“As what?”
His words were dragging me away from my sadness. But that was Merrick. Thoughtful. Kind. Always looking for ways to please me.
“I was going to name someone who appears only at night, but that felt odd.”
“You’re right. He’s conniving.”
Merrick winced, and I reminded myself that while they presented themselves as two separate individuals, they were in truth two flames within a single fire.
“Iamconniving,” I said. “I’ll admit it. You must’ve seen that already. Heard about it too a short time ago.”
“And we’ll talk about that later if that’s all right with you. Show me what else Kinart gave you.”
I tugged the pendant out from beneath my nightgown and held it up in the light. “He bought it for me at a village fair.”
He lifted it off my palm and turned it this way and that. “It’s lovely.”
“I want to wear it.”
“And you should.” He tapped the ring and the key. “These are strange adornments.”
“Surely conniving man told you about them.”
“And your suspicions. I wouldn’t be surprised. My father lovedsomeone. I’d hoped it was my mother. All children want something like that, don’t they? As I grew older, I told myself he’d loved her, and she felt the same because he was a good person, and he deserved it. But I don’t think she ever did.”
“I think she loved the high advisor.”
“Ironic, isn’t it?”
“As much as she’s able to love anyone, that is.”
“She once loved me,” he said softly, his words brushing across my hair. “I don’t think she does now.”
“She may. But she’s greedy. Self-centered. And she’s willing to nudge you off a tall shelf if she’ll benefit from your fall.”
“Unfortunately, this is Erisandra.”
I held up the book of poems. “Kinart used to love reading these to me.”
“And you loved hearing them.”
My laugh came out much too tortured. “I never told him this wasn’t one of my favorite things. But,” I frowned, remembering, “that’s not exactly true. I loved lying in the grass beside him with my eyes closed. Then I could hear the joy in his voice as he read them to me. For that reason, I loved them as much as him.”
“He sounds like he was a wonderful person. I’m sorry you lost him.”
“Me too.” I sighed and showed Merrick the flower. “I pressed it in the book of poems. He’d tucked it into my hair after we—” There were some things you didn’t discuss with your husband.
“It’s alright to name it. He made you happy, and I’m grateful for that. I would never try to take a single memory of that time from you. Think about him, please. Remember him. Because, somewhere, wherever he is now, he’ll feel warmth and know that it comes from you.”
A new tear trickled down my cheek, this one for Merrick. He spoke of Kinart, but there was no way he couldn’t also be thinking of himself.
“A dried flower is fragile,” he said softly.
“That’s why I kept it inside the book, hoping it wouldn’t fall apart.” Because losing even this tiny thing would crush me.
“Can I do something with it for you?”
“Like what?” I held it up by the stem, and he carefully took it from me.
