But Cecilia did survive.
I haven’t watched Evander lose someone yet. Not really.
It’s not the first time he’s lost someone, I realize. I imagine my husband a few years ago, stumbling upon the body of his brother, dead at the bottom of a ravine after a night of Evander pushing drinks upon him.
He’s always considered it his own fault. Is that how he feels about his father’s death? And is it harder, losing someone you were close to, or losing someone you had longed to be close to, but never were?
“This should have been Jerad’s,” Evander says, ripping the crown off his lap and throwing it across the room, before burying his face in his hands. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t.”
The baby starts crying.
“Why did you do it? Why give me the crown?” Evander asks, anguish dripping from his eyes.
“Because,” I say carefully, “it’s yours.”
“I don’t want it.”
“We don’t always get to choose the responsibilities that are handed to us.”
He huffs. “You act as if you’re not the one who handed it to me.”
I jerk my head back, tears stinging at my eyes.
Guilt washes over his face, and he reaches across the sheets for my hand. “I’m sorry, El. I shouldn’t…You were spectacular back there. I don’t know how you do it.”
“How I do what?”
“How you always know exactly what to do.”
I lean into him, tucking my cheek into his shoulder. The aftermath of his words still stings, but the sorrow in his eyes at hurting me is genuine. “The trick is looking like you know exactly what to do.”
“Well, you had me convinced.”
I tuck my face into his warmth. “It’s all in the shoulders.”
“El?”
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry I blew up on you.”
“I know.”
He laces his fingers on my shoulder, pulling me close. “I don’t know how to be a king.”
“I know that too. At least, I know you don’t know how to be your father. But Evander, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”
He stiffens uncomfortably, and I have to move his face closer to mine to get him to look at me.
“What is it?” I ask.
“He said he was proud of me before he died. Well, technically he didn’t even say that. But he said Jerad would have been proud, and coming from him, that was basically like saying he didn’t wish I’d been the one to fall off that ravine.”
I frown, letting out a deep exhale.
“It would have been nice of him not to leave me on such a confusing note,” says Evander, shrugging.
“Well, your father did like surprises,” I say, slumping back on the bed next to him.
“Hm,” Evander says, pensive. “Remember me telling you about the shadow siren Kiran, Blaise, and I ran into in Mystral?”
I raise my brow. “No, the creature who got into Kiran’s head and almost convinced him to yank out Blaise’s heart slipped my mind.”
Evander chuckles, but there’s no life in his laugh. “Well, it wasn’t just Kiran’s head she got into.”
I nod, remembering Evander telling me that the shadow siren had offered to bring his brother back. “But you didn’t fall for her tricks.”
Evander’s cheeks drain of the little color left in them. “You know what tipped me off that it wasn’t real?”
I take my husband’s hand, and he strokes it absentmindedly.
“She came to me in the form of my father. Pretended to be him, then begged me to kill Blaise to bring Jerad back. I was tempted, too. But you know what the siren did that tipped me off? You know what her mistake was?”
My heart thuds, aching in my chest for my husband.
“‘I love you, son’—that’s what the vision of my father said. And I knew then it wasn’t real.”
Silence blankets the room for a moment, and I don’t know what to say, so I do all I know to do, and sit in the pain with my husband.
