Tower of Dawn (Throne of Glass #6) - Sarah J. Maas Page 0,172

beneath him. “I am no one to even mention such things. I am nothing, and it was myself that I—”

“I might not have battled kings and shattered castles,” she said coldly, voice shaking with anger as she continued her retreat, “but I am the heir apparent to the Healer on High. Through my own work and suffering and sacrifice. And you’re standing right now because of that. People are alive because of that. So I may not be a warrior waving a sword about, may not be worthy of your glorious tales, but at least I save lives—not end them.”

“I know,” he said, fighting the urge to grip the arms of the chair now seeming so far below him as his balance wavered. “Yrene, I know.” Too far. He had gone too far, and he had never hated himself more, for wanting to pick a fight and being so gods-damned stupid, when he’d really been talking about himself—

Yrene backed away another step.

“Please,” he said.

But she was heading for the door. And if she left …

He had let them all go. Had walked out himself, too, but with Aelin, with Dorian, with Nesryn, he had let them go, and he had not gone after them.

But that woman backing toward the door, trying to keep the tears from falling—tears from the hurt he’d caused her, tears of the anger he so rightfully deserved—

She reached the handle. Fumbled blindly for it.

And if she left, if he let her walk out …

Yrene pushed down on the handle.

And Chaol took a step toward her.

39

Chaol did not think.

He did not marvel at the sensation of being so high. At the weight of his body, the sway of it as he took that staggering step.

There was only Yrene, and her hand on the doorknob, and the tears in her furious, lovely eyes. The most beautiful he’d ever seen.

They widened as he took that step toward her.

As he lurched and swayed. But he managed another.

Yrene stumbled toward him, studying him from head to toe, a hand rising to cover her open mouth. She stopped a few feet away.

He hadn’t realized how much smaller she was. How delicate.

How—how the world looked and seemed and tasted this way.

“Don’t go,” he breathed. “I’m sorry.”

Yrene surveyed him again, from his feet to his face. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she tipped her head back.

“I’m sorry,” Chaol said again.

Still she did not speak. Tears only rolled and rolled.

“I meant none of it,” he rasped, his knees beginning to ache and buckle, his thighs trembling. “I was spoiling for a fight and—I meant none of it, Yrene. None of it. And I’m sorry.”

“A kernel of it must have been in you, though,” she whispered.

Chaol shook his head, the motion making him sway. He gripped the back of a stuffed armchair to stay upright. “I meant it about myself. What you have done, Yrene, what you are willing to still do … You did this—all this not for glory or ambition, but because you believe it is the right thing to do. Your bravery, your cleverness, your unfaltering will … I do not have words for it, Yrene.”

Her face did not change.

“Please, Yrene.”

He reached for her, risking a staggering, wobbling step.

She took a step back.

Chaol’s hands curled around empty air.

He clenched his jaw as he fought to remain upright, his body swaying and strange.

“Perhaps it makes you feel better about yourself to associate with meek, pathetic little people like me.”

“I do not …” He ground his teeth, and lurched another step toward her, needing to just touch her, to take her hand and squeeze it, to just show her he wasn’t like that. Didn’t think like that. He swayed left, throwing out a hand to balance him as he bit out, “You know I didn’t mean it.”

Yrene backed away, keeping out of reach. “Do I?”

He pushed forward another step. Another.

She dodged him each time.

“You know it, damn you,” he growled. He forced his legs into another jerking step.

Yrene sidled out of the way.

He blinked, pausing.

Reading the light in her eyes. The tone.

The witch was tricking him into walking. Coaxing him to move. To follow.

She paused, meeting his stare, not a trace of that hurt in them, as if to say, It took you long enough to figure it out. A little smile bloomed on her mouth.

He was standing. He was … walking.

Walking. And this woman before him …

Chaol made it another step.

Yrene retreated.

Not a hunt, but a dance.

He did not remove his eyes from