[This a very vulnerable thing, a thing that resonates with the dim and nearly dead spark of Illarion's soul. He rolls the Omni over in his hands, flat side to round, and considers taking the conversation private for both their sakes.

It feels like cowardice to do it now, when she's bared so much of her heart and he's remained a cipher.

He doesn't. Not until after he's offered as much.]

I also began this way. It was not for many years that I learned to be one who acted--and then, much as you say, I believed I was capable of anything, that my life was all my own to control.

The reminder that it was not was very cruel. [The little box his mother's courier thought was empty; the talons and feathers she'd left him of Sasha.] It was much easier to blame myself, for years.

Some days, I think I still do.