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Page 405
"How? By inflicting unending torment upon yourself? It is true that anyone who loves also fears and that fear is painful. But there are compensations. The fear is brief and not frequent, while the pleasure endures always. It even mingles with the pain and"
"Makes it sharper and crueler," Rhiannon spat angrily.
"More poignantyesbut sweeter, too, for it is shared."
"I do not wish to share," Rhiannon cried, springing to her feet. She was so overwrought that she did not even notice the mortar falling to the floor and spilling its contents far and wide. "Why should my life be tied by so many threads? Why should my heart check when Lord Ian's breath rattles in his breast? Why should I ache when Lady Gilliane fears for her husband? Why should I worry about whether Sybelle has chosen the right man? I need to be free!"
"Now I know why you hate yourself, my daughter," Kicva said.
She then lifted her spindle and began to spin again. Panting with shock and rage at what her mother had said, Rhiannon kicked the mortar out of her way and ran from the room. Only then did Kicva permit herself to smile. The problem was all but solved. Soon Rhiannon would understand what she herself had said. Another day or two of bitter struggle and she would accept the burden. Kicva's eyes grew sad and distant. It had never been in her, the ability to feel what others felt. She knew and understood what they felt, often more clearly than they did themselves, but she did not feel it. It was her art to hear the cause underneath the word, but neither cause nor word touched hernot even for her own daughter.
Then she shrugged. Each person was as God devised. Briskly, she put aside her work and took her writing desk out of the chest where it was stored. She sharpened a quill, unstoppered a horn of ink, and wrote: To

 
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