drew back, offered a wavering smile. “And I have chosen the path I take now.”
“Your quest to restore your family’s honor?”
Silently she nodded.
“So perfect you are, Lizzan.” He did not deserve to even touch her.
Sadness softened her smile, and she raised her hand to trace the scars that raked down her face. “Am I?”
“You are. And more beautiful than you have ever been. Never before did you wear your courage and your strength so nakedly as you do now.”
“Most people only see a curse.”
“Most people are fools.”
“As I am,” she said with a sigh. “Such a fool, to be here with you as if nothing between us has changed—as if we are not strangers to each other now.”
Her words caught Aerax by the throat. “We are not,” he said hoarsely.
“We are, Aerax. We hardly know each other. For ten years, we have barely even spoken.” Her breath shuddered, eyes squeezing tight as if to stop tears from falling again. “Do you recall when I took you to meet my family?”
“I could hardly forget.” One of the most extraordinary events of Aerax’s life. Six years had passed since he’d found her hacking at a tree. Every free moment afterward, they’d spent together, and then a single kiss had ripped away the veneer of simple friendship to reveal the need growing beneath—and six years was suddenly not enough for either of them. A lifetime would be barely enough.
Since the law would not recognize a pledge between them, Aerax had wanted to leave Koth with her then. But Lizzan wanted to at least attempt to secure her family’s approval. So she’d invited him to her home—not the first invitation she’d given, but the first he’d accepted.
Never had he been to her home before. Never had he been to anyone’s home. But he knew what to expect, so he’d been ready for a battle. For years, her family had hurt her with their refusal to support their softhearted daughter’s intention of becoming a soldier. And her father was a high commander and her mother a magistrate—one a defender of Kothan law, and the other an executor of it. He’d expected to enter a cold and strict household, to remain unseen and unheard. He’d expected it would be a fight merely to make them acknowledge his presence.
Instead he was given a kind welcome—the only welcome he’d ever been given in Koth—because they loved Lizzan as much as he did. They had not approved of the match, for they believed it was not in her best interest. Yet they had listened to both Aerax and Lizzan.
For the first time, he’d understood how her family’s love had made her path to being a soldier all the harder. Easy it would have been to rebel against cold tyranny. It was much more painful for her to push back against warm affection and good intentions.
It was also the first time anyone other than his mother or Lizzan had spoken to Aerax as if he were someone worthy of respect. And it was the first time he’d been spoken to not as a son, not as a friend, not as a snow-haired bastard—but as a man.
So he had listened to Lizzan’s parents in turn, as they’d argued that his unwritten name was only a minor obstacle compared to what lay ahead. Aerax’s hopes for the future looked nothing like Lizzan’s. He wanted to leave Koth; she wanted to stay. They had pointed out that no matter which path he and Lizzan took, one would come to resent the other—because either Aerax would be trapped in a realm where he was treated as nothing or Lizzan would have to abandon a long-held dream—and that resentment would only lead to pain and separation.
All they’d said had seemed sensible to both Aerax and Lizzan. So they had agreed to remain friends, resolved to endure a little pain and frustration so they could spare each other heartbreak later.
That resolution only lasted until separation was nearly upon them. Yet they had tried.
Now she asked quietly, “Do you believe that you would have come to resent me?”
After he’d stayed in Koth for her? “Never.”
“Nor I you, if we had left. Such adventures we might have had—and there are always people to protect and defend. I would have fought as hard for our happiness as I did to become a soldier. But what they said made so much sense.”
“It did.” But a heart was not ruled by sense. “Perhaps that was why they believed I would learn