“I have no fucking idea what I’m doing here.” My hair falls out of the tie that was keeping it back and into my face. “I found out from Ivy. Had to see it for myself. That you were alive.”
Ben doesn’t move. There’s no expression there and I understand now how he survived as a soldier and spy. And I know he would die rather than let go of my secrets to anyone.
“I spent years never knowing if you were alive or dead or imprisoned in some foreign country. Every time I saw your father I asked him how you were and before he answered I’d be dreading him telling me you weren’t coming back. I’ve just lived with how that felt and it made me want to die too. That’s how you protected me. That’s the mistake you nearly made.”
Now he pales. Now I see the hurt because this was never what he intended. Whatever decision he – and Isaac made – they were to keep me safe. I understand that. But they’ve damaged me and I don’t know if I can be repaired.
“It’s more complicated than that.” Isaac’s words pull me back to him.
“Is it? Because you seem to have come off well in this.”
My voice sounds cold even to me.
“It isn’t like that.”
“Really? Because you had me in your bed and Ben tucked away here. Best of both worlds, Isaac?” And that’s when the tears start again because I don’t know who to trust. Is there anybody left who will tell me the truth? Anyone who doesn’t want to have a say in how I wear this tarnished crown or who wears it? It’s more complicated than ever before because I know something that no one else does, something that would mend or break all of us, something that changes our lives more than any crown.
I hear them break.
Hearts. Three of them.
“Fuck you.” The syllables are said slowly by Isaac and I see the light in Ben’s eyes dim, and I know mine will be the same.
Ben turns to Isaac, his eyes cold now, ice. I don’t react. Every fibre in me is frozen. I have no idea where we go from here, what we do.
Isaac steps forward, into the dim light that cascades through the window, a dirty waterfall. “It would’ve been easier if I did use you. Then I could walk away. But don’t expect me to, either of you.” He folds his arms, this man who has been my protector and lover and friend and advisor. This man who has lied to me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I know they’ve already answered but I still need to hear the words again.
“You needed to think I was dead, like everyone else. They were trying to use me to get to you.” Ben steps closer, as if I’m an animal they’re not sure will attack.
“We know there’s an inside source feeding information to someone connected to Norway.” Isaac gives me a brief explanation which ties in with some things that I already know but haven’t paid much heed to.
“That doesn’t give you the right to lie to me.” I need to get out of here. I need air before I keel over. Need to put distance between between us. Need to breathe.
I rush outside, the rain still pounding down, the sky through the trees like night time. I have no idea how I should be feeling. Ben’s alive and I want to hold him, kiss him, fuck him, tell him everything. But he’s lied to me, he disappeared again to keep me safe but he never thought about my poor broken heart.
My car is a hundred metres away. The wind picks up as I head towards it, hearing footsteps behind me, twigs breaking and my name on the lips of the two men I’m in love with. I find my car keys and unlock the car, thinking about home and my bed and burying myself under the covers and forgetting who I am or how I feel and pretending I’m thirteen again and all I have to worry about is my homework.
“I’m sorry.”
I spin round and look at Ben. Isaac’s standing a few feet behind him.
“I’m sorry I let you think I was dead. I did what I thought was for the best.”
“I…”
I don’t get to finish the sentence or even the next word.
The explosion is loud and deafening and scatters sparks across the sky. A monster of red flames fills my vision and my body is slammed to the ground with the force of it all. I feel pressure on top of me and hear Ben’s voice.
For the second time in my life I pray.
Part Four
April
April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.– T.S. Eliot
