As the door snicked shut behind Limdur, Rane got up, sighing, and strode to the window and onto the balcony, peering over the railing. They were high - six stories, perhaps a little less. The palms wavered lazily far beneath them. She sighed, striking at the alabaster stone before her with a fist, her brows furrowed. Arthur, meanwhile, had walked to the door and tried it, finding it locked up so tight the heavy knob didn't even turn.

"Trapped by my own fucking people," Rane said roughly. "What a shitshow."

"So much for followin' a bunch of strangers sportin' too many clothes for a climate like this," said Arthur, sounding grimly amused. He turned back from the door, striding toward the balcony. "I coulda told ya that, if you'da listened. Never trust a man wearin' a cloak in the tropics."

"What is that, like a rule you sellsword types follow?" Rane said, smirking, peering off over the lands. In spite of herself, she had to admire it. The green fronds of the palm forest rode high in the wind, and beyond the white beach stretched, and beyond that still, the sea, blue as a summer sky and glittering. The sun was a red hoop, falling to the horizon, cast through with pink and purple clouds. Tropical birds flew here and there below, their colorful wings flapping.

"Yeah, among a few others. Pretty, ain't it?" Arthur had reached Rane's side and leaned over the railing at her side, eyeing the sunset. "Even with all this hell, you gotta admit it."

"Prettier than a storm on the ocean while you're in a shitty little boat, I guess."

"Them fellers ain't gonna let us leave. That much is clear enough."

"Yeah, I can't say I'm sold on Southern hospitality," Rane agreed. "They're a little bit more polite where I'm from. I know Limdur's doing it out of kindness but he goes about it like a bull in a china shop."

Arthur glanced at her. "You think you could get us out? Apparate us to the ground or somethin'? I ain't gonna be much use without my irons."

Rane shook her head, shifting her weight and chewing on her thumbnail, the wind blowing her long hair about her face. "I don't know the lay of the land well enough. And even if I did, this looks like a pretty small island, and when they caught up they'd cut us down like we were nothing, Arthur, for insulting them if nothing else. These people are better than I'll ever be. Some of them are ten, maybe fifteen hundred years old from the looks of them. They'll anticipate everything I could ever conjure up a second before I even think of it."

"The hell you say, ten and fifteen hundred years old?"

Rane looked over at him, still chewing her thumbnail, smirking a little. "Elves are immortal, Arthur. I thought with Limdur calling you my mortal paramour every five minutes you'd have cottoned onto that."

Arthur took a moment to absorb this. "He don't look a day over forty to me. Maybe younger."

Rane shrugged noncommittally, her eyes on the palm forests below.

"How old are you?" Arthur asked her bluntly. "You fifteen hundred years old too?"

"Twenty-seven." Rane looked at him, smiling. "How old are you, Arthur Morgan?"

"Not a very polite question, but thirty-six last I counted," said Arthur, and cast her a mournful look. "Too old for the likes of you, I'm afraid."

Rane snorted, shifting her weight. "If you say so."

"You ain't like them? Livin' forever, I mean?"

"I'm half-Elf, no one knows if I'm immortal," said Rane, and a curious expression came over her face at these words, turning her light-hearted eyes dark and introspective.

Arthur sighed, his eyes roving over the horizon. There was a sound behind them, and both turned. There was a woman striding in, one of the most beautiful that Arthur had ever seen, bearing a plate laden with food and wine, a stack of folded clothes over her arm. Her long blond hair wafted behind her, and her eyes traced their motions as they drew near, a demure smile on her face.

"Ni'lassui," said Rane, inclining her head. She glanced at Arthur, elbowing him, her voice dropping. "Say it. Means thank you."

"Nee-lass-wee," said Arthur haltingly.

The woman looked at Arthur, who was staring at her helplessly, and her smile became brilliant. She giggled as she set the tray onto the stone table, then looked at Rane and gestured to him.

"Cin'melda ce vanimel, nin'hiril."

Rane's face tightened a little at this, and when she spoke her voice was a touch brusque. "Hantanyel."

"Lostoe'vae," said the woman, still watching Arthur, and sketched an elegant curtsy at him, her eyes sparkling. "Y'ollo vae."

She vanished from the room in a swirl of robes, shutting it behind her. Rane cast a decidedly cool glance towards Arthur, brushing past him and making toward the table.

"Wow. She was awfully purty."

Rane scoffed roughly. "She was probably born before your grandfather's grandfathers were still pissing in their diapers, Arthur."

"Still." Arthur watched Rane, a little smile playing about his mouth. He'd never had occasion to see a woman jealous on his behalf and it interested him, even if in an admittedly lowly way. Her eyes were hard and fierce on the ground as she moved beside him, her hair swinging. He pressed a bit further, mostly out of morbid curiosity and a touch of dirty pride. "Not hard on the eyes."

"Well, my friend, you're used to filthy hookers in taverns, I'm sure, and I don't fault you for it. Elven women, now." Rane threw a chunk of meat into her mouth and began to sort through the clothing, chewing and scowling. "They're the most beautiful creatures in the world. They've been saying it for long before your goofy ass was born. You're not the first mortal to clap eyes on one and become a blubbering idiot."

"What'd she say?" asked Arthur, following her toward the tray. Rane scoffed again.

"Nothing."

"Oh, come on, you know." Arthur sat down, pulling a chunk of steaming meat from the tray and trying it tentatively. It was unspeakably tender and delicious, some sort of venison. "Tell me."

"She said you were handsome," said Rane gruffly as she rifled through the stack of clothes. "Then she wished you sweet dreams, probably knowing they'd be about her. So now you can put your eyes back into your head. Happy?"

"She didn't." Arthur cast Rane a look of ersatz scandal. "Ugly old bastard like me? Lady that purty, no less -!"

"Bust out that door, Arthur, maybe you can warm up her bed tonight."

"I'm only jokin' with ya, goddamn," said Arthur, laughing. "Quit gettin' all mad, Christ."

"Turn your head, I'm changing," said Rane, flapping the tunic out before her, sounding caustic.

Arthur did, pulling the stone chair up and facing it aft, the legs scraping against the stone-flagged floor, but of course he could not quite bring himself to belay a glance over his shoulder. Rane was pulling the tattered black dress over her shoulders, her head hung irritably, her long hair dangling over her back. He had never seen her naked before - indeed, he could count on one hand how many women he'd seen nude in the past two or three years - and he was helpless not to admire her; the long slope of her back, smooth in the reddening sunlight. The curve of her hips. The way the long muscles in her shoulders flexed as she folded the black dress up and flung it away.

"I can see your reflection in the window, Arthur," she said, her eyes still turned away, and Arthur looked away, flushing a little.

"Sorry."

Rane, pulling on the tunic, glanced over at him, smirking a little beneath her hair. "Thought you were all hung up on your girlfriend."

"Ain't her I'm hung up on," Arthur murmured, low, still facing pointedly in the other direction. Rane, smoothing the fabric over her lean torso, smiled despite herself.

"Here, drink," she said, popping into the seat next to him lithely and pouring a goblet full of wine. For her part, she seemed a bit more lively after seeing Arthur eyeballing her. "This stuff isn't miruvor but they make some good beverage, these folks."

"I believe I'd kill for a cigarette," said Arthur, pulling the goblet toward him and sipping experimentally. Rane was right; it was smooth, incredibly smooth, not bitter but sweet and lovely. "Damn, but ain't that good."

"Told ya." Rane was pouring herself a goblet too, her long hair in her face. "Take it easy on the bread, though, that's lembas. Fills the belly of a grown ass man in half a minute. You'll be throwing up out the window."

"Well, maybe I'd like to be throwing up outside the window for something else," said Arthur, and threw back the rest of his wine. "Go on."

"You're trying to get drunk?" Rane eyed him, smirking.

"Maybe I am." Arthur said. He poured himself another goblet. "Maybe there ain't much else to do while we're tucked away in this big bastard city."

"Scoundrel."

"Ain't I," said Arthur again. He poured her a goblet and slid it toward her. "Drink and find out."

THE night fell star-spangled and lovely. No more Elves came to treat with them, which was to Arthur's liking. He relished time alone with Rane, though he was not eloquent enough to say so, and kept close to her. Midnight found them on the balcony, their bare feet dangling through the railings, admiring the humid night sky beyond, goblets of wine in their hands, both quite drunk. They had talked and laughed, and Arthur had even grasped her hand for a moment. He would have balked at an interruption.

"Susan," said Rane, glancing over at him, smirking.

Arthur laughed. "Never. She was Dutch's girl before Molly. I wouldn't've."

"Susan and Dutch? Really?"

"Really." Arthur drank deeply and set his goblet down with a clang. "He loved her once. Damn near woulda died for her. I dunno what happened. Tired of her, I reckon. Molly O'Shea turned up, prettier and younger."

"Typical dude." Rane drank too, her long hair blowing in the breeze. Above them, stars crossed the sky, lovely and clear. "Mary-Beth, then, what about her?"

Arthur snorted. "She'd never have me."

"But you'd have her." Rane was eyeing him, smirking, both hands on the alabaster pillars beneath the railing.

"You sure do like to ask questions."

"And you sure do hate to answer them." Rane drank again, then reached down and poured herself another gobletful of wine. "So you like her."

"I like you."

"Pretty backsliding way to say 'yes.'"

Arthur laughed. "You know, sometimes I think you're layin' traps just in the hopes that I step into 'em."

"Tilly."

"Tilly ain't interested in me. None of 'em are, Rane."

"Mary-Beth is," said Rane shrewdly, fingering her goblet. "That girl is halfway in love with you."

"How the hell do you know that? Dare I ask."

"Because I know how girls work," Rane replied evenly. "She looks at you the way a puppy looks at a bowl of food, Arthur. Don't act like you haven't noticed it."

Arthur snorted. "Well, maybe she is and maybe she ain't. That girl ain't even twenty-two yet, she's barely past bein' a damn teenager."

"Five years younger than me," Rane remarked lightly. "You're robbing the cradle, buddy, one way or another."

"Oh, hell." Arthur drank long, staring off into the sky. "Ain't even the same and you know it."

"I don't even want to ask about Abigail." Rane looked moodily off into the night, sipping her wine.

"Nah. You surely don't."

"You aren't gonna admit it?"

"You know, I ain't so sure I like this turn of conversation so much," said Arthur, looking at her. "Why the hell you wanna know anyways?"

"Because I'm in love with you and I'm jealous," said Rane, shrugging.

"Yeah, well."

"Also, God sends liars to hell."

Arthur sighed, then threw in his cards. "Alright, there might've been a time, yeah, when I thought I'd marry her, years ago. But she didn't want me, she wanted John goddamned Marston, just like most of the women I've ever been interested in. You among 'em."

Rane scoffed. Arthur looked at her, shifting.

"Hey, I get it, he's young and handsome, everybody goddamned knows it." He gestured irritably. "All that black hair and them big ol' eyes and . . . hell. I can't compete with that. Hadn't been able to for ten damn years."

Rane looked a little chastened at this, but her eyes had not lost their fire. Arthur eyed her over his goblet, the night wind teasing his hair back from his temples. His gaze was cold and hurt.

"So how was he?"

"Not bad," said Rane, meeting his eyes. "How was Abigail?"

"Not bad, either." Arthur looked at her, not giving ground. "You know, you're jealous as hell for somebody who's got half the goddamned gang in love with her."

Rane snorted, turning her eyes away. "I don't -"

"John. Javier. Sean, Charles. Hell, even Dutch -"

"Dutch doesn't give the veriest shit about me, Arthur, besides what I can do with my damn wand."

"Dutch looked at Molly a lot like he looks at you, Rane, back when he first happened on her," said Arthur, low. He could feel his heart beating a little faster in his chest and had a moment to reflect on the fact that Rane wasn't the only jealous one on this balcony. "I believe that if it wasn't for me and John he'd have put the moves on ya long ago, and never mind all his bluster."

"Dutch is too smart for that," Rane muttered, her eyes flickering over the skies beyond. "To him I'm a weapon, and when you fuck a weapon, you compromise it. Any leader worth his salt knows that."

"Yeah, well, no man is smarter than his own cock," Arthur murmured.

"Yeah, funny thing, men," Rane remarked, her voice suddenly cold. "They think with that thing between their legs rather than the thing between their ears, and then they're shocked when shit turns out sour. Imagine it."

"You tryin' to say I'm stupid?"

Rane glanced at him, her eyes acute beneath her brows. "Do you think you're stupid? Because I think you're smarter than you let on. You should be the one heading that bunch back there, not Dutch. Dutch is . . ."

"Dutch is what?" Arthur's voice had become dangerous, and Rane had not heard the cool tone in it since he had threatened her with pain of death if John Marston met with harm on her behalf days before. "Dutch is what, exactly?"

"Dutch is compromised," said Rane, meeting his eyes, quite unafraid. "Compromised."

"By what?"

"I have no fucking idea. I just met him a week ago."

"Then how the fuck do you know?"

"Because I've met compromised men," said Rane, her eyes hard and glittering in the low light. "And I've also met men who were too stupid to see otherwise."

Arthur looked into her eyes, his gaze cold and assessing, seemingly wanting to say more, but presently, far below, the sound of music came to them. Arthur looked down, disarmed. There were men and women on horseback, their progress tracked with blue flags that flickered in the night air and dim flames. A song rose from them, one more beautiful than Arthur could have ever put into words, rippling and ethereal, audible even at their height. Rane eyed them, her mouth pursed over her flagon, then sketched that same curious gesture Limdur had earlier - she touched her forehead and trailed her fingers away into the air.

"What are they doing?" asked Arthur, peering down. He didn't often get drunk and wasn't wild about the lilt in his voice. "Where are they g-hic-going?"

"They're going to the Grey Havens," she said quietly. "The last place for them. Where they rest, until the end of worlds."

Arthur nodded. "To die."

"No. To the undying lands. They'll never die."

"Why do you say 'they'? Why not 'us'?" Arthur was looking over at her.

Rane sighed, leaning her cheek against the stone pillar before her. The grounds stretched on beneath them, caught by fireflies, and her hair whipped about in the breeze.

"Because I'm not one of them. I'll never see the Grey Havens."

"Why?"

"Because I'm a bastard." Rane's eyes cut to him. "You know that word for what it means?"

"'Course I do."

"They don't let human bastards sit on thrones," said Rane, low. "And they don't let Elf bastards into Mithlond. I'm the only half-Elf, and I'll die here for it, one way or another. That's just the way of things."

"That how you did that thing with your eyes, back there on that beach?" Arthur gestured to his own face. "And all that light?"

"It's a long story, but yeah." Her eyes traced the motions of the horses far below.

"There ain't more like you."

Rane shook her head. "No."

"Your daddy knew that?"

Rane smirked without humor. "All too well. His people exiled him because of me, for a little while. And none of them like me a whole lot. They think I'm a . . . a travesty of nature, sort of. I'm surprised Limdur was as cool about it as he was."

Arthur eyed her a moment longer, then turned his eyes back to the progression of Elves below. The song echoing up was still loud in the silence, broken only by the crickets and the breeze.

"What do they say?" he asked. "It's beautiful."

"A lot." Rane was still watching the progression below, her eyes bright, flicking over them with a strange wistfulness Arthur had never seen.

"Tell me some of it."

Rane lifted her voice, singing along with them for a moment, her voice low but lovely aside the myriad of them beneath. "A elin na gaim eglerib. Ned în ben-anor trerennin. Ai Elbereth Gilthoniel, i chîn a thûl lin míriel." She looked sidelong at Arthur, who was watching her, a little spellbound. "That means 'in a far land beyond the sea, stars in a sunless year, Elbereth Gilthoniel, clear are thy eyes and bright is thy breath.'"

"What is that?"

"Not what, who." Rane leaned back, grasping the stone pillars, then drank deep from her goblet. "Elbereth is a deity. An ainur. Her song brought the world into existence."

"Limdur said you're one of 'em."

"Well, lots of people think that." Rane drank some more, her eyes on the Elves. They were almost out of sight. "Lots of people have said a lot of things, doesn't mean they're right."

Arthur looked at her a long moment, deciding whether to pursue this. In the end he opted out, not only because of the grim look on her face as she watched the procession of singing Elves but because he was a touch frightened of the prospect of breaching the subject himself. It felt strangely personal, and strangely religious, and he was good at neither sort.

"I'm sorry I looked at ya earlier. While you was getting undressed."

Rane snorted. "Are you apologizing for that and not for eye-fucking the Elf who brought us food? What a funny dude."

"Well, I thought with John Marston and all, you'd understand about a wanderin' eye."

Rane got up abruptly and strode inside, her hair whirling. Arthur silently cursed himself, then rose and followed. She was bent over the decimated pitcher of wine when he strode in, pouring herself another goblet, her hair obscuring her face, her shoulders hunched.

"Hey, I didn't mean that. My mouth runs off sometimes, Rane."

"It's fine." Rane sat onto the bed, sipping, her eyes cross, a piece of lembas in one hand. "Every man does it."

Arthur looked at her, then set his goblet down on the table. "Why don't you ever like to be naked in front of me, huh?"

Rane looked at him in surprise. "How do you mean?"

"Well, the two times we was together -"

"Are you keeping count?" Rane eyed him over her chunk of lembas.

"Yeah I'm keepin' count, have you been listenin' to any damn thing I've said to you? The part about bein' in love with you, particularly?"

Rane rose, setting her wine and lembas on the side table, and leaning over kissed him, one hand on his thigh. It was deep, sensuous, and Arthur felt his shoulders loosen a little at her touch. She drew back, her eyes on his.

"You wanna see me naked or something?"

Arthur looked up at her, feeling a little out of sorts. "I didn't -"

"Do you? It's okay to say yes. You country boys are so goddamned chaste, I swear to God."

Arthur said nothing. No woman had ever asked him this so baldly, and he wasn't sure how to respond. Rane, seeming to intuit his answer anyway, stood and pulled her tunic over her head and her trousers off leg by leg, tossing them aside, then faced Arthur, her eyes meeting his. He diverted his gaze at once, instinctive.

"Look at me, Arthur."

He did, turning his eyes back to her, and his gaze roved over her body, helpless.

"I'm not afraid to let you see me," said Rane, her long hair hanging in her face and her eyes sparkling beneath her brows. "I'm not afraid to let anyone see me, least of all you. I want you to. So see me."

Arthur did. Then, with a motion made awkward by the drink he'd had, he yanked off his shirt and jeans and tossed them aside, feeling strange. He had never been a man accustomed to being nude in front of a woman, even during his saloon escapades, and it felt strange and vulnerable to be standing before her that way, but he did it nonetheless, his eyes on hers, his hair tousled and in his face. He sat back onto the bed, feeling hapless. He was uncomfortably aware of his cock, which was harder than a goddamned diamond and brushing his thigh, as well as his heart, which was pounding in his chest at the sight of this girl before him, but it was done now, one way or another. He hated to be laid bare this way, always had.

"There," he said roughly.

"Why not before?" Rane asked him quietly, looking at him.

"Afraid, I guess." Arthur laughed, grim. "And sober."

Rane strode to him, straddling him, and pressed herself against his chest, taking his face in her hands the way she always did. Arthur looked up at her, his breath a touch fast. She smiled, looking astoundingly beautiful in the torchlight, and moved closer, her firm belly pressing against his chest, her hair tickling his temples.

"Does your heart always beat this hard or is it just when naked girls are around?" Rane asked him, and moved against him, her long legs tight against his thighs, strong and smooth and ineffably fetching. Arthur gasped a little, his breath harsh.

"Only does that for you."

"Bet it did when that girl came in earlier."

Arthur pulled her to him by her waist and in a quick motion placed himself inside her as far as he could go, his back tensing. She sighed roughly, her face falling into an expression of lax, helpless pleasure that ignited all sorts of things within him.

"Only you," he said, and presently he thrust hard, his grip firm on her lean waist. "Only ever you. Only ever'll be you."

"Big talk," Rane said, looking down at him, her hands on his neck, her eyes on his. "From a guy who -"

Arthur thrust again, and then in a motion so sinuous Rane barely traced it he flipped her over and placed her on the bed, his heels digging into the stone floor, grasping her thighs in his hands. His movements became more quick and his eyes roved over her body, overcome, his hair in his eyes and his heart pounding madly inside him. He had thought about her naked like this more times than he could count since the night he'd carried her to Dutch from the Pinkerton camp, often with one hand in his jeans and his heart thudding beneath his shirt, and the revelation of her lying before him like this was sweeter than he could have imagined even as a man. He wasn't sure he could control himself at the sight of it, try though he might.

"It'll only ever be you," he murmured, and leaning down pressed his mouth against hers, feeling the frantic thump of her heart against his chest. "Only ever you. No one else'll ever be enough. I'm done, Rane, I'm done. I'm done."

Rane stared up at him, drunk and knowing it, tracing the curve of his shoulders and the jut of his collarbone, loving every inch of him, and for a moment it was almost too much for her to handle. She could not have felt more strongly for this man if she tried, and all the hands of hell wouldn't be able to drag her from him now. It was terrifying in its clarity. She was done, too.

"I love you." She pulled his mouth back to hers as he drove into her. "God, I do. So fucking much."

"I know. I love you too. We ought not, somebody's gonna come in and see us -"

"Let them," said Rane, and kissed him hard, loving the taste of him. "Let them."

AFTER, as they lay wound together, Rane propped herself up on an elbow and looked toward the window, her expression strange. Arthur paused stroking her thighs to glance at her.

"What's that look mean?"

"How long have you known?" said Rane.

"Known what?"

"That you're sick."

Arthur felt his heart sink. Here they were. He'd seen the way she'd looked at him when Limdur had said he was ill, and had hoped it had skated past her, but of course trying to get something past Rane Roth was like trying to ignore the tides. It had been a few weeks since the doctor in Saint Denis had given him the news, and he thought he'd hidden it fairly well. Not well enough, clearly. He looked at her a moment longer, deciding where to start and whether to lie.

"Was it Limdur? What he said? That why you're askin'?"

"That and you coughing like a lunatic every five minutes. I'm not a doctor but I'm also not an idiot. How bad is it?"

She met his eyes in the gloom, and Arthur took her face in both his hands and kissed her mouth hard, stroking her cheek. Rane pulled away from him, sitting up.

"How bad is it?" she repeated.

Arthur shook his head, looking at her. "Bad."

"How bad?"

"Bad enough."

Rane eyed him, the twilight reflecting off her nude torso, then rolled over him, straddling him, and placed both her hands on his cheeks, her hair falling around her face. In that moment, with her eyes lit by the torchlight and her mouth full and turned down, she was so beautiful that she seemed to suck all the air out of the room, and Arthur realized with a sinking heart that he would not be able to lie to her, not about this and likely not about much else.

"Answer me without bullshit," she said softly. "How bad is it? Say."

"Bad. I told ya." Arthur met her eyes. "Real bad."

Rane looked at him, her eyes filling with tears, seeing the truth in his gaze. Her breath came harsh through her nose, her mouth pursed and her brows knitted. He didn't have to say it out loud; she knew. When she spoke her voice was low and accusatory.

"You didn't tell me. Before I said I loved you. And you knew then."

"No, I didn't tell ya." Arthur held her gaze fast, not backing away. He was grateful for the wine now. He would not have been able to meet her eyes if he'd been sober, not for this.

"Why."

"Because you woulda run," said Arthur, hating himself for saying it out loud. It was true; he'd have not risked losing her for anything, even his own doom, and he thought the worms crawling in the dirt in the fields below might have been bigger men than he was in that moment. "You woulda run. And I didn't want ya to, because I love you too goddamned much, Rane."

Rane grasped his shoulder and shook him roughly, the tears now spilling from her eyes. "That's a shit reason. Are you dying?"

"Yes." Arthur looked into her eyes, not resisting.

"You are."

"Yes."

Rane released him roughly, leaning up, then unstrung her legs from about him, sitting on the side of the bed, her feet on the floor. She was staring at the door, her mouth pursed and her brows furrowed. There were tears falling from her eyes, silent and unheeded, and Arthur sat up too, watching her, hating himself. She brushed them roughly away with the heels of her hands, looking angrily aft, the muscles beneath her ribs flexing with her breath in her lean torso. She could not quite meet his eyes. He could feel her resentment baking off of her like heat.

"How long?" she asked at last, low.

"How long what? How long have I known about it?"

"If I wanted to hear more lies I'd ask for them," said Rane, her voice terribly cold. "How long do you have, Arthur. That's what I meant."

"I won't lie to ya. Not about this." Arthur reached out and took her hand in his, and she ripped it away from him, her hair rippling and her mouth turned down in a sneer.

"Vá. Answer me."

Arthur didn't know the word and didn't ask. "I dunno."

"HOW LONG?" Rane turned her face to him, her eyes furious and cold. "SAY!"

"I don't know." Arthur looked up at her steadily. She was crying openly now, the tear streaming from her eyes, her mouth downturned, and Arthur's heart broke a little at the sight of it. He could think of nothing he wanted less than to make this woman cry. "I don't know, Rane."

"What is it?"

"Tuberculosis."

"Tuberculosis. That's what it is."

"Yeah. That's what the doctor told me, anyway."

Rane got to her feet and placed a hand on her forehead, laughing without humor. She went to the table near the door, still nude, and grasping the flagon of wine drank a large mouthful directly from it, the red liquid smattering on the floor around her feet. Arthur watched this, both hands on the side of the bed, his brow knitted. She wiped her mouth indelicately with the back of her hand and threw her hair over her shoulder.

"Tuberculosis," she said again, not looking at him.

"You know what it is, I take it."

"Yeah, I know what it is. We get immunized for that shit before we're a year old." Rane turned to look at him, still wiping her mouth, looking grim and beautiful in the low light. "You know what cancer is? Or rabies? Or fucking polio? Do any of you fucking dumbasses know what those words mean? Or is it just all about drinking shitty beer and shooting people. Do you know what tuberculosis is?"

"Yeah, I know," said Arthur, low, looking at his hands.

Rane shook her head, her eyes forbidding. "You should have told me."

"Well, maybe so."

"The second we were standing on that road in front of Shady Belle, listening to me carry on, you should have told me. You should have probably told me in that fucking cave, matter of fact. You walked away from there knowing full well how I felt about you."

"That ain't true."

Rane scoffed, turning, the muscles in her thighs flexing. "You like to pretend you're stupid, Arthur Morgan, and I'll go to my grave not understanding why, but you and I both know that isn't the case. You knew. I saw the way you looked at me, when I was laying on your chest with your fucking heartbeat in my ears, and you knew right then. And you said not one goddamned word. You made me love you knowing that you had another six months on the skin of this earth -"

Arthur bristled at this. "Made you? Who the fuck said I made you do anything -?"

Rane gestured to him, inarticulate. "The way you are. I couldn't help it."

"So it's my fault, that it?"

"Yes."

"My fault I got this shit?"

"How'd you get it, then?" Rane took a step toward him, her hair in her eyes and her skin lit by the torchlight, vulnerable in her nudity but just as callous and unafraid. "Tell me. I bet you know."

"I got it from a man I collected a debt from."

"How much?"

"Couple bills."

"Was it worth your life?"

Arthur looked up at her, his eyes becoming cold. "That ain't what we're talking about."

"Sure it is." Rane met his eyes. 'How long do you have, Arthur? Couple weeks, couple months? That's a pretty fierce son of a bitch, especially for a pile of cash."

"I don't know jack shit. I just know I'm sick."

"YOU SAID YOU WOULDN'T DIE!" Rane shouted, her voice suddenly hoarse and strident, and with one hand she batted the half-full goblet at the bedside, sending it flying with a clatter. "YOU PROMISED ME! YOU PROMISED!"

"I CAN'T HELP IT!" Arthur replied, getting to his feet. As if to punctuate this - perfect timing - he began to cough hoarsely into his arm. He fell back onto the bed, nude and unguarded, bent over, letting it pass, his face red and the cords in his neck standing out. Rane watched him, her gaze cold, then striding to the table poured a goblet of wine. She took it to him and handed to him, still frowning, and he took it gratefully, drinking with both hands, his eyes squeezed shut.

"You gonna leave me?" he asked her gruffly, wiping at his mouth. "That what you're gonna do now?"

"I'd have to be with you to leave you."

"Ain't ya?"

Rane's mouth pursed at this, more tears falling from her eyes, and she fell to her knees in front of him, looking up at him, her hands on his knees.

"Am I?" she said softly.

Arthur shook his head, placing the goblet aside. "I sure as hell hope you are."

Rane met his eyes a moment longer, then with a yielding that seemed uncharacteristic for her she put her face into his lap and dissolved into tears, her bare shoulders heaving and her legs curled beneath her, coltish. Arthur put his hand on her head, feeling tears of his own threatening. He'd never had occasion to apologize for his own fate to someone else, and this girl was the first besides the doctor that had told him who knew what would happen to him. It was strange and awful, and he wished to be anywhere else.

"Don't." He got down and knelt before her, taking her face in his hands. Seeing her face, tear-stained and unbearably beautiful, was almost more than he could stand. "Don't do that, Rane. Ain't nothin' certain."

"You promise," she whispered, looking at him.

"I know I did, and I'm sorry." He was weeping now himself, probably the wine, and shook his head, giving into it. What the hell. "You know you're the only goddamned thing I love in this world and I'd sooner die than hurt ya. But some things I just can't control, and this is one of 'em. Doesn't mean I love you any less, Rane. I'd take you for my own if I could. Marry ya and live in a shitty little house for the rest of my days."

Rane shook her head, her brows knitted, and placed her forehead on Arthur's chest, crying in earnest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her to him tight, feeling tears streaming from his own eyes and staring off toward the balcony.

"Never took you for the cryin' type."

"I'm not," said Rane, soft against his chest, and he felt her hand reach out and grasp his hand tightly in hers. Arthur squeezed it and lay his cheek on the crown of her head.

"Me neither," he said gently, his tears falling into her hair. "Me neither, girl."