‘For me or for you?’ I ask quietly.
A longsword could not cut through the silence that follows.
The shock has drained from Hal’s eyes. His mouth is set in a grim, determined line.
‘Fine,’ I say, my voice cracking. ‘I suppose I should be grateful that you haven’t tried to kill me yourself.’
The expression that flits across his face is one of pure agony. ‘How can you say that?’
‘Because I’m aMage, Hal.’
He looks as though he’s about to reach for me, but his arm swings back to his side, dangling loosely. My chest aches.
‘I knew that telling you would change everything,’ I say thickly. ‘So end it. Banish me, like you did your brother. But I won’t abandon the serfs. Iwon’tlet Ingra die here.’
‘She threatened the crown!’ Hal half yells. ‘Ihaveto make an example out of her.’
‘Spoken like a true Castellion.’
Hurt – real, raw hurt – dulls the dark spark of rage kindling in his eyes. A muscle flickers in his jaw. ‘If I were to spare your friend, it would be considered a sign of weakness,’ he says roughly. ‘My position is tenuous enough as it is. I could loseeverything.’
‘But what of Ingra?’ I demand. ‘What of my people? Everything they have lost? Everything that wastakenfrom them? You might not have the power to erase all the terrible things your grandfather did, but you can bebetterthan him. You could make a difference, Hal. Not in a year, or two, or ten.Now.’
His face twists with pain and indecision, his fingers flexing then curling into fists.
And for a brief moment I recall the boy I first met – the one who begged his brother for a salve to soothe the lash marks on my back, who found a way to give me a golden rose every single day, who introduced himself shyly, as if I had no idea who he was. Who looked at me as though I was his sweet deliverance. His shining salvation.
‘Please,’ I whisper.
Hal reaches out, his thumb tracing my cheekbone. His voice is soft. Tenderly resigned, like gently closing the door to a place you once called home.
‘I love you, Elva. I have loved you since the first moment I saw you, and I will love you until my last breath.’
I catch his wrist and feel his pulse race in response.
‘My heart is, and always will be, yours. Whether you’re a serf, or a spy, or a Mage. Whether you’re at my side or lost to me forever.’
His eyes are sombre. I can read the guilt in them, the longing, the finality.
‘But my hands are tied,’ he says. ‘I can’t do what you’re asking of me. I … I’m sorry.’
And with that, my Hal is gone. In his place stands an emperor, Heir to House Castellion, destined to marry a golden-haired princess and uphold the blood-stained legacy of his grandfather. I was a fool for ever daring to hope that he could right the wrongs of the past, that we might have some kind of future together. He was never mine to lose.
I feel something crack deep inside.
A stray shadow emerges from my fingertip and glides gracefully into the air before twining round the golden orbs floating overhead. One by one, they are snuffed out.
I look at Hal and watch as a tear slides slowly down his cheek.
We were always doomed, right from the very beginning. And now, it seems, we’ve reached the end. He is my greatest love, and my worst regret.
He is a secret I have kept, and will keep, for the rest of my life.
50
Flint
The Greenwood is on fire.
