The word came out flat. Hard. I was already turning, already moving toward where Varyth had disappeared.
“Isara.” Darian’s voice rose. “I didn’t meanright now.”
But I was done listening.
Done with cryptic conversations and half-truths and everyone dancing around what they actually meant. Done with guilt and confusion and feeling like I was drowning in the space between what I wanted and what I thought I should want.
“Let her go,” I heard Eilrys say behind me.
“But he’s?—”
“I know what he’s doing.” Her tone was patient. “And she needs to catch him before he locks himself in his chambers for the next three days.”
“This is going to be a disaster,” Darian muttered.
Their voices faded as I stalked through the castle corridors, following the path Varyth had taken. My heart was a war drum in my chest. My hands were shaking with anger, or fear or something I didn’t have a name for.
39
The balcony was exactly where I expected him to be. Varyth stood at the railing, spine rigid, hands braced against the stone like he was holding the world together through sheer force of will.
The last rays of sun bled across the horizon, all gold and crimson and dying light that painted his silver hair with fire.
He didn’t turn when I approached. Didn’t acknowledge the sound of my boots against stone. Just stood there, carved from ice and misery, watching the day surrender to darkness.
“Varyth.”
His shoulders tensed. Every muscle locked down tight like he was bracing for impact.
I stopped a few paces behind him, giving him space even as something in my chest screamed to close the distance. “We need to talk.”
“I believe we’ve said everything that needs saying.” His voice was empty. Scraped clean of anything resembling emotion.
“No.” The word came out harder than intended. “We really fucking haven’t.”
He finally turned. His eyes found mine, and the devastation I saw there made my breath catch.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “For my behaviour in the training yard. For—” His voice faltered. “For making you uncomfortable. It won’t happen again.”
“What?” I took a step closer. “That’s what you think you need to apologise for?”
“Among other things.”
“Like what?”
“Like not realising sooner.” His hands flexed against the stone, knuckles going white. “I should have seen it. Should have understood what was between you and Fenric.”
Oh.
Oh, you absolute fucking idiot.
“Varyth,” I started, but he was already turning away, already rebuilding whatever walls I’d somehow managed to crack.
“It’s fine,” he said, and the lie was so obvious it was almost insulting. “You don’t owe me explanations. Your personal relationships are your own business.”
“There’s nothing between me and Fenric,” I said, resisting the urge to shove him.
“The training yard would suggest otherwise.”
