Page 48 of The Stolen Throne
He says nothing.
Neither do I. Anger builds at his silence.
This is the first time we’ve been alone—a true, not-waiting-for-someone-else-to-show-up-any-second kind of alone—since we shared our bodies and hearts months ago.
It’s like I can feel him giving up on us.
My anger is still there, but the fear rises up, and so does hurt, swirling around inside me. A thousand unspoken words and moments and needs fill up the space between us until all I see and feel and sense is Reven.
And he’s so far away from me.
He feels it, too. I know he does, because his throat works even while his face is expressionless, walls still raised high. Impenetrable.
“You shouldn’t be out here.”
And just like that, I’m back to pissed. “Excuse me?”
“It’s not safe. Go back to your tent, Meren.” An order. He’s giving me an order.
“No.”
He drops his arms to his sides and takes a menacing step forward, then stops, hands clenching as if he doesn’t quite trust himself. I search for any sign that he’s struggling with the Shadows.
“If anyone checks your room and you’re gone,” he says, “they’ll tear the whole camp apart to find you.”
“I’m not leaving here until you tell me what you’re thinking.”
He stares at me, refusing to say a word. Why? Because I’ll try to talk him out of whatever it is?
That wall of nothing from him is so high, so thick. Goddess. I’m tired, and worried, and over it. And my heart aches something awful, threatening to spill into tears.
Resentment bleeds into the pain. I’m not the crying type, and I’ve already cried once tonight for Tabra.
“Right,” I whisper. It’s either that or choke. “I understand. It’s over. No need to…whatever.”
I don’t open my eyes until my back is to him, and he doesn’t stop me as I walk away toward the camp.
I walk away from him.
And I don’t stop…until that voice that I crave to hear in the dark calls out. “You don’t understand anything.”
I stop, but I don’t look at him, staring unseeing at the sand at my feet. We stay that way for what feels like forever and only a few moments at the same time, and I hardly dare to breathe, afraid of what comes next. Afraid of what he’s trying to tell me.
“You have to let me go.” His voice is a thousand layers of tortured.
It turns out there are words that physically hurt, that create an ache inside you so bad, you don’t know if you can stand it. I wrap my arms around my stomach to hold it in.
I was right. He’s ending us.
“I don’t want to…” He’s closer now. I can tell. “Goddess help me, I don’t want to let you go.”
“Then don’t.” I spin around and he’s right there. Within touching distance.
The walls are not down but lowered now. I can’t feel him, but he’s letting me see the struggle. It darkens his eyes, dulling the color. He shakes his head. “This is why I didn’t want to talk about it with you, because you’ll try to change my mind…and because I think it will hurt you more knowing that it’s hurting me to walk away.”
I chuckle, though the sound is humorless. “You got that right.”
“Don’t make this harder on me. I’m doing this for you.”
