The day had been spent in relative solitude and never before had Tolten been so glad that Kratos was a quiet and private man. He had no desire at all for conversation, nor was he terribly interested in his steak. His nurse had given him something for his 'bug', but it had hardly helped.

It was strange, really. The young king thought he had surely reached his lowest and worst point somewhere between Gohtza and the Tower of Mirrors. But now, lying on his bed stripped down to his shorts due to a sweltering fever and trying to understand how to mourn, Tolten realized he hadn't even begun to sink to the depths of misery a man could.

What was going to become of them?