeling of filth and stone and blood. How many showers would it take before he felt truly clean?

He dressed, but he avoided looking at the mirror or any of the shining surfaces, even though he had left the light off so that it would not keep Essie awake.

But he had no wish to see the state of his hair. As he had washed it, he had been able to feel how short and ragged it was, thanks to the now dead troll king chopping it off as part of his torture.

He stepped from the water closet, swaying to the gentle rhythm of the train as it glided down the tracks. Outside the windows, a faint hint of moonlight filtered through the broad leaves of the forest, outlining the silhouettes of the broad tree trunks.

Essie was a lump under the blankets on her side of the bed, her red hair spreading across her pillow, the blankets, and her face. Her face was soft in the moonlight, a hint of a smile playing around her mouth even in sleep.

He should slip under the covers beside her.

But, for some reason, he could not bring himself to do that. She was too soft and vulnerable while he was sharp-edged and broken.

Instead, Farrendel strode around the bed and crept out the door at the end of the train car, stepping onto the small platform beside the walk that led to the next car. Farrendel sank onto the floor of the platform with his back to the cold metal of the train car’s wall.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall behind him. Cold wind blasted his face, whipping through his short hair and tugging at his clothes. At least this cold wind smelled of the deep forest and damp earth, not ice and frigid mountains.

He was safe. He was on his way home.

And yet, his chest hurt with the pressure of all the shattered pieces inside him. All day, he had let himself go numb. It was either that or feel, and if he gave in to the emotions, he would break into even smaller, sharper pieces.

He could not let himself break. Back there in Kostaria during the final battle, he had let himself unleash his pain and anger. In the end, he had lost control of his magic and had nearly destroyed a large swath of Kostaria.

If he gave in to the pressure here, it would be this train and a portion of Tarenhiel’s forest that his magic would incinerate. He would not risk the lives surrounding him.

Instead he slowly, silently, let the pain shred him inside until he was not sure what would be left come morning.