“Ian!” Samuel wraps his hand around Ian’s wrist, and Ian jerks away from both of us, his eyes wild. “She isn’t to blame for everything that upsets you.”

This from the man who told me if I had only returned the device to Rowansmark in the first place, Ian wouldn’t have been broken.

Of course, he also told me that he’s afraid of what more sanctioned violence would do to Ian’s spirit. I look into Ian’s eyes, at the light of furious need that burns inside him, and shiver. Samuel’s right. Ian is broken, and every time he lashes out, hoping the pain he causes others will somehow soak up his own, he loses himself a little more.

I’m relieved that I chose not to put the blood clot medicine in Heidi’s wound while she slept. I don’t want to end up like Ian, spilling my hurt over others like a poison that has no cure.

“Then who is to blame? Who?” Ian yells and smashes his fist into a jar of something green and goopy. Viscous liquid slowly drips off the shelf, and blood wells from a web of cuts across Ian’s knuckles.

“Me,” Samuel says. His voice is quiet and full of the kind of guilt that once drove me into my inner silence. “I’m to blame, Ian. Me, and your dad, and James Rowan. We failed you, and I’m sorry.” His voice breaks. “I’m sorry.”

Ian vibrates like a plucked wire. “You’re sorry. What good does that do me now? He was your friend, and you didn’t help him. You didn’t warn him. You just let them come for him and sentence him to death.”

“I know.” Samuel looks at the floor. “And then I made it worse by allowing you to be the one to carry out the sentence. I should’ve protested. I should’ve volunteered. Found a way to convince James that I was the better person for the job.”

“I did my job.” Ian’s jaw clenches. “I’m a good tracker. I’m a loyal citizen. I did my job. I didn’t need you to do it for me.”

“Yes, you did. And I failed you.”

Ian whirls away and starts pacing the tight quarters while a warm fuzziness slowly encroaches on my thoughts. Whatever the blond man gave me is taking effect.

“And then I thought that if I helped you clear your family’s honor, if I did what I could to make it easier for you to carry out the pain atonement against those who took the controller, it would make up for my failure. It would heal you—”

“I don’t need to be healed. I just need to finish this.”

“And then what? What will you have left after you’re done? A string of murders to your name, starting with your father’s—”

“I did not murder my father!” Ian leaps across the room, crashes into Samuel, and wraps his hands around the older man’s neck. They slam into the wall beside me, knocking the table awry and sending the thin silver blade tumbling to the floor.

Samuel does nothing to defend himself. He just leans against the wall with Ian’s fingers digging into his neck, and closes his eyes as if he’s willing to die.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the harsh rasp of Ian’s breath, and then he curses and drops his hands. His voice shakes as he says, “Marcus McEntire broke the law and did not survive his pain atonement. His death was just.”

“Ian—”

“It was just. It restored his honor. And everything I’ve done since then has been just. I only have to finish it. Just finish it.” He sounds impossibly tired.

“Let me finish it for you.” Samuel straightens slowly, but Ian is already backing toward the door.

The fuzziness presses down on me, and my eyelids flutter as Ian says, “I don’t need your help anymore, Samuel. You were my dad’s friend. You aren’t mine.”

The door shuts behind him as my lids close and the darkness takes me once again.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

RACHEL

When I open my eyes, I’m alone in the medical bay with Heidi, who lies propped up on the other bed, slowly lacing a boot on her injured leg. She glances at me as I lift my right arm and examine the crisp white bandage that covers my wound. A yellowish-brown stain lines the bandage on my inner forearm, but it isn’t discharge from my wound. It smells sharp and bitter.

“It’s goldenseal,” Heidi says when I sniff the bandage. “Disinfects the wound and kills off bacteria that cause infections. You won’t be smelling pretty for a while.”

I cut my eyes toward her leg. “Your leg wound doesn’t smell so great either, you know. He must’ve used the same stuff on you.”

“I reckon.” She bends toward her boot and winces as she brushes against her leg. “We’re coming into port. Be off the boat in thirty minutes, more or less.” She glances at my hair. “Might want to clean yourself up a bit before you meet James Rowan.”

I have no intention of meeting James Rowan, cleaned up or otherwise, but I’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity to bathe. I have no idea when I’ll get another chance at clean water and some soap.

I push myself into a sitting position. My fever is gone, but my throat still aches, though this time, I’m pretty sure it’s raw from screaming. My thoughts still feel a little bit fuzzy from whatever pain medicine the blond man gave me, but the room doesn’t spin as I stand up. The evidence of Ian’s attack on Samuel has been cleaned up, but I can still hear the terrible pain in Samuel’s voice, the rage in Ian’s.

“Bathroom’s on the other side of the deck. Use the middle hallway to cut across. Masterson has been assigned to watch you,” Heidi says.