“The prince hasn’t woken yet.”
“He will.” I exhale slowly. “And I want to be there when he does. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I have to see it through.”
“You love him, then?”
With a heavy sigh, I rest my head on my father’s chest. “I do. Or I thought I did. I’ve never felt anything... like this.” A mortifying sob breaks free from me as the words rush out. “But in Kaldari he lied to me about who he was. He did it to protect me. He regretted it and said he was sorry, and I forgave him. But I’m scared my heart won’t let me forget or that I can’t trust him.” I hiccup. “Or that he’ll do it again.”
My father strokes my hair. “Everyone makes mistakes, love. The point is how you fix them.”
“But if there’s no trust, where does that leave us?”
“Then you rebuild that trust brick by brick. Nobody ever said love was easy.” He tips my chin up. “You are the only one who can know if he’s worthy of a second chance.”
I think long and hard about that. “He might be.”
His eyes filling, my father pulls me close and kisses the top of my head. “No one, not even a king, will ever be deserving of you, my Suraya. But if he is the one you have chosen, then you have my blessing.”
“Papa?” My tears—bittersweet ones—dampen his shirtfront as I squeeze his strong shoulders tightly. Vena’s cryptic words and Morvarid’s comments in the tower about the late king and Nihira echo in my head. “Were you and Mama soul-fated?”
“No,” he says, his voice tight. “We were not, but I loved her with every ounce of my undeserving soul.”
I tuck my cheek into his chest. “Then how did you know it wasn’t a fated love?”
“She once described a soul-fated claim as a transcendent bond that snaps into place to provide a magical anchor. An ability to share power, to become one.” He stares down at me. “I don’t have magic.”
Air leaves me in a rush. If what my father says is true, Roshancan’tbe my soul-fated. Because he doesn’t have magic either.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t make the choice to love him like my father did with my mother.
“So, two soul-fated might never meet?” I ask.
He exhales and strokes a hand over my hair. “Destiny doesn’t always get it right, my girl. A vertex might appear in someone’s birth chart, but never be actualized. We can decide our own paths. The gods and the fates might have their own plans and their own prophecies, but sometimes love is a choice you make, and one you keep making every day.”
“Speaking of love finding a way, Mama would be happy for you and Amma, you know. She’s up there, watching us, and that’s all she wants—our happiness. She told me so. She told me to find my truth, and I think it’s time you found yours, too.”
“How did my little pea pod get so wise?”
I thread my fingers into his beard like I used to do when I was a little girl. “I have great teachers.”
We make our way downstairs, navigating the crumbling stone steps. Much of the foundation of the tavern is still intact, which means that rebuilding won’t be as difficult as I first imagined. There’s still a lot of work to be done, but my father seems to have a lot of help. There are at least a dozen people milling about. I even spy my old nemesis, Simin, sweeping the floor alongside her mother. She darts a few curious looks at me but makes no move to come over. Surprising myself, I smile at her and wave, and she hesitates before waving back. After dealing with Helena—or worse, Morvarid—Simin is a delight in comparison.
I shouldn’t be surprised to see so many familiar faces. After all, the Saab Inn is home to many in Coban. I wave at some of the regulars clearing rubble and cleaning instead of downing ale as they would have been if the tavern had been standing. There’s no shortage of food, thanks to Amma, and I suspect that’s why half of them are here with a sudden interest in volunteering. I grin. Nothing like her cooking in all of Coban.
“Cyrill,” I call out to the man dangling precariously from the nearby scaffolding, “thank you for everything.”
“You are welcome.” He swings down and approaches me, eyeing the bags at my side. “Leaving us?”
“Yes.”
He purses his lips. “Thought you might finally want to settle down and accept my marriage proposal.”
I can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s joking, but I’m at a loss for words. He’d been one of the few who had known the truth, and he’d been trying to protect me—even with his unsolicited and fervent propositions.
“Her heart is elsewhere, Cyrill,” my father interjects, clapping him on the back.
“You’re going to make some woman very happy,” I tell him, and then as my gaze slips to the dark-haired woman working beside her mother, I have an epiphany. Maybe not everyone is here for the food. Come to think of it, Simin had always acted her worst toward me whenever Cyrill had been in the tavern. How had I not noticed before? I elbow Cyrill. “I’ve seen the way Simin looks at you.”
“She does?” he says with a surreptitious glance over his shoulder.
