‘Did you hide this letter before I could read it?’ she asked. ‘Why have I never seen it?’
‘I took it the night you arrived. From your bag,’ he said.
Every smouldering ember of anger burned suddenly to life. She was wholly focused on Jude, the letter’s contents messily shoved aside in favour of the man before her. ‘As if I wasn’t walking around in the dark enough, you thought to keep letters from me, too?’
Jude’s chest brushed hers with every sawing breath. ‘I didn’t know what was in it,’ he begged, an unravelling fervour in his eyes. ‘I was going to open it, to see what you were hiding from me, but I decided to keep it instead. To open it later. I don’t know why, exactly—’
‘Youdoknow,’ Maeve argued. ‘You said so earlier. You wanted to keep something from me.’
His nostrils flared, pupils dilating until none of the hazel remained. ‘Why would I bother keeping something from you, Maeve? Clearly, you would find my secrets and take them for yourself with or without me.’
‘Which I was wrong to do,’ she shot back, the guilt gnawing at her stomach still raw, still devouring. ‘I wish I hadn’t done it. But that doesn’t erase the fact that you kept Felix’s letter from me. Forweeks. Who gave you the key to my life, Jude? To my beliefs?’
He didn’t reply. His lips parted; words left unspoken.
Snorting an incredulous laugh, she jerked back, stopped by his hand on her wrist, skimming upwards, holding her in place. His hips brushed hers as he pulled her close. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘You had been sent to take something of mine. I wanted to take something in return.’
‘And did I?’ Maeve asked. ‘Take something?’
Jude paused for a slow, heady breath.
Unwillingly, her gaze fell to his mouth. Her chin tilted upwards. Their noses touched.
She peeled back, stumbling in her haste.
She couldn’t bear him any longer. Couldn’t listen to the whisper in the back of her head telling her she’d broken his trust by breaking into his library: a far more egregious betrayal. She needed to escape the suffocating closeness of Ánhaga, if only to gain some perspective that only distance could provide. If she didn’t leave now, she’d do something she’d regret.
‘I’m leaving,’ she said. ‘Don’t follow me.’
‘Please,’ Jude ground out. He hadn’t moved from the wall. Both hands pressed flat behind him as if holding himself in place. A haunted look in his eyes. ‘Don’t run. Stay and fight with me. Stay and let me explain. Stay and let megrovel, Maeve. Let me beg.’
For the span of a heartbeat, she froze. His raw expression picked at the soft places she’d yet to figure out how to hide.
But yet—
She needed to think – about him, about sainthood and the Abbey. About every word Felix had carefully penned. An unmooring she couldn’t allow with his nearness clouding her thoughts. With the sting of betrayal still sharp on her tongue.
Without another word, Maeve opened the door and left.
Remaining on the moon-dusted floor behind her was Felix’s folded letter.
31
Jude
Jude picked up the letter. Read it quickly.
After he finished, one fact was alarmingly clear. He had fought against it since he first realized that Maeve saw the gold, and held the same memory magic he did, knowing that the truth would wipe the foundation from beneath her feet.
But it was time. It had been selfish, destructive, even for him to hide the truth as long as he did. He’d wanted to ease her in slowly, keep her from falling too fast. But Jude couldn’t delay any longer.
He needed to tell her everything.
In the weeks she’d been in his home, as they’d drawn closer, as the walls between them had crumbled and fallen, she’d remained steadfastly loyal to her idea of the saints. A part of him had known she wouldn’t allow herself to look any closer, content to keep herself separate from the wretched mess of everything she’d been taught to believe. It was safer that way, and safety was one desire he’d never begrudge her. Safety,freedom, was what he wanted above all else, after all.
Jude had watched her develop her theory about iconographers holding memory magic and held his tongue. He’d worried she’d dug the imagined difference between memory altering and answering prayers out of pure self-preservation, choosing not to see the truth behind sainthood in an effort to protect herself. If she knew what she was, what the Abbey and her magic markedher as, what did that mean for her beliefs? For her relationship to the saints?
He’d seen her careful aversion toward the truth and hadn’t corrected her, hopeful that she would come to the realization naturally. Hoping she would make the jump herself and he wouldn’t have to push her off the ledge. A hidden part of him begged,prayed, that the voice of Maeve’s doubt would be louder than the part of her that still clung desperately to her beliefs. To the Abbey and to the saints.
