Asunder

“It”—at least I didn’t have to explain what it was—“happened so soon after the meeting, whoever did it must have known our plan.”

He was very still. A statue of a musician.

“Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s just a coincidence that it happened so soon after I asked for help.

People have been throwing rocks and breaking into nurseries. Maybe this was their next step and it had nothing to do with tonight.” I peeled off Sam, off the piano bench. He hadn’t moved, but I couldn’t stay still. In spite of the wretched day that wouldn’t end, everything in me itched to run. To go somewhere. The grief inside me needed to escape.

I stalked around the parlor as though my anxiety might leak out from the force of my feet hitting the floor. I made the perimeter twice before Sam came to life again and began tracking my progress.

“I hope you’re right,” he said at last. “I hope it is just a coincidence, because the idea of one of our friends being responsible is too horrible.”

My insides twisted into knots as I stopped before him. We were both exhausted and heartsore. Maybe right now wasn’t the best time for this talk.

When the light shifted in the window behind him, casting him as a silhouette, he looked my age. I trailed my fingertips over the soft curves of his cheekbones, down his freshly shaven jaw, and across the thick lines of his eyebrows. At my touch, he swallowed hard, and little by little the tension drained from his shoulders and neck. He dropped back his head. His lips parted and his breath shallowed.

“I miss being outside of Heart,” I said. “I want those days in Purple Rose before the sylph came.” I caressed the frown line between his eyes, how I always knew he was thinking too hard about something.

Then I found the line by his mouth, a long curve from his smile.

“Me too.” His hands breezed over my hips. I didn’t fight the urge to lean toward him, press my body against his.

Just us, the parlor instruments, and the early morning quiet, it was easy to imagine we were the only people. No explosions, no sylph, no Janan.

My fingers came to the end of their wanderings on his forehead. I smoothed back his hair and kissed him. “Sam.” A shiver ran through his body when I said his name. “Will you sleep in my room with me?”

A wicked smile flashed, and his hands dipped from my hips to my bottom to my thighs. “I’d like that.”

My skin burned with his touch, even through my clothes, and I ached to discover what he might feel like without the layers of cloth between us.

Before I could suggest it, he drew away. His hands fell to his knees and the longing faded from his eyes, shifting to regret. “But I should sleep in my own bed.” He spoke softly, but that didn’t dampen the pain of his words.

I stood there like a moron, feeling trapped in another rejection, trapped in the memory of when I’d first arrived in Heart. We’d faced each other in the kitchen so close, so tense I’d thought he might kiss me.

But he hadn’t.

He stared at his hands, as though remembering the same event. “Ana.” Just a breath. “I do want to, but maybe we shouldn’t.”

“Why?” I knew why. I’d heard why earlier.

“I…” Resolve steeled his voice. “It wouldn’t be proper.”

Proper.

“I heard your fight with Stef.” My voice trembled with effort to speak softly. “The night of the masquerade, after you were arrested, Li kept saying things like that. She insisted the way we danced was inappropriate. Then Deborl said it that day outside the temple. People have said it in the market field.

Have you been hearing it from friends, too?”

“Everyone has opinions.”

“And why should we mind? Have I given you a reason to believe I care if other people think our relationship is inappropriate?”

“I’m glad you’re not worried what they think.” He closed his eyes, expression drawn as though he’d rather be having any conversation but this one. “But have you considered that despite how you feel, this might truly be inappropriate?”

My mouth fell open.

“Stef had a point. I’m old, Ana.” He shoved himself to his feet, all fire and passion. “It doesn’t matter what I look like. The truth is that I have done so many things in other lifetimes. I don’t mean composing symphonies or exploring the world beyond Range. I mean intimate two-people-alone things.”

Pieces of me were unraveling. Was he trying to hurt me?

“I hate that.” My heart thundered. I’d just wanted to be near him while we slept, and suddenly everything spun out of control, all my unspoken fears and insecurities so bright and blinding. “Every time you remind me how much older and more experienced you are—I hate that. You think I don’t know?”

“I think you don’t care.”

“Well, I don’t.” I was a liar. I did care, but not nearly as much as I did other times. “I want thingswhatever kind of things—to go normally. Whenever they’re supposed to happen, that’s when I want them to happen.”

His face was stone. “That’s the problem. Normally both parties know all the details. They have the experience, even if it’s not with each other. This relationship is different. There’s nothing normal about it.

How am I supposed to know how far to go with you? How am I supposed to know when you’re ready, and for what? I want to be honorable and do the right thing, but I don’t know what that is.”

“You could let me decide.” I crossed my arms. “Aren’t both people supposed to have a vote in a relationship?”

He shifted his weight, myriad expressions crossing his face before he settled back to the same stone as before. “Do you know what you’d be deciding?”

Caught. My face ached with scowling. “I’m an adult, Sam. Nearly four years past my first quindec.

You said that just last night.”

He towered over me, body tense and voice sharp. “Really, Ana.”

I resisted the urge to back away. “Like many things I had to figure out on my own, the books I had access to didn’t specify how to do certain activities.”

“So you don’t know. You can’t make an informed decision like that.”

“You could tell me.”

He massaged his forehead. “I can’t even imagine how strange it would be for you to hear about it.

Even thinking about how I’d explain it makes the whole thing seem a lot less fun. It might even sound scary.”

“No, that isn’t what I meant.” I shook my head. “I meant showing me with—with you. Like you promised the night of the masquerade.” He’d said he had a thousand things to show me, places he’d kiss me or touch me. My whole body ached with anticipation under his hands, and I’d thought he felt the same way. I said more softly, “Don’t you want to?”

“Yes.” He sounded raw. “Yes, but I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

“Your stupid honor is going to make me crazy. As far as I can tell, Sam, we’re going to spend the rest of our potentially short lives not doing anything more than kissing.”

He looked uncertain. A crack in the stone. “You could ask Sarit?”

How could he be so clueless? “You’re missing the point.”

He waited.

“I should be able to count on you, but you’re telling me I can’t.”

“Ana—”

“No. I understand this whole thing is weird. You don’t know how to reconcile what has always been acceptable and what you feel is honorable in this case. I’ve always admired your need to do the right thing, so I appreciate it. Really.”

He didn’t look convinced, and it was hard to believe that less than a day ago, we’d been standing here by the piano, surrounded by roses, kissing, his hands up the back of my shirt….

“We may not be able to decide whether our relationship is or isn’t appropriate. We have emotions invested.” I struggled to steady my voice. “But we can decide if we care about appropriateness. If you don’t care, then we’ll