“We will not.”
I laughed once, without humor, and his brows drew together.
“What?”
I waved a hand. “The impossible declaration. We will not fail. We will not retreat. We will stand until the seas boil and the mountains crumble.”
“I said none of those things.”
“You implied them.”
“My men need certainty.”
“Fine. Give them certainty. Just don’t start believing you can order the world to behave.”
The humor left his face.
“You think I know nothing of the world’s cruelty?” He stood, feet shoulder width apart, scowling at me.
“I think you know exactly how cruel it is, and you still act as though refusing to bend will somehow protect you from it.”
His eyes went cold. “That is enough.”
It should have been, except the fear had already woken, climbing up my throat before I could push it back where it belonged.
“What happens when it isn’t?”
“When what is not?”
“Enough.”
He stared at me.
“When do you stop?” I asked. “When half your men are hurt? When the village is burning? When there’s nothing left here except people dying because nobody wanted to be the first person to admit the fight was over?”
His jaw tightened.
“This is my home.”
“I know.”
“Nay.” His voice sharpened. “You do not.”
“You’re right,” I said at last.
Regret moved across his face, but I was angry now, and anger had always been easier to carry than grief.
“I don’t have a home here. I don’t have anything here, so perhaps you’re right and I have no idea what losing one feels like.”
“Darcy…”
“You know how my friend died.”
The sounds around us seemed to recede, although somewhere behind me an axe still struck wood, steady and ordinary.
“He went back inside,” I said. “There was a report that someone might still be trapped. The building was unstable, and he knew it, but he went anyway because that was who he was.”
“Because someone needed him.”
