He’d left. Sastra was sure that the Knight had taken her whole heart with him. As though he’d pulled it from her chest before pressing a final kiss to her temple and then withdrawing. It had been a little after midday and she’d watched him. Each long stride carried him further away, horse picking its way over the shingle beach. Hair ablaze in the summer sun, until the shiver of heat seemed to wrap around his form and swallow him. He was gone and it felt somehow worse than his first departure. This time, as each part of herself, body, heart and soul screamed to run after the man, to plead and beg. To try anything to make him see sense, to find another way. She could not allow herself. Nor could she turn and make her own way east along the beach. So she stood, staring at the point on the hor
