I owed Harkin an apology, but I couldn’t force my lips to form the words through the shame. I had thought the worst of him, yetagain, when he had only ever assumed the best of me. He had helped me when I thought myself beyond saving. He trained with me, and he had cared for me these past weeks.
Harkin looked at me—hadbeenlooking at me—like he could not wrench his gaze away, and it terrified me.
We were allies. Friends, maybe. The last thing I needed was to fall for the first person I had opened up to in half a decade. But that was not what these feelings were. I was only overwhelmed with all of the changes the last few weeks had brought, I convinced myself. I was grateful to have a partner to train with and someone to depend on. There was nothing more to it. I would not allow myself to consider it further.
“I know this is still difficult for you, but you’re doing so well. It's okay to falter, to have bad days. Be gentle with yourself.” His fingertips brushed the line of my jaw so quickly it might not have happened at all, and then he was gone—disappearing into the cottage as if I had not just blown up everything I had worked so hard to accept.
I swallowed around the lump in my throat, blinked away the tears that stung at my tired eyes. I could hardly manage a nod of thanks.
Relief ran over me like a mágik of its own. Harkin had seen me at my worst so many times. He had taken my accusations and given me kindness in return.
I had a feeling I could push and keep pushing—say every awful thing that crossed my mind—and he would still be there to catch me when I inevitably fell.
I didn’t want to do that, though. I’d had a revelation and a moment of weakness. Change was difficult, Harkin was right about that.
All I could do was try again tomorrow.
Chapter twenty-eight
Seren
The shadow of the sundial crept forward, mágik flowing unfettered. The last weeks of autumn were little more than ash on the wind. A memory of all that had come to pass. Everything progressed, but I stood still.
I could not forget the words I had uttered. The way I had accused Harkin of making me feel things I did not want to feel. The red hot embarrassment that flooded my body at his denial.
I had embraced my mágik in a way I had never thought possible and confronted the painful memories that I’d carried with me, sorting through them and weighing their truths. I had taken the first step toward healing and acceptance. But for each step forward, I felt an irrefutable tug—some dark hold over my mind—trying to pull me back.
I wanted, desperately, to accept the possibility that I deserved more than a closed off and untrusting existence. Yet the moment I felt the kindling of warmth in my chest, I had hidden behind the hot lick of anger. It was an old friend, a confidant. A thing I knew far more intimately than softness.
Harkin spared me further embarrassment by remaining silent on my outburst. He didn't question the meaning of my words. Perhapshe did not have to. My meaning had been clear enough: he had done me the unfortunate disservice of making me care for him.
Instead, he told me stories of his childhood in Acsilla. The mischief he got up to with his friends in adolescence. All the wonderful sights and foods and mágik that I would have in abundance in my new life. It was as if—now that the faucet had been unstuck—the flow of his words could not be turned off. Those weeks ago, Harkin had expressed to me that he did not know how to be true to himself, but he had simply forgotten how.
The real Harkin had been buried beneath the surface all along. He only needed someone to trust. Someone to share the soft bits of himself with in the quiet of the night.
That evening, he painted a picture of an older brother and a little sister. They had many imagined adventures together in the eastern reaches of the Acsillan kingdom. Pretend ponies to ride and illusions of monsters to slay. Harkin had been too old for such games—a young man already—but he played along for her sake. He spoke of this girl so reverently. It reminded me of the way I used to speak of my brother.
“Her name is Adina,” Harkin told me. His voice was hushed, hardly louder than the crackle of the fireplace. “She is everything I hoped she would be and more. Fierce and brave and honorable. She is everything I hoped thatIwould be. I wish I had more time with her.
“She was only five years old when I started working for Prince Claudian. I have not visited home more than a handful of times each year. I miss her and my mother, but this job keeps them fed and clothed and safe…” A shadow passed over him as his expression darkened.
“How old is she now?” I asked, breaking the silence. I could not bear to let him sit in his pain alone, not when I understood it so keenly.
“Adina is thirteen now, and a pain in my ass.” He smiled wistfully. “If circumstances had been different, I would have stayed. I would have been by her side through every high and low for the past eight years. She deserves a far better brother.”
“You have dedicated your life to caring for her and your mother. What better brother could there be?” I countered.
“One who shows up. One who is present. I should have been there to bandage her scraped knees and threaten her bullies. The little things are important. I have always known that, yet I missed them, time and again.” Harkin turned away, as if he did not want me to see whatever emotion crossed his features.
“She is young, still. It’s not too late to make a different choice.” I reached for him involuntarily, my hand squeezing his tightly before releasing.
He turned to me again, something like wry acceptance in his solemn gaze. “My cards have already been dealt, Ren. There is no other choice.”
“There could be,” I said, but he was already rising from the settee.
“Maybe in another life, Seren Corso.” He looked so young then, so deeply sad. “I’m going to check on Equinox… Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Harkin.”
