Iam not a person of faith.
Trusting in something greater than you, believing that everything happens for a reason—that all the terrible things in life are somehow justified, and that in the end our pain and suffering is rewarded…
That requires hope.
Which is something I simply do not have.
I never did.
I take that back—I did have it. For a little while.
I didn’t even realize how empty my life was until she burst into the frame like a dying star, lighting up a dark void. I saw that light, and I held on as tight as I could for as long as I could.
But it wasn’t enough. You can’t contain a fire. You can’t hold it in your hands without getting burned.
And that’s exactly what I tried to do.
Now that light will burn for someone else. And that will haunt me until my dying day.
Every possibility of us is dashed because I couldn’t speak up sooner. Because I couldn’t stand up for what I wanted. Because I simply was not strong enough.
A warrior and a coward.
A death machine and a scared little boy.
It’s time to grow up. I just wish I knew what that meant.?*
The sound of soft footsteps interrupts my train of thought. I turn toward the back of the empty chapel, all decorated for the wedding. Sorscha stands in the doorway, framed by golden candlelight. Her startled gaze lands on me, and she hesitates—as if deciding whether or not to run in the opposite direction.
But she moves closer, looking at me with the sweet amber eyes of a doe, and slips into the pew beside me.
A twinge of guilt nips at me. I open my mouth and then close it.
What can I say to her?
What can I say to somehow bridge the divide? To reach around the person who stands between us, whose presence is felt even when she’s not in the room. For all of Sorscha’s innocence—her naivete and optimism—she isn’t stupid.
She knows. Everyone knows, I’m beginning to realize.
“Pink.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Pink. It’s my favorite color.” She stares straight ahead, toward the rows of lit candles on the altar. Warm colors dance across her face, mingling with the blue-gray moonlight seeping through the glass dome overhead.
“Hydrangeas are my favorite flower. I hate the rain, but love the snow. I prefer sleeping late and staying up until morning. I find tournaments awfully dull. I love silk. Silk dresses, silk sheets, silk everything. And warm sun on my face. And I think ale is the most detestable thing I’ve ever tasted.”
She turns to face me.
“We don’t know each other, Jace. I mean, we do, we have for ages, and yet…I only know you from arm’s length. I know your respect, your manners, your chivalry. But I do not knowyou. What you like…what makes you truly laugh or smile…what you hate. And I’ve never known how you felt.”
“Sorscha, I’m sorry.”
“What do you have to be sorry for? We’re merely two people who have found themselves in the middle of a political predicament.”
“I’m sorry because I want to be a better male. For you, for our future.”
It’s the truth. The only truth I can give her that isn’t wrapped in thorns. I want to give this perfect person everything she deserves. I want to be a good and faithful husband and a strong king.
