For Valdus, Prince of the Revolution, had become the ferryman, Dravidian.
That’s when he jerked suddenly, violently, enough that she nearly leapt to her feet, and began coughing up brackish water through the little grill that was the only mouth opening of his mask. The fit lasted barely a moment, after which she heard him struggling to form words—which became the repetition of a single word, “Shekalane.”
And, fearing that he truly was dying, she pressed her flushed cheek furiously against his own, pleading, urgently but gently, “Stay with me.”
“To the end of Ursathrax,” she heard him mutter, his eyes still closed. And then he was unconsciousness yet again.
The door to her room groaned as she eased it open. It appeared to her that he had not moved at all since she had put him to bed; he
