Legacy of Souls

By D. Wallace Peach

Peace descends on the Ravenwood freehold, and Raze Anvrell trusts that as love lays open his life, the turmoil of his past will loosen its grip. But in the halls of Avanoe and catacombs of Ezar, political intrigues thicken. Deflection and secrets manipulate the truth, assassins whet their blades, and more than one ruler stakes a claim in the quest for power.

A swallower of multiple souls, Sajem files his teeth and inks his eyes. Tentacles of madness slither deeper into the slaver’s afflicted mind. His raids grow brazen, tactics harsh, and conscience stripped bare. Alliances fracture and form, and no one is too old or young, too wealthy or beautiful to spare.

As his father’s health fails, Raze accompanies his brother to Ezar to plead before the Empress for slavery’s end. When death strikes, he and those who stand in the way of ruthless ambition must battle for those they love, the principles they hold dear, and the world they desire.

While heirs compete for the Ezari throne, slavers plot each other’s demise. The future of the Vales depends on the outcome. And if Raze wishes to save his family, his freehold, his chance at love, and his life, he must swallow one more soul.

• Language: English
• Publisher: D. Wallace Peach
• Release date: Jul 15, 2021

D. Wallace Peach

D. Wallace Peach started writing later in life after the kids were grown and a move left her with hours to fill. Years of working in business surrendered to a full-time indulgence in the imaginative world of books, and when she started writing, she was instantly hooked. Diana lives in a log cabin amongst the tall evergreens and emerald moss of Oregon's rainforest with her husband, two dogs, two owls, a horde of bats, and the occasional family of coyotes

Book preview

Table of Contents

Map of the Shattered Sea

~1~

~2~

~3~

~4~

~5~

~6~

~7~

~8~

~9~

~10~

~11~

~12~

~13~

~14~

~15~

~16~

~17~

~18~

~19~

~20~

~21~

~22~

~23~

~24~

~25~

~26~

~27~

~28~

~29~

~30~

~31~

~32~

~33~

~34~

~35~

~36~

~37~

~38~

~39~

~40~

~41~

~42~

~43~

~44~

~45~

Ready for Another Adventure

About the Author

Dedication

To Randy,

for the love and kindness

that made my dreams come true

Acknowledgments

The seeds of this story started a decade ago, and with the first ten chapters written, the tale languished. In 2016, a writing prompt reawakened Raze, and he walked back into my life. My state of unknowing about the nature of the soul, and my belief in its immense beauty and potential, fed the fantastical magic of soul swallowing, and the tale began to unfold.

Many thanks for my writing and blogging friends who endure my discussions of the art and craft of writing and encourage my creativity. Special thanks to my beta readers Cathleen Townsend and Erik Tyler whose careful reads of the story added all the spit and polish to my prose. The book shines because of you.

I’m grateful to every reader who picks up a book and is carried away by my stories. Loving thanks to my husband and family who lose me for days and weeks (years, honestly) to the wonders of the imagination and the written word.

Map of the Shattered Sea

~1~

Tegir Empire, Year 21

If not for death’s assault on his senses, the morning would have promised a pristine day. Instead, the ruins would haunt him. Not only the charred bones and half-burned bodies pulled from the fire’s rubble but the pervasive stench of those impatient for the grave. He could no longer wash his conscience clean of the destruction, and his indifference grew weary.

Johzar, Slaver of Ezar, limped among the smoldering remnants of Celes’s northern district, the women and men of his company in tow. Frowns carved their tattooed faces, no less dour than the grimace etching his unstained skin.

They wore the garb of their trade, armor over short tunics, legs and arms exposed but for shin guards and vambraces. Steel dangled at their hips, and a midnight-blue cloak hung from a silver clasp at their shoulders.

The city’s guards patrolling the streets knew Johzar’s crew bore no blame for the carnage and kept their distance. But to the soot-smudged rabble picking through the debris of their homes and loved ones, they were slavers, and one crew was no different from another. To the victims, they were as much at fault as the villains who’d ravaged their lives.

Sajem’s doing, Draeva muttered, less a question than a statement. Above them, a woman leaned through a window and spit at them, shrieking her outrage and despair. A fist-sized rock hurled from an alleyway’s shadows and missed Draeva by a finger’s width before it clattered across the cobbles. She scowled and nocked an arrow in her bow, growling a warning should anyone try something so foolish again. It’s time for a conversation, she said, before Sajem gets us killed.

Johzar glanced at the statuesque speaker, his second in command, pure Ezari like himself. She angled her lavender eyes at him. A black rope of hair twisted down her back and flowers bloomed among the less feminine markings adorning her skin.

Ai. I’d hoped not, but he drowns our good name.

Our good name. She grunted. Our kind walks a cliff’s edge as it is. They hate us here.

His shoulders rolled in a shrug at the tired news. Those who bought and sold human beings bore the reputations of villains. Across the Shattered Sea, slavery was commonplace. Ezar was a land of wars, populated by soldiers. There, the rules of law integrated the practice into the hierarchy of society, and conquered peoples assimilated into the structure with few complaints and fewer chains. No one seemed to notice. Except, perhaps, for the slaves.

None of that happened here in the Vales where slavery had been whittled down to arbitrary terms of servitude. Those in power had ensured that the guideposts were wrought of clay and could be reshaped on a whim. And even with laws so malleable, Sajem broke all bounds. He’d swallowed one too many souls.

Johzar blew out a breath and called to the women and men on his heels. Draeva and I will handle this. The rest of you wait here unless it gets ugly. He advanced on the cluster of Celes guards, Draeva at his side, her shoulders back and chin high.

The men of Celes fanned out, hands on hilts, a hunger for vengeance chiseled across every face. In their midst, Lord Juntis issued orders and collected reports. The stout man, once king of the southern vale, had endured a demotion to Master of an Ezari province. Jolly and agreeable as a cup of custard under most circumstances, he’d misplaced his sense of humor, and his eyes had morphed into gray pellets.

Your kind is no longer welcome, Juntis growled. He pointed a thick finger at two wagons bearing the broken and burned bodies of the dead. Not until you pay reparations.

This wasn’t my doing, Johzar said, and you cannot prevent a lawful trade.

Lawful? Juntis spat on the road, round face flushing. Since when are murder, kidnapping, and arson lawful?

I don’t engage in any of the three. Johzar met the man’s glower and ignored the hostility emanating from the guards in waves of heat. He’d stand there all day, staring the lord down if that’s what it took to force his point.

Juntis blinked first. What do you want?

I have a suspicion regarding your villain.

A suspicion? You know very well it’s Sajem. We all know, and your Empress will hear an earful come her summer games. Expect Ezalion’s Challenge to assume a whole new meaning.

It’s your right to appeal to her, Johzar said. In the meantime, my company and I will bring back any of your people who are still alive.

I suppose you’ll let the monster Sajem go free.

Johzar narrowed his eyes as the accusation scraped up his spine. He turned his back and rejoined his crew. That choice was his alone, and he’d yet to make up his mind.

Coward, Juntis called after him, and the guards laughed.

~

Johzar shook off his irritation and led his company north along the bluffs of the rugged shoreline, a treeless swath of scrub quivering in the wind. The drop to the waves varied anywhere from four feet in Ildus to two hundred north of Kestrel. The weather blew from the south, filling his nostrils with the balmy scent of brine. Seabirds cackled and scattered in flight as the horses trampled tufts of rock-bound grass.

Finding Sajem required neither tricks nor wiles. The man couldn’t march his captives to Ildus or Avanoe; they’d never pass as legitimate bonds. And even if he forced them to scribble away their freedom, there would be others refuting his claim and demanding justice. Sajem’s only choice was to treat them like a conquered people, as slaves, and the only place he might get away with the lie was Ezar.

Johzar reined his gray to an ambling pace when his quarry came into view. Draeva rode up beside him. If the gods wanted to shit on our day, they just did.

On a jut of bare rock, Sajem’s slavers herded their terrified prisoners to the cliff’s rim. One by one, they shoved them over the edge, their victims screaming as they plummeted nearly thirty feet to the wild sea below.

He has a ship down there, Draeva muttered. That’s the choice he’s giving them—slavery or drown.

I need you and the crew to interrupt their fun. Johzar flicked his reins, aiming his horse toward the man overseeing the havoc. While I have a conversation with our red-eyed madman.

Behind him, Draeva shouted orders and led his company toward the chaos at the rocky lip. The woman was no fool and would play it smoothly. Johzar’s task would prove the more perilous.

Sajem saw him coming and propped his fists on his hips. His russet cloak rippled behind him, the pose somehow epic as if he commanded the wind. Since Johzar had last crossed his path in Tegir, the bald slaver had swelled with muscle, every inch of him a tapestry of tattoos.

Come to rob me of my spoils? Sajem stroked his shaved chin, his entire body hairless by the looks of it.

You leave a savage brand of fury in your tracks, Sajem. I’m left cleaning up your boneyards, and it’s getting harder to wipe off your stink. Johzar swung down from his saddle and clasped forearms with the slaver, tightening his eyes at the modifications to his face. Sajem had slit his nostrils and ears years ago. But he’d filed his teeth to points and split the end of his tongue like a viper. He stared from blood red eyes.

They’re mine. Sajem angled his head toward the standoff at the cliff. You have no claim, no reason to interfere.

Show me the signed bonds, and I’ll walk away.

Sajem licked his forked tongue over his teeth, eyes calculating. He chuckled. I don’t want a war with you.

Not a thing I’d relish either.

Bad for business.

And I’m outnumbered. Johzar cracked a smile. How many over the edge?

About half, twenty or so. Got a ship down there.

Well planned.

I’m done picking up strays and haggling for bonds. You know the game, Johzar. Everyone begs silver for their feeble asses, and they aren’t worth copper. Raids are more effective. I get my pick.

And kill anyone who stands in your way.

Sajem grinned, fiendish eyes in slits. My advice? Don’t stand in my way.

I’m taking the ones on the cliffs back to Celes.

Ah, for such a young man, your hearing grows old. Sajem’s fingers coiled around the hilt of his sword.

Johzar left his own weapon untouched at his hip, but he subtly shifted his weight, skin prickling and muscles coiled should the man’s steel find sunlight. Sajem had experience with a blade, but unless his recently swallowed souls had gifted him with exceptional speed, Johzar figured he possessed the skills to match. Not a wise idea, he warned.

The slaver’s lip curled as his hand let up on his hilt, and his eyes flickered to the cliff where his crew waited for orders. I get to keep the ones in the water?

Johzar arched his eyebrows, prepared for the compromise, and his shoulders relaxed. I’ll admit I wouldn’t have a clue how to get them back up. I suppose you don’t carry a rope with you?

The slaver gave him a quizzical look and then roared with laughter. He shouted to his cohorts at the drop, Let them go. Our friends insist.

Even at a distance, Johzar spied a visible easing of tension sweep his crew and adversaries alike. I’m curious. How many souls, Sajem? How many souls have you swallowed?

Taller by half a head, Sajem bent toward him, face to face, bloody nightmare eyes peering into his, breath reeking like something dead a week. Johzar refused to flinch, and Sajem leaned closer, whispering into his ear, You want to know if I’m mad?

Johzar already knew the answer to that question. He wanted to know how mad and whether it was too late to kill him while he still had the chance.

~2~

Life at the freehold spun like a child’s top, playful and whirling so fast that the hours passed in a dizzying blur. Summer had bloomed over the meadows with a lush and windy zeal. Raze escaped to the solace of the pastures where time slowed and the late day sun trundled across the sky as if hitched to a lazy mule. He wore a light cowl to protect his fair halfbreed skin and pale amethyst eyes from the sun. Sweat gathered on his forehead and matted his brown locks. Despite the heat, the swath of green offered a place to breathe.

A few weeks ago, he’d returned from Kestrel with an altered awareness of his strengths and vulnerabilities. He’d walked a thorny path of forgiveness and reawakened the gift of family. Stubborn wounds healed and he’d fallen in love. And amidst all the turmoil, he’d learned that life and its many treasures rarely came with guarantees, especially when slavers roamed the lands.

As opposed to humans, horses were predictable and safe. He stood at Wind Warrior’s tall shoulder, sharing quiet observations about the condition of the grass and the best time to rotate pastures. The gelding snorted and swung his head into Raze’s chest as if offering a different opinion.

Raze draped a lead around the animal’s thick neck and sighed with relief when the horse didn’t bolt. He stroked the muscled shoulder and then casually slid a halter over the black muzzle and ears. Warrior Wind’s lips lifted for a bite, and Raze pushed the nose away. Not today, warhorse. With a calm hand, he removed the lead line from around the neck and led the rambunctious beast to the gate, six mares and three yearlings rambling along behind.

Pleased with himself, he paddocked Warrior Wind with the bossy mare Four Fists who tolerated the larger horse without much fuss. Falcon and the other two mares possessed more respectful dispositions and waited at their paddock gate. Raze swung the barrier open, and the horses ambled in. He and Vax brushed them down, tossed in fresh hay, and filled the water trough. Samoth arrived on horseback with the palfreys, and the three men repeated the process.

One last chore of the day remained, one he welcomed. He wandered to the garden gate and leaned on the fence. Lanya, the self-proclaimed overseer of freehold labor, had assigned Belizae, Thanelan, and Chellai with the job of weeding, and only Bel appeared committed to the task. She yanked the green offenders while humming one of her grandmother’s melodies. The two children huddled in the shade of a trellis and ate raw peas, a mound of empty pods at their feet.

All three looked up with an eagerness that pulled a laugh from his chest. Bel sat back on her heels, a smile gracing her lips, eyebrows arched in question. She flipped her sable braid to her back. Are you here to propose a swim, Lord Raze?

That’s plain old Raze to you. He feigned a glower that he couldn’t hold. His decade of annoyance with the title had surrendered in a matter of weeks to her playful teasing. I was thinking of it.

Ah, but plain old Raze, we haven’t finished our weeding.

We could finish tomorrow, Thanelan suggested, the blond five-year-old leaping to his feet. Me mum says I’m grubby as a hog.

Chellai’s eyes bulged and she giggled. I’m grubbier than a hog too. We’re needing a wash before supper, or Lanya might be cross.

She’ll be cross if you don’t finish, Raze warned, and the children wilted. He chuckled and angled his head toward the Ravenwood’s distant rim and the pool concealed beneath its boughs. But she doesn’t care for hogs in the cabin either. If she’ll be cross either way, we might as well go for a swim.

The children reached the gate ahead of Bel, and the four of them headed for the pool. The path wound along the stream, cut through a corner of Shara’s freehold, and then curled past Cully Lake, the tepid water sprouting lily pads and bullfrogs. Beneath the towering trees the air cooled and the trail climbed, the stream bubbling and gurgling as it tumbled over roots and rocks.

When they reached the round pool, sunlight dappled the surrounding ledges, and the white waterfall thundered from above, filling the air with spray. Raze bathed behind the watery veil, slipped into his trousers, and lay on his side on the flat rocks, head propped in a hand. He’d shown the spot to Belizae after her arrival at the freehold, and they’d shared a few balmy evenings there in quiet conversation.

She splashed in the pool with Chellai and Thanelan and threw copper chits into the calmer waters away from the falls, artfully teaching them to swim while cleaning a week’s ground-in griminess from their naked skin. Long ago, with Briyon’s help, Raze had levered out the largest rocks and built the low dam at one end, never considering that it would bring so many years of joy.

Every so often, Bel glanced at him with a brief but dazzling smile that made him ache. What gifts nestled behind those gold-flecked eyes? Affection, certainly. But she doled out fondness to everyone, including her tribe of goats.

Not far from the water lay Talaith’s grave and the cave she’d called home before her death, one of many sadnesses he wore stitched to his skin. What had Bel said about him when the wisdom of her grandmother’s soul flowed from her tongue? The time had arrived to snip the threads of fear, to free his soul from its weight of shame and disappointment. He’d added regret to the list. A tall order.

Bel scrambled up the ledge, leaving the children to frolic in the shallow water. Flinging her wet hair in his direction, she settled cross-legged beside him and grinned. It’s freezing but so marvelous to feel clean.

They love you already.

It’s the sweets I slip into their pockets when Rozenn’s not watching.

Hopefully, you’ll run out before she catches you.

It won’t be long. I never learned how to make them. Her smile slipped. Reminders of their week in Kestrel stung, a time both terrible and wonderful, the two halves difficult to reconcile. His father had almost died from an assassin’s arrow, and slavers had murdered Bel’s masters who despite owning her labor, had genuinely cared for her.

Balancing the scale, his brother Azalus had wed Nallea, the love of his young life. And by some miracle, Bel had chosen to return with Raze to the freehold. How she would knead and shape his future, he couldn’t guess. And though he yearned for greater intimacy, his dreams required patience, his conscience restraint. The door to her heart stood before him, and he resigned himself to peering curiously through the keyhole.

She leaned toward him and touched the pendant on his chest, the one his parents had gifted him not long after he’d learned to walk. All his life he’d worn it without a thought.

It’s pretty.

Pretty? He grimaced.

She rolled her eyes. Handsome, then. Is it an emerald?

He nodded. Gold wire twisted around the milk-white soulstone. A tiny ovate emerald served as a cap, securing the pearly soul-catcher inside. That’s where he’d go when he died, all his essence absorbed into a tiny translucent sphere.

Valuable, she said.

My brother has one as well. Only the best for the Anvrells. He searched her chest, seeking a pendant and not finding one. Her wet blouse clung to her like a second skin, and his eyes lingered where they shouldn’t. He sat up and let out a breath in time to catch Thanelan flinging their copper chits into the falls. Chellai yelled that now the boy needed to fish them out, an order he wisely refused. You don’t wear a soulstone, Bel. Why?

She shook her head. I did once, but my grandmother filched it and traded it for a fat book. She insisted books were essential to improving the life of a goatherd with too much time on her hands.

Raze rubbed his eyes. Half of the time, her answers only left him with more questions. You can read?

Ai. Goatherds aren’t idiots.

Your grandmother taught you?

Ai. Her soul still does. Bel glanced his way. She once told me that the wealthy assume a heap of gold equals a heap of wisdom, and therefore, they surmise that the poor, lacking in one, naturally lack in the other.

A faulty assumption, he admitted—a mistake he himself had rendered on occasion.

Potentially a dangerous or costly one as well. A smug smile edged across her lips. You might say the same regarding the men of the Vales. They assume greater height and muscle somehow endow them with bigger brains.

Our heads are bigger.

Your skulls are thicker. She laughed and rolled onto her back, arms behind her head. And wisdom is different than learning and opportunity. True wisdom springs from the heart and alters the way the mind perceives. It bestows light on the profound nature of things.

Bell had swallowed her grandmother’s soul long before he’d met her, and the words of wisdom slipping from her tongue continued to surprise him. He smiled at her, forgot what he intended to say, and turned his eyes from the captivating view. Chellai and Thanelan had resolved their differences and were throwing fir cones into the pool. If he had any sense at all, he’d order them to stop, but then they might discover they’d grown hungry or bored, or they’d want Bel to play with them. He preferred her lounging right by his side.

The children caught him watching their antics and climbed up the ledge, waterlogged and shivering. Belizae dried off their skinny bodies and helped them into their clothes, inviting them to visit her in her tinker’s wagon after supper for a treat. Raze had rescued the rolling home from the forest, and upon their return from Kestrel, Bel took up residence beneath the bow-topped roof, a godsend since the freehold’s cabin bulged at the seams. And though he planned an addition at the rear of the barn for his own use, the project languished behind other priorities.

They walked from beneath the forest’s canopy into a twilit world of powder blues and grays, the meadow a bouquet, crickets serenading them along the path. The children skipped ahead to the lake, imitating the belching of bullfrogs. Bel curled her fingers around his hand, and kissed his cheek, meeting his eyes with a delicious smile.

He pulled her along, chuckling at the twists and turns of his life, the beautiful gifts that arrived as utter surprises. Bel had landed in his heart, tenderly filling a hunger he’d scarcely known he had. She’d smoothed the ruts in his muddy road and before he realized it, set his life rolling again.

~3~

Rozenn rocked baby Aryn by lantern light as dusk deepened outside the front window. The curved runners Raze had carved for her chair thumped like a heartbeat on the uneven floor. I think the children have eaten enough sweets for one night, Raze. Would you bring them in?

He ceased whittling, his never-finished ravenwood staff resting across his knees. Lanya and Vax chuckled in the midst of a game of Pauper’s Plunder. Samoth raised an eyebrow in his seat by the window where he fletched arrows, his response to the recent trouble with slavers.

Do you all know? An embarrassed heat flushed Raze’s face.

Her head at an angle, Rozenn winked at him. "Thanelan doesn’t tell only you everything; he tells everyone everything."

Raze cringed. You don’t mind?

Nae, Bel’s sweet, and we can tell you’re tripping over your eyes for her.

It’s that obvious?

Samoth smirked. To a blind man.

At least she keeps goats and weeds the garden, Lanya muttered. You, my lord, have forgotten this place requires work.

I’ve been keeping up with chores. Who spent the day repairing fences?

Lanya huffed. Not like in the old days.

And don’t call me ‘lord.’ He straightened his back, feigning indignation. Her statement neared the truth. The work of the freehold used to be a distraction from the nagging aches of his past, a means to work off his rage and prove his mettle. Since he’d made peace with his father, he was content to simply enjoy the life he’d built.

He packed up his whittling tools and left the staff in the corner with the other unfinished projects. When he swallowed Briyon’s soul, he’d swallowed the old man’s love of carving and his tendency to start projects he never completed. The memory warmed him as he wandered outside into the summer night.

Lantern light shone through the tiny windows of the tinker’s wagon, and Chellai’s high voice rose above Thanelan’s chatter. He knocked on the door, which elicited some scurrying. Bel opened it, a broad and secretive smile widening her eyes.

They know, he said.

I know they know. She laughed. But it’s so fun to sneak.

Why am I the only one who doesn’t know what everyone knows?

She shrugged and tromped down the wagon’s rear steps, waving to the children to follow. Tell your mum they’re all gone. You ate the last of them.

Can we get more? Than asked.

We need coppers, Chellai said. We’d have to do more and more extra chores.

Thanelan’s shoulders sagged until the inevitable idea sparked his imagination. We could make some with honey.

And berries, Chellai squeaked.

And other things! Thanelan ran for the porch stairs, Chellai on his heels. We’ll ask Lanya and me mum. They disappeared through the door.

Bel sighed. They’re little whirlwinds of joy. What a wonderful childhood they have here.

I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said about this place.

You’re welcome. She smiled and raised her eyes to the full moon balancing on the Ravenwood’s peaks like a silver pearl. She seemed suspended too, encapsulated by the same halo of enchantment glowing in the star-salted sky. He, on the other hand, teetered, uncertain which way to fall.

She hummed a sigh into the night, and he caught a secret glimpse of her soul, the dreams weaving and unraveling in her life. Gods, she enchanted him. He loved her, yearned for her, refused to endure a lifetime of wishing, his heart leaping and chest tight.

She smiled at his cow-eyed stare. Well, I suppose it’s time to turn in. Thank you for everything, Raze, especially for this place.

As she turned to retreat into her wheeled home, he clasped her hand. Will you walk with me?

She looked up at him. Ai. To the lake if you don’t mind. I’d like to see the sky’s reflection.

Her shawl around her shoulders, she strolled with him past the barn and goat shed, her charges penned for the night. Raze steadied her as she climbed the fence to the path that wound toward Cully Lake. There the moon revealed its twin, an echo mirrored on the water and glimmering with each ripple. The mountains exhaled a cool breath, and fireflies twinkled above the meadow like wayward stars.

This reminds me of my old home. She sat on a jut of exposed ledge, facing the lake.

He dropped beside her, content with the view, the balmy air, and the company. Do you miss it?

Parts, maybe. But I suspect the things I miss are more rosy-daydream than reality; what I wanted it to be, not what it was. I’m happy here.

I’ve been accused of… He couldn’t quite push the words out. Ten years ago, he’d freely expressed the affections of his heart. He’d wedded Mirelle with a youthful lover’s optimism, and their brief romance had ended with her murder. He hadn’t loved a woman since. Until Bel.

Laziness? she guessed.

He laughed. That too. Clearly, he wasn’t privy to all the conversations traversing the freehold. Perhaps ‘accused’ isn’t the right word. I’ve been… notified that I’m…

A coward?

Bah! He pinched his eyes between his thumb and forefinger. It’s not that, Bel. I’m the master of the freehold, and you insist on ‘paying me back’ for your freedom. It makes me wonder if you feel stuck here, if you wouldn’t rather live elsewhere, truly free. I don’t want to lay any claim on you that you might…reciprocate out of obligation.

I’m happy here, Raze.

But—

I’m not spineless. I would never love you out of obligation. She threw a handful of pebbles in the lake, dappling the smooth surface with overlapping rings. Shall I tell you why?

He looked at her. Why?

Because you would never ask me to.

He sat with her words, sorting through the broader implications. She hadn’t said she loved him, but she didn’t deny it, either. Only that she wouldn’t pretend to love him if she didn’t. He drove himself crazy.