"But I'm leaving in the morning. I just want to tell him good-bye and... and thank him for his kindness."
"I know, miss. I am sorry."
He meant it. She could see it in his eyes, hear it in his voice.
Leaving the table, she went outside. She would miss this place, she thought as she wandered through the gardens. She had been happy here. Far happier than she had ever expected. She wondered how her mother was, if her sisters ever thought of her. No doubt they missed her help in the house and fields, but did they ever miss her? She had not missed them as much as she'd thought she would. In truth, she had hardly thought of her family at all these past months. To think of them living in poverty while she dwelt in luxury was far too painful. The few times she had let herself think of home, she had been filled with an overpowering sense of guilt, though why that should be so, she didn't know. She had not left her family by choice. And yet, being sold to Rayven had turned out far better than she had ever hoped. She had long ago forgiven her father for selling her. Rayven had been kind to her, generous, undemanding.
Hardly aware of what she was doing, she followed the path that led to the labyrinth. It didn't frighten her anymore. Drawing her shawl around her shoulders, she walked on until she reached the heart of the labyrinth.
Rayven looked up, startled to find Rhianna gazing down at him.
He slanted her a wry grin. "No mortal has ever crept up on me like that before," he remarked.
"No mortal?" she asked, confused by his odd choice of words.
"Thank you for this," he said, ignoring her question. He gestured at the roses and shrubs that grew in artless profusion around the statues so that the wolf and the raven seemed to rise up out of a crimson sea.
"It's beautiful."
Rhianna nodded. She had spent the past week here, wanting to leave something of herself behind, something for him to remember. She had planted dozens of bloodred rosebushes interspersed with delicate lacy ferns. The result was striking and somehow masculine. She thought it suited Rayven perfectly.
"I'm leaving tomorrow," she said quietly.
"I know." Oh, yes, he thought, he knew. Even now the thought of her going was tearing him apart inside.
"Why are you sending me away?"
"It's for the best."
"Best for who?"
"For you. For me."
"I don't want to go."
He stood up, towering over her, his dark eyes glowing. He was tall and lean, his shoulders broad, his arms well-muscled. She noticed that the scar on his cheek was shaped like a V. Funny, she had never noticed that before.
Following an inexplicable urge, she traced the fine white line with her fingertip, felt a catch in her heart as his hand covered hers.
"Rhianna."
"Please, Rayven, please don't send me away."
"Ah, Rhianna, I would keep you with me forever if I could."
"And I would stay. Only ask me to stay, and I will."
He shook his head. "No."
His hand tightened on hers as tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. In the moonlight, her tears sparkled like flawless diamonds, but they were far more precious to him than jewels. They denoted caring and affection, willingly given, and for that he would always love her. And because he loved her, he would let her go.
"Someday you will thank me for this, sweet Rhianna."
"No," she said, sobbing.
She twisted away from him, her blue eyes awash with tears. "I'll never forgive you. Never!" she cried, and then she was running away from him, taking the sunlight from his life, leaving him in the vast empty darkness of the night, alone, as he had always been alone.
He contemplated leaving the castle, certain he could not stay there now, could not walk the rooms she had walked, breathe the air she had breathed, and know he would never see her again.
He would have to leave soon at any rate. He had overheard the men in Cotyer's talking about him, wondering why they never saw him during the day, why he never joined them for dinner, why his appearance never changed, why he didn't seem to age.
And yet, even knowing he should go, he knew he would not. The castle was filled with her essence, and as painful as it would be to be reminded of her, it was better than forgetting.