“I don’t see how my personal life is your business.”
The words hurt. She wouldn’t have said that a year ago when Konniger wanted her dead. Back then she’d welcomed him into her world, begged him to stay, wanted him to be part of her personal life. Back then, when he had asked for her hand, she had said the memory of her dead husband made remarrying impossible.
She must have seen the look on his face and read part of it correctly. “Listen, Raithe, I’m the keenig now. I have to think about what’s best for the clans, and you’re right; Nyphron is brilliant.”
Why did I ever say that? He’s brilliant, all right. He’s twisted you to his will, that’s how brilliant he is.
“He’s given us the chance to survive. He and I have united the Rhunes and the Instarya. Together we can—”
“I’m too late, aren’t I?” The phrase he and I was what did it. They were a team now.
Raithe looked away, his sight drifting across the shiny sheets, across the big bed—big enough for two. Does he visit her, creeping in when it is dark, or does Nyphron live with her now? Does he sleep there every night? Which side is his?
“I’m just saying that without Nyphron, we don’t stand a chance. He knows how to fight them, and he keeps the Instarya from—”
“You’ve already decided. You’re going to marry him.”
She didn’t answer.
“You are, aren’t you?”
She looked away, refusing to meet his eyes. “It’s what will be best for everyone.”
Even Didan hadn’t actually slit his throat.
No, not a slit throat, a stab to the heart.
Raithe stood still, feeling the pain slip in through his ribs—a fine spear thrust—very fine indeed.
I am too late. I just thought that she…He sucked in a breath. “Persephone, did you ever love me?”
He saw her stiffen. Her hands were clasped on her lap, a pile of pillows behind her head. Brin had likely propped her up and brushed her hair to receive him, so she could look her best for the execution. Persephone did indeed have loyal friends. Moya had led him there, and Brin had held the door.
“Raithe, this isn’t about love. You have to be able to see that.” Her tone became concerned. “If I were to refuse, if we were to lose Nyphron’s support—”
“You refused me. Did I leave? Did I turn against you?
“He’s not you, and it’s not the same thing.”
“How is it different?”
“You were being selfish. You wanted me to run off to some mythical land of perpetual sunshine and a life without want. You asked me to abandon my family. Nyphron wants to help save them.”
“Selfish? You’re calling me selfish? I gave that dream up. I stayed. Stayed when I knew I was a fool to do so. You say Nyphron wants to save your people. But who volunteered to fight the Gula keenig? And why did I do such a stupid thing? For me? No—but I can tell you this, that’s exactly what Nyphron is doing. He’s the selfish one, not me. I didn’t see him out there on that field.” His words were spiteful and bitter. He didn’t want them to be, but he couldn’t stop. “I was the one who nearly died when a huge giant hit three of us with a sledgehammer—the same one that killed Wedon. I was the one out there saving your family. Where was Nyphron?”
“He can’t—”
“He could. He just won’t.” Raithe’s voice rose. “I asked you to come with me because I didn’t think we stood a chance fighting the Fhrey, and because I know what war is like. I lived with men who made a profession of it. I’ve seen what it does to people, to those who fight year after year, and even more to those they leave behind. And maybe I was wrong about part of that; maybe we can win. But I was right about the effects of war…and still I stayed. And I know one more thing. I know I love you. Nyphron doesn’t, but I do. And I thought—I thought you loved me, too.”
She stared at him, a hard look on her face. Stone. She looks like stone, cold and unmovable. A perfect keenig.
“Did you? Do you?”
“No,” she finally said.
Silence followed.
In a fight, it was possible to get used to the sound of the crash. The clang of metal on metal made a rhythm, a kind of music. Combat slipped into a duet, with each side playing their role until one attack slipped through a guard. Then the music stopped. Unexpected silence always followed, made loud by the expectation of the beat that never came. Raithe stood in that silence. His guard had been broken; her stroke pierced true. In her eyes he saw the shock and fear, the regret he often spotted on the faces of the trainees when a move worked and they actually hit him.