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Lost. That was what she thought of him.
I would concede. Sometimes the simplest words had the sharpest teeth.
Good riddance, for I strode past the woman and left her behind. We were done. So very, fucking done.
29
Briar
When my scribbled message to him went unanswered, desperation got the better of me. I declined a late celebratory meal with the Royals by feigning a headache to Mother, then dallied in my suite until the bell tolled the hour, the vibrations flooding the kingdom. My chin trembled at the memory of that tower, of what I’d said there.
Sans a candle or lantern, I took the secret passage and braved the route to the artist wing. His room was empty and dark, moonlight puddling on the floor and the scent of wax from the unlit tapers lingering. I longed for him so badly that I imposed myself on his bed, perching at the edge and drawing my legs into my chest. I wrapped my arms around my knees, curled into a ball, and waited.
He could be diverting the Royals while they supped. He might be keeping company with the one person it would pain me to see him with.
Soon enough, Mother might return to my rooms and check on me. If I didn’t make it back in time, I would have to invent yet another lie. I had been shutting her out for ages. In becoming allies with the jester—and more than that with him—I’d deceived her.
Her and others. Though I would never regret what I shared with Poet, I hadn’t forgiven myself for lying to those closest to me.
A princess does not forsake her kin. She does not wound them.
I had found nothing of substance in the archive library. I’d done Poet and Nicu no justice, and now the Seasons could trade born souls. I may not have signed the amendment, but my silence had contributed to its existence.
The door creaked. My head lifted. A sliver of firelight from the hall stretched across the floor, accentuating his tall shadow and unkempt hair.
At the sight of me, he startled. Then he glanced behind him, checked the corridor, and blinked my way again.
“Briar?” Eliot asked.
“Hello,” I croaked.
“What are you doing here?”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Hearing the splinter in my voice, he sighed. It wasn’t the supportive reception I had hoped for. In the past, he would have dashed over to me, insisted upon knowing what was amiss and how to help—as I would do for him without question.
Instead, my friend hesitated. We never met in his room. I’d been here before, but briefly and on the pretext of requesting a song for an event. The tension lining his face had nothing to do with the scandal of me being here when the piper, who bunked with him, could walk in at any second. His brusque tone hinted I was trespassing for other reasons.
Eliot crossed the floor and settled beside me. No arm around my shoulder, no hand squeezing mine. We hadn’t seen one another since the labyrinth, yet something had shifted in my absence. When not with Mother, I had spent my secret hours with Poet, doing things that would break Eliot if he were to discover them. I had no right to be here. Horribly, self-indulgently, I had been neglecting my friend. I’d betrayed him.
But he didn’t know that.
He wore a thinly knit azure sweater, woodsmoke and sage drifting from the fabric. Those aromas that had always made me feel at home in this fortress.
Eliot regarded his lute propped in the corner with cool detachment, the sort of expression that meant he wasn’t feeling detached at all. He must have been upset that I’d taken this long to meet with him again. That would account for his uncharacteristic silence.
When we were fourteen, we wrote a song together. It was about horses ruling an animal kingdom. My contribution had been terrible, but he’d added to the lyrics anyway, because we were friends.
Because that was what friends did.
Except weren’t children any longer.
My throat constricted. I would not cry.
“I was invited to the Peace Talks.” I stared at my feet, realizing this was news to him. Not long ago, he would have been the first person to know about it. “I wanted to make a good impression and make Mother proud. I tried to speak about something very important to me. But I ruined it. I sat there while they all stared. I failed the people who trusted me to help, and I can’t undo that.”
“I’m surprised you’d tell me this,” Eliot said after a terse moment. “I’m surprised you still value my opinion, being that you haven’t asked for it lately. Not in the weeks since your return from the forest.”
