“He is old, so very old. Storaas is waiting to die. He still delights in teaching Kyza, the heir to Suralia, but he is unlikely to live to see her grown. Why does he allow himself to decline? What happened to destroy his will to live?

The Sural stops short of begging him to take the Jorann’s blessing. I am not so proud. I have wanted him since I was old enough to understand what men and women can be to one another. He is my soul mate — I know this. I know this. He must know it too, but he hardens his grief about him as if it were a wall and refuses to see. I know he is fond of me. I do not know who he lost when the Sural’s stronghold was attacked, all those years ago before I was born, but I curse that her death ruined him.

Who was she? One hundred thirty years is a long time to grieve.

They were not bonded. This much I know. He is not half a man, not torn in half by losing part of himself to the dark. No, he is a man worn by sorrow. I want to comfort him, but I do not believe he allows himself to notice me. His empathic ability is so exquisitely sensitive that he cannot fail to see what I feel for him. I have observed him avoid other women when they became attracted to him. He does not avoid me. This gives me hope.

 I want him to father my heir. Genetic analysis proves that any child he fathered on me would possess his gift of heightened sensitivity. This is such a rare finding that he simply must see the logic to honoring my request.

There is little time left to him. I must make my request soon, or lose the chance forever.”