Page 69 of Hearts Lost

I wince, then nod.

“Yes,” I grit out. “I understand.”

Silence. Rowan shoves an enormous forkful of eggs into his mouth, and my next words push their way out of my lips.

“I just—” I stammer. “She could have told me.”

“Heh,” Rowan says through a mouthful of eggs. “Yeah. How would that have gone over?”

“I—”

My voice evaporates as Rowan stares at me with his disconcertingly pale eyes. How would that have gone over? I’d like to think I would have accepted Ithronel’s confession and her reasoning, that I would have been a sympathetic, reassuring listener.

But maybe I would have panicked. Maybe my fear and my sense of obligation to the crown would have destroyed any warmth I felt toward Ithronel, and maybe I would have pulled her into my sleep magic the moment she confessed. Maybe we’d both still be stranded on the black shores of the void. Maybe I never would have gotten to know her at all. Rowan swallows, takes a loud sip of tea, and stares at Arryn with such naked affection that something deep inside of my chest twists painfully.

“She’s working with the king now, isn’t she?” Phaedron asks. His deep voice is soft, almost as though he’s talking to himself.

I shrug. Phaedron picks up his tea and blows on it delicately.

“So, you’re not going to be able to avoid her forever,” Phaedron finishes. “Not if you remain in the Royal Guard.”

My gut lurches again, and my mouth waters. I reach forward, grab a biscuit off my plate, and shove it into my mouth. It tastes far better than anything in the Outer Ring has any right to taste.

“Seriously, get your life together,” Rowan says, because now apparently the Evenworth brothers are taking turns emotionally eviscerating me. “I mean, fun as it was taking shots with you—”

Arryn makes a strangled little coughing noise.

“Yeah, no,” Rowan says, turning to me with a grin. “Actually, you are not a fun drunk.”

“Thanks,” I reply. “Lovely. So glad we could have this conversation.”

Rowan leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Look, whatever happened out there between you and Ithronel, you gotta come to terms with it,” Rowan says. “Because right now, you’re a walking disaster. Hells, you’re even more of a disaster now than you were when we pulled you out of the void.”

I swallow hard. My cheeks burn; my pulse throbs painfully in my temples.

“You should talk to her,” Phaedron says.

Great. Another member of team talk to her. As if it were that easy. I scowl at Phaedron.

“I know it’s hard—” Phaedron begins.

“Yeah, it’s shitty,” Rowan continues. “Making yourself all vulnerable like that. It sucks.”

“But then at least you’ll know where you stand,” Phaedron finishes. “You’ll know you tried, and if it’s not going to work out, then you can move on with a clear conscience. You can start to recover.”

I huff out a breath, ready to tell them that I’m just fine, thank you, and that they can both go to hell.

“You cried last night,” Arryn says, softly. “A lot.”

My mouth goes dry as the memory surges forward, tumbling over the tea and biscuit in my gut, tightening my chest. She’s right. I sat right here and sobbed, didn’t I? And Arryn sat next to me, her hand on my arm, listening to me say over and over again that this wasn’t fair because at least Orryen got to be sedated when he lost his heart.

Shame turns the back of my throat bitter. Voids damn it, Rowan’s right. I am a walking disaster.

And Phaedron’s right too. I’m not going to be able to avoid Ithronel forever. Not if I want to keep my position in the Royal Guard, to keep the life I’ve so carefully built for myself over the years.

And I do want to keep it, I realize through the pounding fog of my hangover. My life in the Crystal City means something to me. I have a position that I’ve earned, not something I was granted thanks to my parentage. I work with men and women who respect me for what I can do, not for the last name that rattles behind me like a heavy cart, and I have Orryen, who is somehow, after everything, still my friend.