she could give him. Because there was no good reason to do what she had done. And bad reasons only sounded like excuses in the end. She could not give any reason that would make her actions forgivable, especially not by Farrendel.
But she was not asking him to forgive her. He would not. After all, she would not—could not—forgive herself.
Melantha hugged her knees to her chest and stared at the wall rather than look at him. “I was so...angry. At everything and everyone. At Father for dying. The trolls for killing him. My betrothed for leaving me.”
“At me for existing.” Farrendel’s tone was soft, but impassive enough that she could not tell his emotion from it.
“Yes.” She rested her chin on her knees. “You became the target of my anger. You were the only one left to hate. Everyone else was gone or dead.”
It was such a bad, bad reason for betrayal.
“In the end, I solved nothing. I am still so angry. I do not know what to do with this constant simmering. I just want to lash out and fight and hurt something. Or someone.” She dug her fingers into her hair, ignoring the way the greasy, dirty strands clung to her fingers and scalp. “Hardly the proper attitude for a healer.”
When she finally found the courage, Melantha lifted her head and glanced at Farrendel. He was studying her, his expression impassive. What was he thinking? That she was an even more horrible sister than he had believed?
She huffed out a breath and shook her head. “Growing up, I wanted to be an elven warrior like Father and Weylind. I was so disappointed when I came into my magic, and it turned out to be healing magic. I begged Father to allow me to avoid taking the healers’ oath and fight as a warrior, but he refused. He said that all killing hurts the soul, but killings when an elf can feel the heart stop with magic tears a mind the most, and he would not see that happen to me.”
“Father was wise, in that.” For a moment, Farrendel’s silver-blue eyes filled with pain, but not the physical kind of pain that she could heal.
“I envied you. I think I still envy you. Your magic is what I always wished to have.” Melantha could imagine crackling power filling her fingertips, blasting into her enemies. It would feel so good to have the power to lash out that way. Maybe then the fiery pain in her chest would ease.
But, perhaps, with that kind of magic, she would have become even more of a monster than she already was. All that anger would only lead to more anger.
She gave in and brushed the strand of hair from Farrendel’s face. He flinched, but when he met her gaze, he was not glaring. Just hard and cold. She pressed her lips into a small smile. “It was probably better you were gifted with such deadly magic instead of me. I would have enjoyed the destruction and death far too much. You have a good heart, and your love for our people—not anger—controls your magic.”
“All except once.” Farrendel’s fingers clenched into fists, his eyes squeezing shut. “I understand killing anger. All I thought about was vengeance when I killed the troll king.”
Melantha nodded. She had felt that same anger when their father had been killed. She just had not had Farrendel’s chance to do anything about it. She had cheered when he had returned and told them what he had done, though by then he had been far from jubilant.
Such vengeance had long reaching consequences. Would their situation with the trolls have been different if Farrendel had not killed their king?
The war would have dragged on longer. The trolls had only ended the war because their king had been killed. But would this second war have happened? King Charvod was much like his father. He enjoyed torture and death. He would have pushed for war regardless.
But Prince Rharreth was different. He hated Farrendel because of the assassination, but he would not condone this kind of torture in other circumstances. He did not fully condone it now. Would he have been less hardened against her people if Farrendel had not killed his father? Or if his father had been killed on the battlefield rather than assassinated?
“I wanted to be a healer.”
“Pardon?” Melantha turned back to Farrendel. Had she heard that right?
Farrendel’s mouth twitched in a hint of a sad smile. “When I was young, I