Page 142 of Burn Her They Said
‘I must admit, it is endearing to learn you have been under the impression I could be so naïve as to confuse the root of my feelings for you. Especially assuming I could be unaware of something so prosaic as fealty. I must apologize for the confusion, as I was under the impression I had made both my wishes and intentions clear many years ago.’
My heart pounds in frustration with my failure to explain my meaning well enough, until my lungs sting with the intensity of Varic’s emotions filling my chest. Fear, anxiety, and concern mix with consideration, compassion, sincerity, and that deep-pinkish red.
No. He doesn’t understand. But I need to finish reading what he wrote so I may explain this better—so he can finally move forward without this care for me being such a burden.
‘I am well aware of the limitations and constraints we exist within, and I think you know I mean it when I say that I would obliterate every last one if I could. What I cannot tolerate is the thought of you misconstruing what you mean to me.’
My own frustration filters in, and I slam my eyes shut while dropping my head back to the cushion. Heart pounding, I try and fail to steady my breath.
He needs to absorb what I tell him, yet he feels so confident. I am going to have to find a different way to get through to him.
I sit up and siphon his anxiety as I continue reading. ‘Please, Tasch, I need you to believe me when I say my care for you—my feelings for you—have nothing to do with your role or your power, except that which you exact on me simply by existing.’
An opaque white haze invades my vision as I drop the book down to my lap. Time passes, and I blink away the fog of uncertainty when a different sketch stares back.
Tears well when I study the lines Fray placed so thoughtfully as he documented me sleeping against Varic’s chest. He holds me so tenderly, and my expression is striking—appearing safer and more comfortable than I ever thought possible. It’s almost saccharine.
I stare everywhere but at Varic’s face in the drawing, avoiding whatever impression his expression is sure to have on me. So I pull in a breath and force my gaze to travel the page, then furrow my brow because the way Fray’s delicate shading claims he is looking at me cannot be accurate, though believing this would be an affront to Fray’s talent. He’s so capable of depicting emotion, even the most minute and difficult to discern tend to come across in his art.
My heart pounds as grief and guilt mix with excitement. This interpretation of Varic’s emotions only serves to support what he has written. With the way he stares at me and how his arms wrap around my body—these speak to the longing one feels for the being who understands you better than anyone. The one who knows you—mind, body, and soul. Whom you feel destined to be with, regardless of your love being forbidden. The one whom you need more than anything, who is right there beside you, while still out of reach.
The yearning and pining in his eyes is nearly unbearable, screaming with this incessant need to be closer to me, when he’s already touching half of my body. The indelible urge to become one, and yet if we could, it would never be enough for him. That feeling, whatever it is—that is what Varic’s expression conveys in this portrait.
“It’s beautiful.” My voice breaks over the words as I stare across the aisle at the artist who saw this moment and determined it was worthy of keeping for us.
Fray’s eyes fill with tears. “I’m just so happy to see you be you.” My heart twinges from the hoarseness in his voice. “The way you settle into him when you’re at your most vulnerable. How you seek him and relax when you can sense it is Varic who holds you. It’s beautiful.” He gestures to the sketch. “I just drew what I felt honored to witness between the two of you in that moment.”
The corner of his mouth lifts—master of levity that he is. “Now, perhaps if you two would stop making me feel things I’ve never felt before with your ardent affection for one another, it would be far easier for me to draw you each with less intensity.” Tears roll down his cheeks, and he makes no move to swipe them away.
“Thank you, Fray.” My gratitude elicits more emotion from him as he presses his lips together and nods, apparently too choked up to say anything—which might be a first.
Cirrin groans and dabs at his eyes while I offer him my most sympathetic smile. He shakes his head while poor Varic sits in silence, waiting for me to acknowledge the gorgeous words he’s written. Yet it still feels wrong, with my old understanding still holding strong. How, even with this evidence and my trust in him, it feels insurmountable to believe any differently.
Though I shouldn’t feel so terrified to address it. If I am honest with myself, if I truly reflect, this is something we’ve all known much longer than I have been prepared to admit.
Varic remains silent as I turn to face him. His eyes swim with emotion, rolling in and out like waves, crashing and shifting with the tides inside his irises. He reaches, then clenches his fist in the air between us, tendons flexing beneath the black ink of the sigil as he pulses the muscles, as if the motion is keeping him from doing something more drastic.
My heart breaks, fissuring further. I need to fix this. I need to help him. And I doubt he cares that my voice wavers when I say, “I’m sorry, Varic. I assumed I knew better for so many years, and that isn’t fair to you.”
His chest halts all movement, and the pulse point alongside his neck throbs so rapidly, I want to scream at him to breathe. But that isn’t what he needs from me. So I give him my thoughts instead.
“I was wrong.” He remains frozen, so I move closer until my fingers brush the side of his leg. “I’m sorry for how adamant I have been. I’m sorry I doubted you would know your own feelings better than I could.”
Tears fall from the peaks of his cheekbones, and it takes everything in me to keep from taking hold of his face to show him I mean every word.
He pulls in a breath, and a current of relief washes over me. I give in to the urge to bring him closer, needing to prove that he is worth the excruciating task of excavating every false belief I have kept buried deep, so that I might replace each with this gift he has given me.
I extend my hand across my lap, which seems to animate him, and his smile widens as he gladly takes it. His thumb pulses into my palm four times before engulfing it within his own. He wraps his free arm behind my back while the other keeps hold of my hand, which he pulls onto his lap and braces with more tension than he might realize—so tight not even a natural disaster could force us apart.
A sense of safety allows me to settle into his side, with Cirrin ensuring Drusilla cannot spy on us, and my magic sensing my Guards’ relief.
“Thank you.” Varic’s voice is low, but calm.
“What for?” I ask, turning my head to look up at him.
“Trusting me. Believing me.”
“I always trust you. It’s just that?—”
