“I won’t talk about that anymore,” she said unsteadily. “No matter what you do to me.”

That painful memory was probably her biggest weakness, but he found he couldn’t strike at it. “Stay,” he said wearily. “I promise I’ll never ask you to talk about that night again.”

She hesitated, her gaze searching his face. Then she took his cloak and slipped it on but did not sit down. “Why do you want me to stay?”

“I’m not sure.” He was probably wasting his time here. He had done all he could. Now that he knew the Window was destroyed, his only course was to meet with Janus so that he could carry the word to Kazan and then set out for Samda and try to find Pogani. Even if this waif knew something she wasn’t telling, the Window was broken, dammit. Yet he couldn’t let it rest until he was certain Nebrov hadn’t discovered something he had not. His gaze returned to the cavity surrounded by jagged glass. “It seems strange that we were both brought together at this place and time. Do you believe in Fate?”

“No.”

“I do. My mother had Tartar blood, and she must have instilled a belief in the Fates with mother’s milk.” His stare never left the empty window. “The town is sacked and deserted, you couldn’t be sure the duke’s forces wouldn’t return, you and your brother are ragged and in want, and yet you picked this time to come to see the Window? Why?”

“Why did you?” she countered.

“I wished to acquire it. I heard it was magnificent, and I wished to take it back to my home.”

“You wished to steal it.”

“You don’t understand.”