“But… not you?” Confusion is written across his expression as he looks me over. “Why not?”
I pull my lip in, contemplating the prudency of my words, finally I shake my head with a little groan. “Because you’re my rival, Byron. You always have been.”
“Rivals?” he scoffs. “This is the first I’m hearing of this.”
“Because you’re denser than the black forest at the height of summer.”
Byron’s mouth drops open with an audible click. “Wait… are you being serious?”
I am unable to meet Byron’s eyes.
“Hold on, I must be hearing this wrong. Are you saying that youhateme?” He sounds so genuinely hurt that I want to take back my words, but I also can’t lie. And I think I’ve gone on too long not telling the truth. Byron deserves to hear how I really feel about him. I owe him that much.
“Hate is a very strong word,” I say softly. I rub my palm against my pants and grimace. “But I do despise your charmed life and your easy manners. Everyone loves you and to top it all off you were born with a magic more powerful than most can dream of wielding. And there’s the matter of Menavillion.”
“What about Menavillion?” he snaps, his eyes spark like they have a live coal in them. It’s fitting given his name, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this livid. Apparently, it’s inconceivable for him to imagine that someone might find his Ser Perfect charade sickening.
“What did you want to talk to him about?” I demand, his gaze looks blank. “Istaria told me about your requested favor.”
“I just offered him a bargain,” he says dismissively. “Why would you….Oh.” Byron stills, his whole body going still as realization dawns in his eyes. “You want Menavillion to be your patron too.”
“He’s only looking for one new champion this year. And I will be it.”
He reaches up, massaging his forehead. “I can’t believe this; all this time and you’ve seen me as your enemy?”
“Not enemy, rival. I want to be better than you not defeat you.”
His shoulders slump. “I don’t know, I’m feeling pretty defeated right about now. I thought we were friends.”
My mouth twists slightly as I glance down at my hands folded on my lap. “Well, I’m sorry you feel that way. I don’t know why you fostered thoughts of friendship with me when I never gave you any sign or indication of that being a possibility.”
He shrugs, holding up his hands as he paces away. “I don’t know, maybe because I don’t assume people are plotting against me or secretly holding a grudge over something I can’t control.”
“And yet you conveniently manage to get a special audience with Menavillion before the rest of us can while I get clothes, so something tells me that you’re doing just fine even with my secret grudges.”
“You tore your best clothes,” Byron says, his voice rising in pitch as he attempts to defend himself. “I thought you would appreciate my consideration, not resent me more.” He turns away, drawing in a deep breath. “And here I was going to say that you looked nice in that outfit that Istaria clearly got for you.”
“So, I only look nice when I am agreeing with you?” I demand, balling my fist.
Byron turns, narrowing his eyes. “All I know is that you’re looking awfully ungrateful right now.”
I suck in a deep breath, and Byron whips his head back around since apparently the bookshelf is better worth his attention than I am. “And what am I supposed to be grateful about?” I snap out. “I have nothing! Not that I’d expect you to understand how that feels. You haveno ideawhat it’s like to be weak and powerless. All my life I had no control, every meal that I ate relied on the kindness of strangers.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing!”
“It was.”
“You never went hungry, Willow,” Byron says in a low tone. “My grandfather and the good people of Woodsbury made certain of that.”
I glance down at my boot before pushing to my feet with a sharp shake of my head. “Like I said… this isn’t something you’d ever be able to understand. I don’t intend to be at anyone’s mercy ever again, no matter how well-meaning they are.” I stalk toward the door but stop, bracing myself on the doorframe as I stare at Byron’s turned back. When I speak again it’s only a low murmur. “I’m working to drag myself up from nothing and make a name for myself. I’m trying to make myself… to be—”
“To be what, Willow?” he demands, his voice is still hard and suddenly I’m filled with the crippling worry that I’ve made it so he will never give me that crooked smile again. That I’ll never see him carefree, but instead he will only ever be this angry person I’m talking to now.
“Worthy,” I whisper, my voice cracking slightly.
Byron flinches, but there is a tempest of emotions raging within me. And there’s a tightness in my throat that is beginning to feel dangerously like tears. Before they manage to break loose, I fling open the door and race out of the library.
Chapter Fifteen
