He blinked twice, stole a sidelong look at the hearth, and then turned his eyes back to the table in front of him, where the medallion rested, perfectly centered in front of him.
She rose, but he tried not to look at her for more than a few seconds at a stretch, always looking back to the medallion in front of him. “It has been over a year since I watched you march out the front gates of Sanctuary …”
He looked up. “I didn’t know you were watching.” Calm. Cool. Uncaring.
“I was,” she said, placing her hand upon the arm of her chair as she stood, looking for support of some kind. “I watched you go, watched you ride off at the head of the army, and I wished-oh, how I wished-that I had said and done something far, far different when last we spoke. With every report of dismal news from your expedition, my fear worsened. I was certain that I would never see you again, that you would die in some far off place with the memory of our last conversation being what you remembered of me.” She took a tentative step toward him, crossing behind the next chair-Nyad’s, one of two between them-and putting her hands delicately upon its back. “I did not wish to leave such a dark air between us-”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” Cyrus said, clearing his throat abruptly. He shook his head but still kept his eyes upon the surface of the table. “You said what you needed to say. I can hardly fault you for feeling as you did, especially in the wake of … all that happened in Termina-”
“I was afraid,” she said, and eased another step closer, behind Vaste’s chair, using her hands to almost pull herself nearer to him. “I let fear guide my actions toward you, let my mother’s fears-my fears-carry me along a path I don’t wish to go down-”
“It’s only natural,” Cyrus said, shaking his head, keeping his eyes away from hers, looking at the lines of the medallion, “only natural to listen to reasonable instincts warning you away. I won’t live as long as you, after all-”
“You very nearly outlived me today,” she said, interrupting him. “If it hadn’t been for you, for this army you brought with you, these eastern cavalrymen, I would have been dead. We live in dangerous times, and a dangerous sort of life-”
“Right,” he said, “all the more reason to be cautious in our personal lives-”
“Listen to me,” she snapped at him then eased closer behind Longwell’s seat, the last between them. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to … I just … please, let me say this.” Cyrus nodded, but did not interrupt her. “I let fear rule me. The fear of losing something very precious to me, more precious than … anything else. Anyone else.” She took a breath, composed herself. “I lost my parents within days of each other. Lost my home. You already know my past, the things that happened to make me untrusting. None of these are excuses, but … after all that … I couldn’t bear the thought of losing someone else, someone who has perhaps grown more important to me than any of the others-”
“We all feel the loss of Alaric,” Cyrus said, templing his fingers in front of him and bowing his head. “And it is particularly acute now-”
“I’m not talking about Alaric-” She ground the words out, practically in his ear, and he was forced to look up at her at last. She stared down at him, disbelieving. “I am talking about you.” Her face changed, softening. “You have come to mean more to me than anyone else in my life.” Her hand came down upon his shoulder awkwardly and eased up to his cheek. He looked at her in surprise, not quite openmouthed but wide-eyed. “I pushed you away once before because I was afraid. Afraid after so many losses that I would lose … a good man. That I would lose you, perhaps not now but in the future, and feel that pain for the rest of my days, so sharply.” Her hand shook as it came to rest on his cheek, brushing against the stubble there. “I could not bear the thought of that loss. So I pushed you away. And I am …” her face crumpled, “so … sorry. So sorry I drove you away.”
“It’s all right,” Cyrus said and rose slowly. She eased toward him, wrapping her arms around him as he stood, pressing her face against his shoulder, against the blackened armor there. He felt the weight and press of her, smelled the aroma of battle that clung to her after days of fighting. It was a soothing feeling, having her close, and only a year earlier he would have welcomed it happily, exclaimed it inside with such fervent joy-
But now he felt only emptiness as he held her, the fire crackling in the hearth behind her. “It’s okay,” he said. “I would have gone anyway, out of a sense of loyalty to Longwell, to help him. And I still would have stayed, because everything that happened afterward was my fault. I had to be there. It was my duty.”
She looked up at him, lifting her head off his shoulder. “But I could have-should have-been at your side. Been with you.”
He shook his head slowly. “No. You did well, you held Sanctuary together while I was gone. That was the task appointed you, and you did it marvelously, better than anyone else could have in your stead.”
“But …” she whispered, “… after all that’s happened … after all we’ve been through … do you think that there’s a chance … that you still feel for me the way you did on that bridge in Termina?”
He took a deep breath, pondering his answer. “I don’t know. There was a time when I believed in the idea of us-you and me-with everything in me. I believed that you and I could be together, could be something more, something greater than anything else I’d ever experienced in my life. I went to war for you, I killed for you, and I even tried to die in your stead, because I … loved you.” He said it slowly, and bits of it came out as though he were awakening to them. “I felt it so deeply in my bones, in my heart, that I would have done anything for you.” He lowered his head. “I don’t believe that anymore.”
She nodded sharply, almost in denial. “And … do you believe … you could ever feel that way about me … again?”
He breathed out, slowly, felt the emptiness and the fatigue deep inside. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything right now, really … except my duty. Except the promises I made.” He blinked, as though he were coming out of a trance. “I haven’t slept in days, or eaten. I’m so tired … I just don’t know. I’m sorry.”
“Yes, well,” she started to withdraw from him, from his arms. Her hand remained rested on his breastplate, just above his heart, as though she could somehow touch it through the layers of armor and clothing. “I understand,” she said, her face firming up, settling into a mask of sorts into straight lines, the emotion sapping out of it, replaced with the face of the Vara he had come to know-
“Yes,” he admitted. “But I don’t know where I stand with them, either.” He placed his fingers over his face, massaging his temples. “I’m sorry I have no answer for you.”
“It’s quite all right,” she said, and the regret now belonged to him as she slipped back to her old self. “I shouldn’t have expected any less from our conquering General, weary from the battles he’s fought to preserve us all from harm.” She gave him a quick nod. “Perhaps we’ll speak again later-once you’re … recovered.” She snapped to a more precise stance and walked toward the door, her back ramrod straight.
As he watched her go, it was her walk that gave her away. She had always been precise in her stride, evenly measured, crisp, almost marching. As she made her way to the door she kept the same stride but he could see the struggle in each step, as though she were having to drag her feet along away from him. It was a difference measured in time that would have been unnoticeable by most … and meant more to him than anything else she had said.
Chapter 121
The knock at the door had stirred him out of sleep, a long, wearying sleep filled with old dreams, red eyes, and worse. The smell of his room was there when he snapped out of the deep weariness, opening his eyes and finding the stone ceilings above him, surrounding him. It took a moment to reacclimate, to adjust to his surroundings, to the fire in the hearth in front of him, filling the room with its smoky smell of home, to lick his lips and realize that the taste of the meat pie Larana had brought up to him was still on them, still hearty and good, better than anything he’d had while he had been away. The sheets were cool against his bare, clean skin, the shower in his own bathroom having done its job, the running water a beautiful luxury after his time away.
The knock jarred him again, reminded him why he’d awakened, and he forced his legs out from beneath the sheets. He wore fresh underclothes, for the first time in-
