Stolen Songbird(98)

Tristan shook his head. “Because I don’t have proof. And neither does he, so we exist in a sort of stalemate. Or at least we did,” he added weakly.

I felt sick. “I played right into his hand, didn’t I? If I hated you, like I was supposed to, I wouldn’t have cared about Ana?s. I reacted just as he suspected I would. I’ve put everything at risk.”

Tristan grimaced. “Yes, but it isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I should have told you everything when I had the chance. I thought you’d be safer if I kept you in the dark. But I was wrong.”

But I hadn’t been in the dark. I had known that Angoulême wanted Tristan dead, and yet still I had let myself believe him.

Tristan interrupted my thoughts. “It doesn’t matter anymore. We are here now and very near the limits of the rock fall. I’ll take you the rest of the way out.” He hesitated and then added, “If that is what you want.”

I opened my mouth, planning to say that I would like that very much indeed, but the words wouldn’t come out. He was giving me the choice. Here he had the opportunity to be rid of me for good and he was letting me choose what I wanted to do.

“Won’t you be in a great deal of trouble if you don’t bring me back?”

“Very likely. But that’s my problem, not yours.”

The thought of anything happening to him terrified me, and knowing that it would be because of my actions made me ill. If only I’d thought things through, if only I’d trusted him and waited, in less than a year Tristan would have been king and I’d be free to go. Of course, he should have trusted me, too.

“You must decide, Cécile. My father’s soldiers will catch up to us soon enough, and your moment to flee will have passed. After this, another chance will not be forthcoming.”

Decide, decide. I closed my eyes and tried to muster up the courage to lay my cards on the table. I was afraid if I told him how I really felt that he would laugh at me; that maybe all these apparent confessions were part of a cruel game that I wasn’t clever enough to discern. But I couldn’t leave without knowing. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life with his emotions hovering in the back of my mind without knowing why he was giving me this choice. Always wondering if maybe, just maybe, he had wanted me to stay.

I could feel his anticipation thick upon my mind, but that didn’t help me know what answer he wanted.

“What do you want me to do?” I asked.

He shook his head. “This is your decision.”

“I know.” I dug my fingernails into the rock. “But before I make it, I need to know how you feel. About me.”

His eyes met mine and I trembled at the intensity of his expression. “Don’t you know?”

I shook my head.

From his pocket, he pulled out a necklace and handed it to me. It was my mother’s pendant. “You didn’t do it.”

Tristan shook his head. “You asked what was better, closure or hope… And I think hope is better.” His eyes grew distant. “Forcing your family to believe you were dead felt like admitting defeat – like we were conceding before the battle any hope they might see you again. I just couldn’t do it.”

I blinked back tears. “Are they still looking for me… or do they think…”

“Not every day; but as often as they can, they still search the hills. They haven’t given up on you.”

“Thank you,” I whispered. Lifting the necklace, I watched the pendant turn, reflecting Tristan’s light in little sparks. “You kept it in your pocket the whole time, then?”

“My hoarding tendencies manifest themselves in strange ways. It was the only thing that was yours.” He smiled – not one of his false ones that didn’t reach his eyes, but one that lit up my heart. “I noticed you wearing it when you arrived, and again that first night you sang. I watched you standing in the glass gardens, and I thought you were the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. A flame in the long dark night.”

“I’m not…” I started to argue, but stopped. Tristan couldn’t lie. Reaching up, he fastened the pendant around my neck. The gold was warm.

“Most people would have given up a long time ago – just curled up in a corner and waited to die, but you’ve lived every day. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone so tenaciously optimistic.” Carefully, as if he feared I might still swat his hand away, he reached out and brushed a slimy lock of hair away from my face. “I want you to stay, Cécile, but I’m afraid staying will only bring you misery.”