It was the first time I’d seen him since the accident and the only time he visited before he left. Of course I remember. Long after Papa had retired for the night, an invisible tug pulled me from bed and out of the cabin. Cohen was waiting in the trees. When I woke earlier that day, Papa explained how Cohen had risked his life to save me. I accepted Papa’s story easily.
Embarrassment and shame kept me from confessing my memory loss.
The need to touch Cohen, to verify he was all right, coursed through me until I reached out and placed my hand on his arm. On contact, everything in me relaxed.
That night was the first time I confessed my feelings to Cohen.
He pulled away, saying he had to leave and that he’d return the next day.
Only he never did.
I’ve relived the memory countless times, searching for a missing clue to make sense of why he’d go away without saying goodbye. All this time, I believed he was angry with me for being the cause of his pain, his new disfigurement. And wondering if my admission of caring for him actually scared him off.
Cohen’s fingers glance over mine, pulling me back to the present at Siron’s side.
“The moment you touched me, I knew I’d made a mistake in meeting you. I wanted to stay, and not just for a few minutes. Seeds and stars, Britt, I wanted to hold you and never let go. It felt like I was ripping out my heart when I walked away that night. But it was necessary. I left because I didn’t want to put you in danger. Not again. Not after you’d healed me. I left to keep you safe.”
I pull my hand from his grip, needing space, and suck in a great big gulp of air as I walk away.
“I almost killed you.” Cohen rounds Siron and follows me a half dozen paces through the clearing. “You saved my life, and you almost died in the process. I’m not sorry I left. I’d do it again to protect you. I’ll always do what I must to protect you. I am sorry, however, for hurting you. Never wanted that.”
The angst in his voice clears away the last remnants of my anger. Both the new anger at finding out he’d kept my heritage a secret, and the old anger at his abandonment that I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding on to. Cohen and I are not so different—?we both left Malam for the other. Except his reason was to save me. Considering the deal I made with Lord Jamis, how can I be furious with Cohen? Any remaining anger ebbs within me.
“You risked yourself for me,” he says pleadingly, brokenly. “Why’d you do it?”
He deserves my honesty no matter how raw it leaves me. “I loved you,” I confess. “I would’ve given my life for you.”
His golden-brown eyes widen. “You loved me?”
“Yes.” I stare at the prints in the dirt that define our time here.
“What about now?”
My sight lifts to his, and all that fear from before rushes back tenfold. Despite his explanation for leaving, the cowardly voice inside my head begs me not to answer. Of course my feelings haven’t changed, only deepened.
I purse my lips and make up my mind to just say it. Just tell him.
But he steps in, slicing the space between us. “I felt the same way then.” His tenor could be mistaken for a bass, if it were louder than a murmur. “Feel the same way now.”
My breath hitches.
He comes to me quickly, drawing me against him with sudden force that makes my pulse skitter. His lips and nose crush my hair. “Britt, I love you. Then and now. Please say you still feel the same?”
“Cohen” comes out airily.
He moves back enough to look down at me, hope and worry wrinkling his forehead.
“Even now,” I say. “I love you.”
The answering smile that spreads across his face could rival the dawn. This man. The things he does to me.
Ducking his head, Cohen kisses my cheek, my nose, the corner of my smile, and when I cannot wait a moment longer, he murmurs, “I love you,” once more against my lips as his mouth slants over mine. His hands clutch my back as he cinches my body tighter against his. His lips are soft, though his kiss is full of hard desperation. Different from our first, this kiss is full of hunger and need and forgiveness.
Chapter
31
THE ARCHTRAITOR ISN’T THE MASSIVE THREAT of a man I thought he’d be. He’s squatty and round, with dimpled cherry cheeks that plump like fall apples when he smiles, which he’s done often in the short time since he arrived at Enat’s home.
It’s not quite midday as we all sit around the table. After Cohen and I returned from the woods last night, we prepared our weapons and packs for travel, so we’re ready to leave.
“You’re the Archtraitor?” Cohen asks the visitor.
The jauntiness slides from the man’s face. “That’s one of many names, though I like Millner. Sounds better and it rolls off the tongue. Also, Millner doesn’t attract the king’s guard like Archtraitor,” he says, chuckling, “so I prefer it.”
“Millner it is, then.”
The chair creaks as Millner leans back, clasping his hands over his belly. “Let’s get to this, shall we? It wouldn’t be good for me to be caught in this area of the woods. But I owe you a favor, and you know I’m good for it.” He finishes the last bit while aiming a knowing glance at Enat.