“I’m not angry at you. Just give me a second,” he says, breathless. He grabs a fist of grass and lets out a furious, guttural growl. “Fuck.Thatfucking— After everything I’ve fucking sacrificed, he gets to—I can’t have justonething without him—”
For all the times I’ve seen Bash ranting about Will, this is the first time I’ve ever seen Will react this way. Never before have I caught him so deeply incensed. From all the jokes and smirks, I’ve always assumed Will considered his fallout with Bash a petty squabble, a teasing thorn in Bash’s side. Not whatever this is.
I let him breathe it out until he stands up in front of my pale, paralyzed frame.
“Your best friend is Bash’s fiancé.Of course,” Will says. “Every single time I think he has everything, he finds another way to one-up me.”
He bursts out laughing.
It’s a sour, acidic laugh that tastes like bitter tea.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner…” I say. “I was worried you’d think I believed all the things he says about you.”
“Felicity,” he says. He brings up both hands and tucks my hair behind my ears. In any other situation, I’d be tugging him closer. “You’ve had a thousand things to worry about. Don’t worry about me. I am more than used to it.”
“I don’t, by the way. Agree with him—with everything Bash says.”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did. That’s the whole point of their plan.”
“What do you mean?”
Will looks off to the side, considering something. Eventually, he sighs and holds a hand out, palm up.
“I suppose it’s easier if I just show you. If you’re interested in a trip down memory lane. Uh, literally.”
I hesitate. He’s offering to show me what happened between him and Bash five years ago. Something I have tried so hard to dodge, something I have so often walked away from.
Not this time.
I nod and link my hand with his. He intertwines our fingers and relaxes his shoulders.
“Don’t let go,” he says, stepping closer with intensity in his eyes. I realize he’s focusing on a spell. “Ready?”
My heart hammers a heavy beat.
“Yes.”
The grove around us desaturates and disappears until it’s just Will and me and a large brown oak tree in the middle of a prospering forest.
Chapter Fifteen
“Wait up!” a voice echoes around the moonlit clearing.
Right on cue, a rosy-cheeked Bastion rushes onto the scene. He’s bundled up in a long coat to stave off the early winter frost, and his shorter hair sticks up in odd directions. Clearly he ran the whole way here. The memory of Bash doesn’t pay us any mind. He paces around the oak, creating circles in the grass and peering up at the boughs. We’re ghosts here, an audience unable to intervene.
Somewhere, an owl hoots.
“Is this five years ago?” I ask Will in a whisper.
He nods, his fingers gripping mine like unyielding vines. He stares down the path as if waiting for something, for someone.
Fourteen-year-old Will sprints into the clearing and leans over at the waist, panting. His hair is longer, half tied back in a short ponytail, and instead of the leather jackets I’m used to, he’s thrown on a baggy knitted sweater.
“Idiot. I told you to slow down,” he says, his voice a slight pitch higher than it is now.
Bash walks by and Young-Will kicks his foot out toward the prince’s shin.
“You could have used your magic,” Young-Bastion says, sidestepping the attack and continuing his inspection of the oak. “Some of us don’t have that privilege.”
