Page 95 of The Faceless Queen

“I …” I swallowed. “I’m sorry-I shouldn’t have⁠—”

“No,” he said quickly. “No. I’m not upset. Gods, how could I be? Nor am I accusing you of anything. I truly just want to know. Why?”

I took a deep breath, deciding to be as honest as I could. I was already wrapped in too many lies. “I thought she could use them. I-I heard it was her tavern where she worked that burned down outside the city after the chimera attacked. And I just wanted to offer her some help in restarting her life.”

Brennan nodded. “That was very kind of you to do. More kind than I expected.”

“Because you didn’t think of me as kind?” I asked, terrified I’d made a fatal error.

“No, because I didn’t know the depths of your kindness. Until tonight.” His eyes darkened. “I noticed my cousin Jaron has been around her quite a few times.”

“Oh? Is that so?” I asked, trying to sound surprised, but I sounded ridiculous, even to myself.

“It is. And I think you know that,” he said.

I squeezed my eyes shut, praying I was making the right choice as I said, “I do.”

Brennan let out a shaky breath. “You’re not the only one who noticed. Nor is she the first that he’s—” his nostrils flared, “given such attention to.”

“I see.” My throat went dry as I met his eyes. My heart still pounded, waiting for him to accuse me—to connect me to Cecelia the same way Jaron had. To realize Olivay was not that kind—would never give jewelry away with such ease.

Brennan bit his lip, his brow furrowed as he stared up at the oak’s golden leaves, then to me, like he’d made some kind of important decision.

“One should not speak ill of their cousins,” Brennan said slowly. “Nor do I wish to worry you or complicate the contract between our families. But …” He sighed. “I feel it is my duty as your future husband to warn you, and to keep you safe. Jaron and I grew up together. Very close, we were by each other’s side for everything always, our entire lives. Our fathers weren’t just brothers, you see, they were twins. A rarity in the family bloodline. But so it was, and it made him my brother, made him far more important than any cousin. Especially when my uncle passed away. That was when my father took him under his wing, treated him like he was another son.”

“That must have been hard for him,” I said, trying to speak carefully. I had no sympathy for Jaron. He was a fucking monster. But losing a parent was never easy. Especially as a child.

Brennan shrugged. “It was. But I lost a parent, too, when I was young,” he sucked in a breath. “Too young.” He bit his lip. “My mother. She was beautiful and kind, but she was—well.” He shook his head. “I remember feeling as if I couldn’t breathe after it happened. It took weeks for the feeling to go away.”

My eyes watered. Memories of myself in the moments after I’d lost my mother appeared like a flash in my mind. Coming back down into the snow, the red scales and talons falling away, my skin and bones reverting back to my old body. My energy drained, my breath coming short. I remembered the way it felt as if my heart physically hurt. The way it took months for that pain to dull. But I couldn’t say a thing, couldn’t tell him I understood. Olivay’s mother was alive.

“She’s the one who used to bring me here,” he said. “Tell me stories. Fairy tales.” His gaze lifted again to the tree. “This looks like an oak, but the leaves are always gold when unfurled, not green. She used to say it was from a seed Kavrir carried from the old world, that the tree was magic.”

“She sounds like a great mom,” I said, thinking of my mother, also telling me fairy tales and stories of Orsete in the old world, stories from before the Doom.

His eyes reddened. “She was. Losing her was—is the hardest thing I ever went through,” he said. The muscles in his jaw flexed. “But I’ve never carried on like Jaron, not once.”

“I wouldn’t think you would. You’re not like him, nor most men. You’re different,” I said. “You’re a good person. Perceptive, kind, and noble. And you’re strong. Physically, and … in here.” I placed a hand on his heart. Grateful that the steel of his armor was between us.

He smiled grimly, like he didn’t fully believe it. “I don’t know. I always felt different from everyone, felt like I wasn’t the same person after she died. Sometimes I wonder who I might have been—could have been.”

“You don’t have to do that.” I met his eyes. “You would have been you,” I said, and I knew I spoke the truth. Because I remembered him as a boy—remembered the brief moment I saw him. It would have been before his mother passed. And there was a kindness in his eyes that I saw and felt even then. A kindness I’d remembered when Jaron appeared.

“Maybe,” he said.

“I don’t know him well at all,” I lied, “and forgive me for saying so about a member of your family, but I think even if Jaron hadn’t had that loss—he’d be exactly who he is.”

Brennan sighed, his expression resigned. “I think you’re right.”

“My mother used to say—” I froze. “I mean, when I was younger—that really big events, the kind that change everything about your life, don’t actually change who you are. Not at your core, not in your soul. They just,” my throat tightened, “reveal who you truly are within. She used to say that they just made you more you. Brought your real self to the surface.”

The backs of my eyes burned. I’d forgotten she told me that.

Brennan smiled at her words, and my heart raced, both from the memories, and because he was beautiful, so fucking beautiful. “And you think my real self is good? You think that highly of me?” he asked. His eyes crinkled. “You still barely know me.”

“Don’t I, though? I know it’s been a short while, but I know you better every day. I see you. And I like what I see.”

“And I you,” he said. He meant it. I could feel it. Not as an Azete. As a woman. Yet, there was some doubt in his eyes. For himself, for what I’d told him. “It took me too long to see it, to see that despite how we were raised, Jaron’s no brother to me,” he said quietly. “Nor friend. Rowan is more like a blood relative to me than he ever was. And so is your cousin.”