“Just like every young person itching to get out on their own,” I replied.
“No, not like every young person. My mother—”
“Were you taken from your home when you were still a child?”
He stared at me. “You aren’t seriously doing this.”
The disappointment in his voice chilled me, but I pushed on. “If one day you decided to go back home, you could, couldn’t you?”
“Suffering is not a competition,” he said, very low. “No, I can’t fully understand what you’ve been through, nor can you understand what I’ve endured. But I want to learn every bit of you—your story, your body, your mind.Everything, Mara. As much as one person can absorb another’s life and pain and hopes, that’s what I want to do for you. And I want you to learn me and my life in return. And the problem here”—he raised his voice a little, cutting me off before I could speak—“the problem isn’t that you can’t focus on fighting a war and having a lover at the same time, so don’t pretend that. Give me at least that much honesty. The problem is that you’re so afraid of heartbreak that you deny yourself happiness for fear of someday losing it.”
That tore a sharp laugh out of me. I hated how sad it sounded, how fragile and exposed on this lonely, windswept hill. “And what I if I am? I’ve been shattered so many times, I’ve put myself back together so many times. Too many times. What if I don’t want to do that again? What if Ican’tdo it again?”
“But darling, that’s what I’m telling you,” he said, gentler now. His smile deserved none of my ire, and yet I couldn’t stand the sight of it. I wished he would yell instead of treating me so softly; I deserved to be yelled at.
“You won’t have to put yourself back together on your own ever again,” he continued. “We’ll do it together. I’ll help you.”
“And what if you can’t?” I felt like I was careening toward a cliff’s edge and could find nothing to grab on to, nothing to break my fall. But that was the point, wasn’t it? I would only drag Gareth down along with me.
“What if you can’t put me back together?” I asked. “What if you try again and again—because Iwillkeep breaking, I promise you that—andit’s impossible? You’ll get tired of me and walk away, or you’ll stay with me out of stubbornness and I’ll ruin you, or you’ll die, and that will ruinme.” I shrugged, laughing a little. “Is loving me for a little while worth all of that? Is lovingyouworth it to me?”
Now he was the one to step away. Roughly, he rubbed the back of his head, his mouth twisting. All the passionate light was gone from his eyes. I’d snuffed him out.
“Is loving you worth all of that?” He laughed quietly. “I’ve already told you my answer in every way I know how. What you find worth the trouble and risk, I’m still not sure. And if you won’t tell me, or can’t, then…”
I hardly breathed, waiting for him to finish, not sure how I wanted him to finish. The possibilities made me sick with sadness, with relief.Then I can’t do this. Then this is a waste of time. Then you’re cruel, and I’m a fool for thinking I could ever really love you.
But before he could say another word, and as the air pulled taut and sour between us, a delicate cough drew our attention to the stone bench. A pale man sat there, with shaggy gray hair that fell around his face in windblown waves. He wore dark brown robes and sat with his hands in his lap. Once we noticed him, his placid expression warmed into a smile that deepened the lines of age carved into his face.
“Welcome to Falkeron, my fellow children of the gods,” he said. “Have you come to us in tribute, in need, or with curiosity?”
I recovered quickly, so thankful for the interruption that I couldn’t bring myself to care about how much this man might have overheard. I even ignored the strange fact that he’d somehow appeared on the bench without a sound. We were on Falkeron, after all; the monks here worshipped Zelphenia, Goddess of the Unknowable. It was impossible to know what sorts of spells or other obscure enchantments they might practice.
“We come in friendship, Brother,” I answered, only a little shaky.“My name is Mara Ashbourne, and this—”
“Ah, the Rose and the librarian!” Immediately the man’s face lit up. “Mara Ashbourne and Gareth Fontaine. Of course. I should have guessed it at once. The Blessed Abbot told us you were coming. You have traveled far, yes? All the way from Rosewarren.”
Hearing our names together like that made me flinch. “Yes, Brother. With a message and a request from our Warden.”
The man gave us a knowing smile. “Yes, always up to something, that one, isn’t she?” He rose to his feet and gestured up the path to the monastery at its peak. “Please, come with me. I’ll show you to your rooms so you can refresh yourselves before supper. It’s not often that we receive such distinguished guests. You’ll forgive any unbecoming excitement you might see from us tonight, I hope.”
Gareth brushed past me and greeted the man with a hearty handshake. “If you’ll forgivemyexcitement, Brother, at the chance to peruse your archives.”
“Normally we do not permit visitors to enter the archives,” the man said, amusement coloring his voice.
“But you will allow me, won’t you?” Gareth flashed him one of his notorious grins. “Since I’m a special envoy of the Warden and all?”
The man chuckled and placed a hand on Gareth’s arm, gently guiding him back toward the path. “Do not worry, Professor,” he said pleasantly. “You are indeed honored guests here at Falkeron, and we plan to celebrate your arrival accordingly.”
They proceeded up the path without me, Gareth peppering the monk with questions about the archives and doing it loudly enough that his cheery voice drifted back to me on the wind at a grating volume. He meant to irritate me, I assumed, and to prove that I couldn’t dampen his spirits no matter how hard I tried.
I let them get a ways ahead of me before following them up the hill. Neither of them looked back, and I tried to tell myself that thiswas perfectly fine, that the best thing for both Gareth and me at this moment was space. Being apart would give him a chance to realize what a mistake he’d made to love me. And it would allow me to truly harden myself against him at last.
Surely we would both realize that what we’d done, what we’d thought we felt, could be attributed to lust and a brief lack of judgment, nothing more.
I recited these lies to myself all the way up the hill, my scarred hand in a hard fist.
Nothing more.
