“I knew you would.” His chest ached. “But you always put Koth first, Lizzan. I feared you would agree with my uncle, and sacrifice yourself to prevent a panic.”
Her glistening gaze met his again. “You thought I would sacrifice myself?”
“You would.”
“Only if there was no other choice!” A watery laugh shook through her, and disbelief hardened into flat resignation as she continued, “And there apparently was another choice, and it was exile. But now, when I might finally decide the path for myself, there is no other choice at all.”
Her bleak declaration slashed at his heart. “Lizzan—”
“Aerax.” She stopped him, fire returning to her gaze. “I would have also chosen exile, but the choice would have been mine. Instead you finally join the list of those who decide what is best for me without a care for what I want.”
Hurt ripped through his chest. Those were her family who had not wanted her to become a soldier, so they had not even allowed her fencing lessons. The family who had tried to turn her gaze from Aerax, so that she would pledge herself to another. Always he had supported every wish that she’d made, even if it meant staying in a realm he hated. Even if it would have taken her away from him.
And it had. That pain fired his response now. “As you did the High Daughter?”
She frowned at him. “What?”
“Not telling her about Goranik until it suited you, to spare her the hurt of knowing he lived yet being unable to pursue him while on her quest. Did you not decide what was best for her? And you do not even love her, Lizzan.”
Her lips parted and she stared at him, as if in new realization.
But he was not done. “You follow the path that you decide is best for you. That I will always support. But you only do what is best for you, Lizzan. All else is nothing. Before the red fever, how often did we speak of changing the law of the books? Yet after the red fever, how often did you think of it?”
Shame flickered through her eyes. “Almost never,” she whispered.
“Because my name was finally added to the pages. You got what you’d wanted and so you abandoned the fight. It became something you hoped someone else would do . . . someday. Though there are other bastards on Koth still nameless and unseen. But it no longer affected you.”
Her chest hitched, her gaze wildly searching his before she abruptly closed her eyes and averted her face. Her throat worked before she said thickly, “When I saw you, I intended to say that it is best for us both to forget all that we were before the red fever, and stay away from each other as we travel north. Perhaps these failures will make it easier. We became such a disappointment to each other.”
A disappointment? Never could Lizzan be. Yet he had made her feel so.
“You are no—” Aerax broke off, and panic clutched his heart when she began to rise out of the water. “Not like this,” he said hoarsely, catching her hips before she could step out. Once before he’d let her leave with hurt and misunderstanding burning between them. Never could he again. “Please. You are no disappointment. After the red fever, I know you had barely a moment away from your duties, let alone time to petition the crown. Please, Lizzan. Do not go when we are like this.”
Her body trembled. Tears spilled down her cheeks but even as denial coursed through him, she sank down again, hiding her face in his neck. So tight he held her, near sick with relief.
“Forgive me.” His hand stroked down her wet hair. “I learned more from my royal lessons than I thought. I was hurt, so I used words as weapons to aim at your soft heart.”
“That is not the result of royal lessons,” she said on a tremulous little laugh. “That is you, being exactly like your cat.”
Lashing out. “So it was.”
“And I know you saved my life by trading your silence,” she told him, her voice muffled against his neck. “I am grateful. Even if I do not seem it. This is all easier if I am angry.”
He did not fear her anger. “You have never liked anyone making your choices for you.”
“True. But I suspect that exile was not a choice for me until you made it one. So I am grateful.” She