"Daoud spoke that way as he lay dying," Simon said slowly.
A sob convulsed Sophia. It was a moment before she could speak again.
"I hope, at least, you understand us—Daoud and me—a little better," said Sophia. "Kill me now, or hang me or burn me tomorrow. As I feel now, death would be a relief."
"I know how you feel," said Simon. "I, too, have lost the one I loved."
"Oh, Simon." She felt herself starting to weep again, for Simon and Daoud both.
"What do you want to do?" he asked.
"What does it matter? I am your prisoner. And Rachel. And Tilia and Ugolini. All of us."
She remembered the hope she had been harboring these past few weeks. If she died now, would another life within her die? If she lived, how would she care for that life?
He sighed. "For me this is all over. If I hurt you, what good would that do me now? It would be just one more unbearable memory to carry with me through life. One more reason to hate myself. I want to know, if you were free to do as you wish, what would you do?"
Her mind, numbed with sorrow, was a blank. With Daoud dead, the remainder of her life seemed worthless to her. Even the thought that she might be carrying Daoud's child seemed only added reason for sorrow.