I lean against him for a moment. “I am sick of it,” I say quietly. “I am sick of the fighting, and I am sick of the death, and I don’t think she can be trusted with the throne of England. I don’t know what to do. I thought of it all the way to Groby and all the way back again, and I don’t know what I think or where my duty lies. I can’t foresee the future, and I can’t even say what we should do tomorrow.”
