Page 53 of Hearts Lost

Orryen clears his throat, a soft, low rumble.

“Arryn says Ithronel’s sister must be in serious trouble,” Orryen continues. “She thinks that’s how Grathgore got Ithronel to come through the portal with you and Elanerill. And to do… what she did.”

I shrug. “So?”

Orryen turns to me. Firelight paints his face in scarlet and vermillion, and for a moment he looks almost like a feast day mask of some overly theatrical emotion. Sympathy, perhaps. Or worry.

“Well, what she did,” he begins. “Maybe she had to. Maybe she felt like she didn’t have any other choice.”

I snort. Something pops in the fire, sending a cavalcade of sparks into the darkness above us.

“All I’m saying is, I don’t think it was personal,” Orryen finally says.

“And I don’t think her intentions make the least bit of difference,” I reply.

My words drip with acid. I’m almost surprised; I’ve been holding them back for days. I had no idea how strong they’d grown, festering like that inside my chest. Orryen throws his hands up, then comes to his feet.

“Come on,” he says. “You need sleep.”

“Is that an order?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Orryen spits, and something vicious inside me twists with pleasure that I’ve finally managed to ruffle his feathers. “I’m trying to be your friend here.”

I recross my legs and stretch my hands toward the fire, trying to pull some warmth back into my frozen fingers. Orryen huffs and then sinks back to his knees.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you two out there in the void,” he begins. “And, honestly, I don’t care. It’s none of my business. But you’re walking around like a dead man, and I— I just want to help.”

His voice rises and twists at the end, and something inside my numb, shattered chest pinches in response. I push a breath through my frozen lips and bring my hands up to pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Thank you,” I say.

My voice feels rough, almost like the inside of my throat has grown a layer of rust as we’ve pushed our way out of the void’s twisting forests and into the freezing, inhospitable Outer Ring. Some bitter part of me grumbles with the realization that Rowan’s right. I have stopped talking.

“I don’t,” I stammer. “I mean, I’m not. I—”

I turn to meet Orryen’s eyes in the dying flicker of the fire. My chest aches, the dull throb going far deeper than my sore, exhausted muscles.

“There’s nothing you can do,” I admit.

Orryen reaches forward and grabs my arm. “I’m sorry,” he says. “This is shitty.”

I try to smile at Orryen, the only person who’d ever made me feel welcome in the palace, and I feel like the ache inside my chest is grinding up against a broken bone.

“Yeah,” I agree. “Shitty.”

Orryen gives me a sad smile; something cracks under the weight of that expression, something that desperately wants to gush forward in a hot, bumbling mess that would probably involve sobbing. And maybe screaming.

Voids. I swallow, choking back the thought, as the words death before dishonor float up from somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind.

Yes. Lovely. How about death before breaking down in tears in front of the king’s chosen heir? Or, hells, how about death before breaking down in tears in front of anyone?

“Well, come to bed,” Orryen finally says, seeming to sense that the moment has passed. “And, no, that’s not an order. But, seriously, you look like shit.”

“I will,” I lie.

Orryen pulls himself up to standing. His feet crunch over the snow as he walks to the shelter. I pull my cloak tighter around my shoulders, sink into the snow, and stare at the smoldering remains of the fire.