“Good.”
The youngest Davout gazed steadily into the eyes of his older twin. “Only you know what you can bear. I merely point out that this remedy exists, should you find your anguish beyond what you can endure.”
“Katrin deserves mourning,” Davout said.
Another grave nod. “Yes.”
“She deserves to be remembered. Who will remember her if I do not?”
“I understand,” said Silent Davout. “I understand your desire to feel, and the necessity. I only mention Lethe because I comprehend all too well what you endure now. Because”—he licked his lips—“I, too, have lost Katrin.”
Davout gaped at him. “You—” he stammered. “She is—she was killed?”
His sib’s face retained its remarkable placidity. “She left me, sixteen years ago.”
Davout could only stare. The fact, stated so plainly, was incomprehensib
