“You love her, don’t you?” Cyrus was not quick enough to parry this and too stunned to sneer at the insinuation. Worse: he knew not how he appeared then, as if he’d been run through with a scimitar. Hazan, to his credit, was dumbfounded. “It’s true, then?” he breathed. “You really do love her?” Cyrus said nothing. He didn’t need to. The severity of his feeling for her could not be contained, and they both watched, in horror, as the nosta turned red in his hand. Cyrus closed his fist, but too late.
