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can’t—you can’t—”
    “I know,” Robert said, not even sure what words she had been grasping for but still understanding. “It’s not like in the stories where the villain dies by his own sword, or the hero walks away in triumph, certain he vanquished evil for the greater good.”
    Recognition flashed in her eyes. “I keep seeing it,” she whispered. “Every night when I close my eyes, I see his face and wonder what would have happened if I had made another choice.”
    Robert nodded. “How many times do you think I’ve refought that duel with Chris?”
    “I ... I’m sorry”—she was apologizing again.
    “Why are you sorry? It’s my fault you were in that arena. My fault Gregory came near you at all.”
    “But Chris ...”
    Robert drew closer, gently circling her upper arms with his hands. “What about Chris?”
    “You would never have had to kill him if it weren’t for me.”
    The incongruity of her statement took a moment to sink in. At first he had no idea what she meant. Then slowly Robert realized she had been suffering behind the same wall of self-guilt that he had for the past two weeks, blaming herself for the nightmarish events in the arena. The only difference was that she had already forgiven him for his failures. At least, she had told him it was not his fault, back in the garden, on the day of the assassination attempt.
    It had never occurred to him to offer her the same kindness.
    Instead, she had assumed that he was growing more distant from her because he blamed her for the events of that day. “Aurelia”—his hands slid up toward her shoulders—“none of this is your fault.”
    “Chris—,” she said.
    “It was Chris’s choice. ...” Robert choked over the words even as he said them, knowing they were the truth but struggling with his own sense of guilt. “It was his choice to die as he did, helping Melony.”
    Aurelia nodded slowly, then dropped her head to his shoulder. Her hair brushed his face, and he could feel the remnants of her tears on his skin. So much for his promise not to feel any more for her than friendship. Her pulse was still pounding, but her breath slowed as he cradled her in his arms.
    “You can sleep here tonight,” he whispered. He kissed her hair, then lifted her gently onto his pallet. It was not as if he was going to use it tonight. Instead, he blew out the candle and sat beside her, smoothing the tears from her face and covering her hand with his. When was he going to get past appearances and remember that beneath her temper and bravado lay real fear? And hurt. For a while, he was not certain she would ever be calm enough to sleep; but then her body relaxed, and her head sank into the cushion.
    She had been right, back at the inn. She had not needed him to tell her about the danger to her life. She had been dealing with that the only way she knew how, by ignoring it. What she had needed from him was understanding.
    Why had he not thought she might be facing the same guilt that haunted him? It had occurred to him once when she had first described her defensive actions to her father. Why had Robert never seen her need to discuss it?
    She had seen the need in him that very first day.
    He lowered his head, resting his forehead beside her hand. Was it any wonder she thought everything was her fault? Hadn’t all the people who mattered in her life betrayed or abandoned her? “I’m not leaving,” he whispered into the darkness, promising her sleeping figure. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
    The derisive voice of a coastal jay mocked him from a distance. Strange. He had not known the birds came this far inland. Sitting up, he smoothed a strand of dried hair back from Aurelia’s face and took a deep, shuddery breath.
    It was then he smelled the smoke.
    The sudden intense odor cleared his head and made him whip around. Shadows danced on the canvas flap, shadows that could not have formed without light. A strange, eerie light that should not have