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Dawsyn chortles. “He might if I ask him to.” Another barb to the brain. Another enigma to turn over relentlessly.

“Do you love him?”

Dawsyn shifts uncomfortably. Her mind shouts competing answers to her, and she thinks how right Hector was when he said that she hated complexity. Shehatesthis. “I don’t know,” she says finally, covering her eyes with the palms of her hands and pressing them tight. It is, at least, a more honest answer than she allowed herself until now.

“And you can look past… all the bad? You can look past his nature?”

“He isn’t one ofthem, Hector,” she rushes to explain. “He never came to the Ledge to take our people and drink their souls. It’s not hisGlacianheritage I question. Not anymore.”

Hector frowns. “So then you question his motives?”

“Of course I do!” she exasperates.

“Do you believe he would take Glacia for himself?”

“No, I don’t think that,” she says, pressing her fingers to her temples, where a steady pounding has begun. “He seeks freedom, not power.”

“Then whatdoyou question?”

How to explain the unexplainable? That she was lashed to her core and she cannot let the wound simply heal, as though it had never been there at all. That she needs to keep the gash open as a reminder to herself. As a punishment. That the mere thought of giving someone the power to afflict her again is intolerable. “I question his motives with me.”

“But why?”

“Mother above.Becauselookat me, Hector!” she says, holdings out her arm. “What could he see in me? I’m not nice or gentle. I’m not Glacian like him, and I hardly belong here in Terrsaw either. I’m good at being alone. I’m good at minding myself. I’m good at fending off anything that sticks its nose my way. I cannot simply shed that skin and adopt something softer.”

Hector frowns at her a moment. Deliberating. “You’re right,” he says finally. “You’re not nice or gentle. You’re not good at relying on anyone else.”

“That’s what I just said.” Dawsyn sighs.

“But youlisten,” Hector implores. “You’re clever. You have wit. You’re steadfastly loyal to people who would not necessarily return the favour. You’re kind to those who’ve likely not known much kindness in their lives. You empathise. You’re the bravest of us all, and it doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes.” Hector smirks when Dawsyn looks away. “He sees what we all see.”

Dawsyn shifts awkwardly, thinking that she attributes each of those words to Ryon herself, when she forgets to hate him. Finally, she meets Hector’s eyes. He is still a boy to her. A boy in a man’s body. “I think you’re my dearest friend.”

“I’m glad to hear it, because you’re myonlyfriend.” Hector takes her hand and hauls her to her feet. “I haven’t got a single hope of making it here without you. Where you go, I go.”

“Out of necessity?”

“Certainly,” he says. “Not all can be as brave and loyal as you.”

Dawsyn rolls her eyes as they stride through the forest aimlessly. If she were to close her eyes, she could conjure the sights and smells of the Ledge, the bite of the frost on their cheeks. It could be the pine grove they walked through as children, shoving each other into snowbanks and arguing meaninglessly. They are different now, and yet so much the same.

“If you ever reclaim that castle in Terrsaw,” Hector muses. “Will you let me have one of the rooms?”

“No.” She smiles.

Hector laughs. “And may I ask how you intend to save everyone on the Ledge?”

“I haven’t found the means yet,” she mumbles.

“Well, if anyone shall succeed, it will be you.”

“And why is that?”

Hector winks at her. “You’ve always had something others don’t.”

Dawsyn muses that, while it was not necessarily true before, it seems that it is true now.

CHAPTERFORTY-ONE