“I do … did …” Evander edged along the wall, away from the tree, and climbed onto the vanity to avoid the nettles sprouting from the rug. “You’re right,” he said.
Valenna hugged her ribs, and the tree wrapped its branches around its trunk, imitating her. “What?” she asked, dumbfounded.
“No, you’re right. I didn’t mean to control you, I meant to protect you, but it was wrong of me to leave the way I did. I’m a fool, and I’m ashamed, and I’m sorry.”
Valenna stared at him in shock. She didn’t know a man could apologize.
Evander continued quickly, the words coming out in a rush, “I don’t think I knew how much it would hurt you … and this is my fault, mind, because I’ve never really had anyone love me before except … anyway, I think somewhere inside, I thought you’d be relieved when I left. I felt like a burden …”
“When did I ever imply that you were a burden?”
“Never!” he cried. “Not once. And it was ridiculous of me to think that of you. But my headaches have gotten worse, like you guessed, and I didn’t want you to give up everything for me. You’re so clever and talented. And I was already dragging you down. Your work was slipping; your heart wasn’t in it. The master dracologist was unimpressed, and I feared you’d lose your position.”
“You. Don’t. Get. To. Choose. That. For. Me.”
“I know. I know, and I’m sorry.” He was pleading, earnest. “I am so, so sorry, Val, and if I could go back and fix it, I would. I regret leaving. I regret everything.”
The tree sank into the floor and disintegrated into a pile of wood shavings.
“Thank you,” she said, her throat raw. “I appreciate that.”
Was she supposed to forgive him for a full year of pain? Right here and now? She tried to hate him, and found she couldn’t. She was a turtle crossing the road—never heeding the crushing wagon wheels, stubbornly heading to the other side, no matter how many times she tried to turn away. Evander always drew her back.
But Evander didn’t ask for forgiveness. Instead, he said, “Tell me more about your father.”
Valenna sighed. “I was a disappointment to him. I could never live up to his expectations. He wanted me to be angry at Marwenna and Ashkendor, and I tried. For years, I tried, but I could only be angry at him and myself because ... well, because ...”
Again, she couldn’t find the words, and she didn’t imagine a woodcutter’s son with no magic and no vendettas against enemy kingdoms would understand anyway.
“Because you’re tired,” Evander said, climbing off the vanity. “And you feel weary and dried-up inside like sludge in the bottom of a bucket.”
Surprised, Valenna replied, “Yes. Yes, exactly.”
He nodded and sat in the chair, opening the drawers, searching for something.
She continued. “I can summon trees, and thorns, and stinging rain. And I can make powerful zephyrs that wash over my enemies and poison them from the inside …” She stopped. Why was she telling him this? He could never love her, knowing the wretched things she had done. “How could I tell you the truth? I loved you so, Vander. How could I risk losing you?"
Evander found a roll of white cotton, stood, and drew her to the bed where he sat beside her, lifting her arm again and carefully wrapping it in the cotton.
She didn’t deserve his pity; she didn’t want it. He’d wrecked her life. She should be angry at him, cursing his name. And he should be furious with her. A sane couple would be screaming at one another, swearing they’d never speak again, flinging accusations. So why were they sitting quietly, a spring breeze whispering through the curtains as he bound her wounds with heartbreaking tenderness? Evander was the ballast to her ship, and she had drifted far since she lost him.
“So your father made you do what you did?” he asked.
“Yes. No. I don’t know!” She felt muddled and queasy. “I was a child. I was doing what I was told. Cruel as my father was, he was also wise and devious. He told me I was a gift from the goddess of cunning.” She gazed at the floor and added bitterly, “His special, secret weapon.
“He told me that he would give me rest if I went out to battle for him one more time. And then one more time. One more, one more, one more …” her voice trailed off. “My father got it into his paranoid, delusional head that my half-sister Olivette had designs on his throne, so he exiled her. I had managed as long as she was with me, but I couldn’t face my father alone, so I planned to make him tell me where she was and then run. Then, to put it bluntly, the Ashkendoric prince sliced me open with a sword.”
Evander wasn’t as shocked by this as she expected him to be. He didn’t even look up. His lukewarm reaction irritated her. Thinking he didn’t believe her, she stood, pulled apart a tear in her bodice, and lifted the fabric so he could see the long scar across her stomach.
A visible shudder ran through him.
“My father told me he would reveal my sister’s location if I killed the prince.”
“And did you?” Evander asked without raising his eyes.
“I tried, but in the end, I couldn’t do it.”
“You mean you weren’t able to, or you didn’t want to?”
