I won't, [Matthias says, quickly,] if you don't want to answer anymore, I won't ask anymore, I only want to understand, what's--what's happened.

Can I--

[He reaches for her. Can't resist any longer. That urge is like one to protect, to make things all right, even though he can't. It was the past, who knows how long ago. Maybe her mother and the mages are on that list that the messenger read out, folded up and and disguised among the dead. Maybe no one knows about them yet. It doesn't matter: Laura is here, and that's what he will say to her next. She did it. And she's staying for as long as she likes.

Only it's as he's stretching out his hand to her that he notices it. Something particular and faint, this little itch of a smell. Like when you get ginger in your nose, only colder, somehow, and he looks down on instinct and she's got this rip in her sleeve. And a little dark dot--blood--and he looks around before he begins to put it together, and his gaze jumps back up to hers, to meet her eyes. His own are wide now, he can feel it, round like saucers, you're goggling, Matthias, but he can't help it.]

Can you give me your hand?

[His is there, waiting.]