I’m coming, my love.
The words look too sentimental, and I want to crumple the paper up at once.
I also want to fold it into a tiny square and carry it close to my heart.
But writing the words gives them a weird sense of permanence, like a promise. Like an oath.
I think of Harristan, and my chest tightens. Below those words, I add more.
Dear Harristan,
I’ll find a way home, brother.
“What are you doing?” says Lochlan from the bedroom.
I look up to find him sitting up in bed, running his hand down his face, blinking in the afternoon sunlight.
“Nothing.” My voice sounds rough, and I clear my throat. “There’s food if you’re hungry.”
He nods and says nothing, then disappears into the washroom.
I stare at my words on the page. My promises that I have no way to keep.
But we’re closer than we were before.
Lochlan comes out of the washroom a few minutes later, so I do fold up the note and put it in my pocket. He watches the movement, and his eyes narrow.
I go tense, waiting for him to ask me about it, but he doesn’t. He just sits down and reaches for the basket of food.
And then we sit in silence.
I keep thinking of the moment he pinned me in that alcove. The way he convinced me to act.The King’s Justice wouldn’t hesitate.
Or the moment not long before that, when he kept me from falling to my death.
Or the way I asked for his advice, and he gave it.
We’re both trying to get out of here, so we’re motivated to work together, but I don’t reallyhatehim anymore.
Perhaps that’s just a good night’s sleep talking.
“Quit staring at me,” he says.
“I’m not.” But maybe I was. I give him a look, then very deliberately shift my chair one inch to the right so I’m at a slightly different angle.
“Why did you fold up the paper?” he says peevishly. “You know I can’t read it.”
I inhale to fire back at him, but I remember again how the little notes I wrote to Tessa during our palace meeting probably needled him, like we were whispering behind his back. I wonder if it feels like I’m hiding something from him now.
I sigh, then withdraw the paper from my pocket and unfold it.
“You’ll mock me,” I say, “but I was writing a note to Tessa. And to my brother.” I hesitate. “I wasn’t going to send it. Obviously. I was just—” I break off and frown. He’s staring atmenow. My voice is a little rough again, but I’ve gone this far.
I keep my eyes on the paper and grit my teeth, bracing myself. “It only says—”
He reaches out and folds it over my fingers. “Keep it to yourself, Cory.”
I’m frozen in place, because this is an unexpected kindness wrapped up in aggravation. I really do want to stab him with the fountain pen for continuing to call me that. I fold up the paper and put it back in my pocket, and we sit in silence again while he eats an orange. The scent of citrus fills the air.
