Page 296 of Salt Between the Wolves

"No."

"If I disagree with you, it doesn't mean I've lost my mind."

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to."

For the first time, a faint shadow of weariness crossed Vargan's face, gone almost immediately but still there, and suddenly he looked older than she remembered, not weaker, never that, just older, as though winter after winter had carved responsibility into his bones.

"You think I wanted this."

The statement caught her off guard, not because of the words, but because of the certainty behind them.

Eira frowned.

"Wanted what?"

"This."

Vargan gestured toward the pass, toward the armies, toward the waiting warriors, and toward the mountains themselves.

"The divide."

Silence settled between them.

"You think I chose it."

His voice remained calm and measured, almost impossibly so, as though he had not woken one morning and decided that losing his daughter was an acceptable price.

Something uncomfortable shifted inside her, not guilt, not yet, but something more dangerous.

Doubt.

Vargan saw it immediately, of course he did.

"You believe I chose power."

The old frustration returned instantly.

"Didn't you?"

The answer came without hesitation.

"No."

For the first time since the conversation began, there was no calculation in his voice, no politics or strategy, nothing except certainty.

"I chose what I believed would keep our people alive."

Eira laughed again, and this time the sound carried more bitterness.

"There it is."

"What?"

"The answer."

She spread her hands.