It was a small gemstone, jet-black in colour, cut into the shape of a shield. Or a heart. It glittered in the firelight, like Arren’s eyes.
“Arren,” Flell said again. “Is this . . .”
“Yes,” said Arren. “I was—I carried it around with me all year. I kept telling myself that tomorrow I’d give it to you, but I kept holding myself back. It was never the right time, and—”
The shame and longing in his voice reawakened her love for him, and she put her hand under his chin and lifted his head so that they were looking each other in the face. “Arren,” she said, “I would have taken it.”
“I thought maybe you would,” said Arren. “But how could I? I’m so stupid, Flell. I kept fooling myself that I was one of you, that it didn’t matter what I was. I knew it didn’t matter to you, but it mattered to everyone else. I knew that if I asked you and if you married me, no-one would ever—you’d be disgraced. Southerners can’t marry Northerners, even if they are griffiners. I knew that you would do it anyway, and that was when I realised that I couldn’t do it to you. It would be cruel, making you choose like that. As long as we were just seeing each other the way we were, everyone would have said it was just flirting. Nothing serious. You’d snap out of it and choose a proper husband. When you stopped seeing me, I knew it was because you were ashamed. So I left you alone.”
“No,” said Flell. “Arren, no. It’s not like that; it never was. I didn’t care what anyone said. I love—I loved you. I would have married you no matter what anyone said, including you. I knew you were thinking of asking me. I could see the signs. I kept wondering if I should just tell you to get on with it, but I thought if I pushed you, you’d be hurt.”
“I think . . . maybe I wouldn’t have,” said Arren. “But it doesn’t matter any more. Not now.”
Flell held out the stone for him to take, but he took her hand and gently curled the fingers around it.
“Keep it,” he said. “I mean, if you want to. To remember me by.”
“Arren, what are you going to do?” said Flell, clutching it to her chest. “Why are you here? Why are you alive?”
“You won’t ever see me again,” said Arren. “Tomorrow I’ll be gone, and I’ll never come back. I came here to tell you I love you, and to . . .” He bowed his head. “I came here to ask you to forgive me,” he said. “I care about you and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I should have stayed away and let you think I was dead, but I had to see you. If you remember me, remember me for who I was when you knew me, because then . . . I think maybe I was worth something then.” He took her hands. “Only forgive me,” he pleaded.
“You haven’t hurt me,” said Flell. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
“Just forgive me,” Arren said again. “I never wanted any of this to happen. I spent so long trying to do the right thing, but now I don’t know what that is any more. I know what people will say about me. What they’re already saying. But it wasn’t my fault. Tomorrow . . . tomorrow, I want you to know that I didn’t plan it. I didn’t want it. Tell them, Flell. Tell them what really happened. Tell them I didn’t fall. Tell them I was pushed.”
“Arren, I don’t understand.”
“Only tell them!” he said again urgently. “Tell them it wasn’t an accident. Tell them someone pushed me. Tell them Arren Cardockson was innocent. And forgive me, Flell. Just forgive me. One day, somehow, somewhere, forgive me.”
He let go of her hands.
Flell was looking at him, full of fear and bewilderment. “What’s happened to you?” she said. “You’re not my Arren any more.”
“No,” said Arren. “Flell, something terrible has happened. I don’t know what it was. One day, maybe, I’ll know. Forgive me, Flell. I love you.”
He had been backing away from her all this time, and now he turned and climbed out through the open window. His robe snagged on the broken glass, but he reached back and pulled it off as Flell ran forward to