“It…it did?” My mouth had gone suddenly dry, our history new and unknown through his eyes.
“I arrived at the celebration annoyed. I didn’t want to be at a party for children—convinced, at the grand age of seventeen, that I had more important activities to occupy my time. And then you arrived, looking nothing like a child. Looking…” He swallowed, stepping closer again.
Where had the distance between us gone? I could feel his breaths now and see the storm in his eyes.
“The instant I saw you, I knew,” he said. “And everything changed.”
“I…” I licked my lips, feeling like the floor was crumbling beneath me, and wanting to reach out and grab Rek for stability. I kept my arms at my sides. “I don’t understand.”
“You weren’t just a childhood friend to be left behind for grown up pursuits,” he said. “In that moment, I knew I loved you. I’d always loved you, of course. I’d loved you for years with the fierce loyalty of children. But after I saw you that night, I knew it was a love to last a lifetime. I knew I wanted more from you than friendship.”
He gave a low laugh that was almost a groan. “Suddenly my longed-for birthday felt like a burden because it would cut me off from exactly those events and activities I thought I’d outgrown. Suddenly I wanted to be nowhere more than at that party—with you.”
I tried to find words, reminding my frantically pounding heart that we were talking of the past. He was saying he had loved me then, not that he loved me now.
“I think I do remember you being around more in the days after the party,” I managed. “But then my father died, so it’s hard to remember those weeks. When I think back, that party stands out like a beacon—the last of the happy times.”
“And the beginning of all my torment,” he breathed.
“I never meant—” I started, my voice shaky, but he cut me off.
“It wasn’t torment at first. At first I was…I don’t know. Elated? But also terrified? Adara was already planning the celebration for your sixteenth birthday—although it was months away—and I thought I would wait until then to speak to you. I thought that would give me time to—” He grimaced. “Back then, I had the impression you favored the twins over me.”
“I did,” I whispered and paused. But the charged tension binding us together compelled me to keep going. “At least, I told myself I did. Because they were safer.”
Something leaped into his eyes, and he took both my elbows, a spark jumping between us at the contact. When I looked up, his face was far too close to mine.
“I was focused, determined,” he said, his voice husky. “Making plans. And then your father died. As soon as I heard the news, I searched for you, full of concern. But you’d disappeared. Adara told me you’d gone to family in Ardasira, and that you’d write as soon as you were settled.”
His hands tightened. “I thought those first few days waiting to hear from you were agony. But a letter never came. I wasn’t even eighteen yet, so running off to Ardasira to find you wasn’t an option. In the end, Samuel went on my behalf. He was the one to teach me to fight, and even back then, he was loyal to me. He could find no trace of you, though. I had to accept that I could do nothing but wait.”
He leaned closer still, his face only a breath away. “And when I think,” he whispered, “that you were here the whole time—only a few streets away.”
“I used to hide,” I said, my voice shaking. “Every time I knew one of you was going to be in the city. I thought it would be too painful to see you.”
He groaned. “Because you thought we’d abandoned you—just like I thought you’d abandoned us. The twins declared you dead—but I refused to consider it. Even in my anger, that was too painful to contemplate. Adara kept trying to come up with explanations and excuses—loyal to the end.”
“She’s a good friend,” I whispered, caught up in his astonishing story.
“She thought me heartless,” he said with a rough laugh, “because I said you had left us behind and were obviously never the friend we thought you were.”
“It was a reasonable conclusion given what you’d been told—” I started, but he shook his head.
“Despite being the catalyst for my revelation, she didn’t understand the depths of my emotion. I tried to turn my feelings off, to tell myself you were gone from my life for good, and I should move on, but I couldn’t remember a time you weren’t firmly planted in my heart. In the end, I couldn’t cut out the emotions, all I could do was twist them. I told myself you’d betrayed us and that I hated you for it.”
He gave a ragged laugh. “I convinced myself the hate and anger hurt less than the love. At least the hate made it easier to tell myself to move on, to forget you. After three years, I even thought I’d succeeded. That was what I was trying to tell you at the ball. One glimpse of your face in that forest—more beautiful than ever—and all the emotions came rushing back. I thought I’d fought them and defeated them, but I’d merely been suppressing them.”
“I remember your anger,” I said softly. “I noticed it that day, and I couldn’t understand it.”
“My anger, yes.” He laughed again. “That’s what I told myself it was, anyway. I told myself it was anger that made me lie in wait for you inside the city gates. And anger that made it hard to sleep when I got back to the palace. I told myself your presence in Karema was just a further betrayal.”
He breathed a soft sigh. “But I couldn’t stay away. I would have been at Navid’s house earlier that morning if it hadn’t taken me a few hours to discover the address of Ali the woodcutter.”
“You didn’t seem angry that time,” I said. “You were very reasonable, in fact, considering the misapprehension you started with.”
“After a sleepless night, I was determined for answers.” He shook his head. “And desperate to see you, even if I didn’t want to admit it to myself. When I discovered the truth…”
“But you were so calm and measured,” I said, disbelieving. “You stayed focused on the traitors, even when Adara wanted revenge on Azzam.”