Mathias pretended to be brave, and he wanted to help, but rushing into certain death wasn’t helping anyone. She couldn’t let him do it. When he was a kid, he used to come to her to soothe his skinned knees and begged her to watch him practice with his wooden sword. She knew best, and he needed her to protect him from himself.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Growing in urgency, louder and louder. Liane pulled her knees up to her chest. She was doing this for him. The beat sped up as he slammed his fist against the door over and over and over. A few minutes, a couple hours, and he’d give up for today. Delay his trip until he could convince her it was the right thing to do. But she’d never agree. She’d lost someone she’d loved before, and it tore her up inside. She couldn’t lose him too.
Then the knocking stopped.
Liane stared at the door. He wouldn’t leave.
“I’d prefer to say this to your face,” Mathias said, voice muffled, but his sigh was audible. “I wanted you to know I’ve always looked up to you. No one is as strong and stubborn and amazing as you are. I love you, Liane. Take care of yourself.”
A long pause. He was joking. That didn’t count.
“It doesn’t count!” she shouted.
But there was no reply. He hadn’t even asked her before making his decision. She didn’t know the Avatheos had asked him. Why hadn’t their mother stopped him or Father or Aristea? They were all going to stand by while he died? Tears blurred her vision, and she tilted her head up to stem the flow.
“Very funny, Mat.” Knock, please knock again, she begged the door.
But the knocking didn’t resume, and a yawning silence stretched on in its wake.
Leaning out the open window, she looked down at the courtyard, praying she was wrong, and as the seconds turned to minutes, a small flicker of hope burned in her chest. He wouldn’t leave; he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. She chanted the words repeatedly as if her own stubbornness might cast a spell over them both. Then a stable hand marched out with a black war horse, Mathias’ horse. Liane’s heart lurched. No. No. No. No...
She had to stop him. She rushed for the door and, by throwing it open, startled her guards. Then without explanation, she ran past them, her bare feet slapping on polished wooden floors. Down the passageway, she flew, and when she reached the stairs, she skipped steps, her feet hardly touching the ground. In the grand hall, she knocked over a servant carrying a pile of missives, sending them scattering across the marble, and she shouted a hurried apology before bursting out into the courtyard.
Yards away, the gate was closing, and Mathias passed through it. Each breath she took felt as if she were being stabbed, and even if she tried, she wouldn’t have reached him in time. Liane’s knees buckled beneath her as tears poured down her face. She was too late; he was gone, and she hadn’t gotten a chance to say goodbye.
Mathias had changed. No, Mathias had grown. While she remained suspended in time, chasing ghosts of her past, he’d become a soldier ready to die for the empire. And what had she accomplished, after years of chasing smugglers and dealers… nothing.
“Liane, you’re still in your nightgown.” Mother knelt beside her and squeezed her shoulders.
Sobs wracked her body, but she didn’t care. She was a fool, a pigheaded fool. Someone wrapped a coat around her shoulders, and she looked up, expecting another family member, but saw Erich instead.
“What are you doing here?” Liane asked, scrubbing tears from her eyes.
“Come to ask you for a morning ride,” he said.
“I’m not in the mood.”
“Maybe you should go with him,” Mother said.
Liane blinked at her.
“You don’t want to make the same mistake twice, do you?” Erich asked, extending his hand to her.
“What do you mean?”
“Mathias will wait for you. But not for long,” Father said, coming over to put an arm around Mother’s shoulder.
“Go get changed. You can’t ride in your nightgown,” Aristea added.
They’d all come out to say goodbye, ready to make sacrifices for the good of the kingdom, but more surprising was they’d plotted with Erich as well. She stared at him sidelong, not sure if she should be grateful or annoyed. In the end, she settled on grateful. If her family hadn’t done this, she might never have seen Mathias again. Because of the nature of his mission, he had to leave in secret to not alert their enemies before he arrived.
Dashing the last of her tears, Liane headed back inside, where Luzie waited with her riding coat and boots. When she’d finished changing, she met up with Erich and her guards. He helped her into the saddle, and his hands lingered a little too long on her waist. Their eyes met, and a tingle raced up her spine as the lines between real and fake blurred.
Once they were in their saddles, Liane tried to push Erich from her mind: relegating him to a position similar to a guard, a shadow along her periphery. But as they rode through the stirringcity and out of the northern gate, she found him impossible to ignore as her gaze kept coming back to him. Why had he offered to help, to strengthen their ruse, or to try and seduce her?
They crested a hill after leaving the city, and beyond, Mathias waited, standing beside his horse. Liane jumped out of her saddle and raced over to him, throwing herself into his arms as he crushed her in a rib-cracking embrace. She balled her hands into the fabric of his tunic, taking steadying breaths to calm herself, not wanting to fall apart in front of him.
