Diarmuid had faced impossible choices before, but none of the decisions he'd encountered before had felt like the one confronting him now. He'd sat in judgment over men with considerable wealth and power, even members of the aristocracy, and his back had grown strong enough to bear the burdens of delivering judgments that would have repercussions far beyond the guilt or innocence of the people he judged.
But, as strong as his back had grown, nothing he had done before left his stomach feeling empty and hollow like this, as though he was stuck between the moment of falling from a great height and the inevitable landing. Somewhere beneath him, there was either a pool of deep water or a bed of broken stones, and he had no way of knowing what he was about to land on.
