"You don't want to know," Belimai said softly.

"If I didn't want to know, I wouldn't ask." Harper touched Belimai's forehead and then slowly brushed his fingers over the damp kinky mass of his hair. Belimai was silent. Harper knew he couldn't force Belimai to answer.

Perhaps Belimai was even right. Maybe he didn't want to know the answer. If Belimai had at last found another lover who inspired him to change, then it was not news that Harper would relish. What he wanted to hear was his own name.

Harper knew it was contemptible to wish that Belimai's salvation would come through him. It was a deeply selfish need to be a savior, if only for this one man. Still, it was what Harper wanted. He longed for it and at the same time knew that it was not likely to happen.

Only one man meant that much to Belimai; he had ruined himself for Sariel. Harper never forgot that. When he had first read Belimai's legal record, he had been horrified and deeply moved by Belimai's devotion to Sariel. He had read the record over and over, staring at the photograph of Belimai and wishing that he could have saved him.

The silence between them stretched on. Harper stroked Belimai's hair. Belimai's skin radiated a fevered heat, but his breathing was slow and even. Harper wondered if he might be sleeping at last.

Suddenly Belimai jerked as if he had grasped a live electric wire. Choking, inarticulate noises gurgled out of Belimai's throat as the spasms rocked through his chest and stomach. Harper caught Belimai's shuddering body before he crashed to the carriage floor. As suddenly as they had come on, the tremors stopped. Belimai sagged back down against Harper's legs, sweating and limp.

"You weren't supposed to see this," Belimai murmured.

"I'm not seeing much of anything," Harper said. "It's too dark."

"You're not missing anything, trust me." Belimai shifted to his side. "I would have gotten it all over with by the time you came back from your vacation," Belimai said.

"I've seen people in worse shape. It's all right." Harper pushed the sweat-soaked curls back from Belimai's forehead. Belimai's sweat smelled sweetly acrid, like scorched pineapple. It was an unnatural scent, even for a Prodigal.

"I'm so glad to be grouped with the men you've seen in rotten shape. My hope is that someday I will reach the pinnacle of that appalling list. Give me a day or two, and who knows? I think I'm going to vomit again."

Belimai weakly pulled himself upright. He rocked with the motions of the carriage. Harper felt Belimai's body bump against his shoulder. He reached out to steady Belimai, but Belimai shoved his hand away.

"No, it's passed now." Belimai sank back down onto the seat and resettled his head on Harper's leg. "Fucking wretched."

"I can't believe that you were going to go to the Crone in this state." Harper shook his head.

"I didn't know what else to do," Belimai answered. His voice was soft. "I didn't want to get you involved."

"I know." Harper continued stroking Belimai's hair. "But I'm the one who got myself involved. There's nothing you could do about that."

"No, I suppose not. You're really annoying that way, you know."

"Am I?" Harper asked, but Belimai said nothing.

Silence filled the dark emptiness of the carriage. Harper couldn't even hear the rain anymore. They had driven out of the storm. Only the steady rhythm of the horses' hooves beating against the dirt road interrupted the silence of the night. Harper closed his eyes. Sleep seemed very appealing.

"What's it like?" Belimai's voice surprised him. He hadn't thought Belimai was still awake.

"What?" Harper asked.

"Where we're going..." Belimai's voice was slow and groggy.

"What's it like?"

"The Foster Estate? It's big, empty...quite beautiful, really. There are orchards, mostly apple and hazelnut. There's a summer staff there, but that's all. My grandmother stays with my aunt's family at Redcliff. We'll have the place to ourselves."

"Sounds nice. I wish that I wasn't so messed up for my one chance to see the world outside the capital."

"You'll get better. It's not as if I'm going to haul you back to the city after you recover."

"No. Guess not. God, I'm cold." Belimai shuddered.

"You're burning up," Harper whispered.

"Do you think hell will be worse than this?" Belimai murmured, curling his arms in around himself.

"I don't know." Harper closed his eyes again. Belimai's fevered body trembled, and Harper continued stroking his hair. He wished Belimai would fall asleep. It would be easier on both of them.

"Tell me something," Belimai whispered.

"What?" Harper asked.

"Do you ever think about hell?"

"Not if I can help it."

"I used to think about it all the time. I wondered what it was like, now that all the demons had left it."

"A vast, abandoned kingdom of endless silence, if you believe the scriptures," Harper replied easily.

"And do you believe the scriptures, Captain Harper?"

Harper imagined, from Belimai's tone of voice, that Belimai was watching him with that sidelong smirk. It wasn't an odd expression for Belimai; in fact, it suited his features. He often used the expression to mask his own earnestness.

"I imagine we'll discover what's there for ourselves soon enough," Harper said.

"I'll write you about it if I get there before you. I bet it's warm." Belimai's words were garbled under a long yawn. He shivered and then resettled himself.

"Do you want me to cover you with my coat?" Harper asked.

"Harper." Belimai was quiet for a long moment. "You can't keep giving your own things up for other people. You need to be a little selfish sometimes."

"It's no trouble. I'm not cold."

"We're both cold..." Belimai drifted into silence. He lay limp against Harper and, at last, fell asleep.

Harper had known he would. Only in the few minutes before he passed out did Belimai completely lose his tones of sarcasm and cynicism. Some nights, if Harper kept him talking, Belimai could almost sound sweet.

Harper relaxed back against the cushions of the seat. He closed his eyes and slept.

Steadily the night gave way to morning, and bright light poured in through the carriage window. Belimai rolled over so that his face pressed into the shadows of the seat cushions. Harper woke and gazed out at the passing rows of apple trees. The air was sweet with the perfume of wildflowers and fallen rain. He was nearly home.

The estate house was as Harper remembered. The dark  building rose above the outer walls and towered over the oak trees lining the drive. The huge walls were first erected when the estate served as a church garrison. They stood, as they had for generations, awaiting a last assault of ancient heretics. From the narrow windows high in the walls to the vast stables, the estate remained in a warring past. Instead of gas lamps, iron torch-holders hung over the massive stone entry.

Though the grounds and building were immaculate and clearly kept up, the quiet made the estate house seem abandoned. It felt deeply isolated. Not just separated from the rest of civilization by distance, but lost in another age.

Each time Harper returned, he recalled thinking that the torch-holders should be refitted for new gas fixtures. But then he always forgot and ended up leaving them until the next time he came. He wondered if his father had perhaps done the same thing. Perhaps generations of his ancestors had done so, and slowly the estate house had been left further and further in the past, until it at last became this towering relic.