The Fever King (Feverwake #1)(52)

Dara snorted and dropped down onto the sand, his legs stretched out toward the sea, heels digging into the bank of shells rolled in by the last tide. After a moment Noam joined him. The sand was cold beneath his elbows and uncomfortably damp.

“There are a lot of reasons,” Dara said. He’d lowered his voice even though no one was nearby; maybe he thought the wind would carry it back to the barracks. “You’re right, many of them personal. I’ve been his ward a long time. I know him. And as soon as I would feel close to him, he’d pull away. Every time I thought he could be like a father, he proved he wasn’t. I don’t know what you’ve been imagining about our relationship—I suppose you think we had Shabbos dinner every Friday night, and he helped me with my biology homework and told me about his childhood. Well. You have no idea what our relationship was like. And, of course, it makes no difference to you.”

Noam opened his mouth to argue, but Dara shook his head, cutting him off.

“I know it doesn’t. You wouldn’t understand. But I doubt Lehrer’s capable of loving anyone—and especially not me.”

Noam chewed his lip, quiet. I’m not sure my father loved me either, toward the end. The words scratched at the inside of Noam’s chest. He didn’t dare say them out loud.

Dara might know Lehrer, but he didn’t understand him. He’d never experienced the kind of loss that Lehrer had.

He’d never experienced much loss at all, as far as Noam could tell.

“For the rest of it, I know you’ll think this is me being evasive, but I can’t tell you. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t.” Dara held Noam’s gaze. “For one, you wouldn’t believe me—don’t give me that look; I know you wouldn’t. But even if you would, I still couldn’t tell you. For your own safety.”

“This isn’t Stalinist Russia, Dara. You’re not going to get arrested for criticizing the defense minister.”

“Who said anything about arrested? But suffice to say, things are going to change in this country, Noam. Sooner than you think. You don’t have to take my word for it. Ask one of the soldiers. They’ll tell you just how often they have to fend off riots. These won’t stay skirmishes for long, and Lehrer knows it.”

“No shit,” Noam burst out. “Because Sacha is rounding everyone up and throwing them into refugee camps, where they’re pretty much damned to die just like we saw today. How can you be so fucking blind? How can you stand there and talk about how bad Lehrer is when Sacha’s doing this?”

“What else is he supposed to do? Really, Noam, I’d love to know. We don’t have resources to support the entire population of Atlantia—”

“The entire—Jesus. You are so fucking privileged, Dara, it makes me fucking sick.”

“Privileged?” Dara barked out a laugh, something raw and strangled. He hunched over, pressing a hand to his chest, and from the manic grimace on his face it was impossible to tell if he was amused or in pain. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I grew up starving,” Noam hissed. “I grew up hiding my father from the people who would take him away. I watched my mother kill herself and my father hide from the real world. I went to prison because I did what was necessary to protect my family. You grew up . . . you had Lehrer. You had everything.”

Dara’s eyes were bright obsidian stones in his face, gaze sharp enough to cut. “No. What I had was—” He cut off abruptly, like he’d thought better of what he’d been about to say. Dara exhaled, a brittle smile twisting his mouth. After a moment, he said, “I don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what I can tell you, or how much I even want to. You’ve put me in an interesting position, Noam álvaro. In that way, I suppose Lehrer’s already won.”

Noam had no idea what Dara was talking about.

Dara lifted his face up toward the darkened sky, exposing the long line of his throat. Noam wanted to reach for him. He dug his fingers into the sand so he couldn’t.

“What do you mean, he’s won?” Noam asked. “Won what? Dara . . .”

But Dara’s expression had fallen back into the same placid mask of normalcy Noam had come to expect.

But it was a mask. How had Noam never noticed before?

Another wave crashed onto the sand, this one creeping up far enough that the foam slipped over the toes of Noam’s boots. He bent his knees to draw his feet out of range.

It was one thing for Dara to hate Lehrer, or even work against him. But if Dara was with Sacha, then Noam would never forgive him.

“You’re right,” he said. “I trust Lehrer. I’m not going to tell you you’re wrong or that I don’t believe you, but I don’t have to agree just because we’re friends.”

“Oh, we’re friends now? I hadn’t realized.”

“Fuck off, Dara,” Noam said, but Dara just smiled and tossed a broken piece of shell toward the ocean.

The salty sea wind was what burned his cheeks, Noam told himself. It had nothing to do with the unsteady patter of his heart.

After a moment, Dara leaned back again. That smile was gone, replaced by the same old unreadable expression.

The void from earlier was back, yawning wide in Noam’s chest. Dara felt it, too, he thought. Dara might not have lost his family, but he had that same hole inside him. They matched.