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But there were times when she had choices. Times when she could have weighed another’s life more than her own and she didn’t. Perhaps she thought that freeing the people on the Ledge would balance her deeds.

She has failed. The Queens will raze homes in search of her, a new king will drink from the pool in Glacia, and the people on the Ledge will remain. All will be unchanged.

She will resume her pursuit to stay alive, continuing her life’s work even beyond the Ledge, and know that she could do nothing to stop it.

“You saved Gerrot and Hector,” Ryon says gently. “You saved Esra. That ought to count for something.”

Dawsyn sighs. “And they will be doomed to a life of hiding.”

Ryon hesitates before speaking, a crease appearing between his brows. “I don’t recognise you, malishka.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It isn’t like you to feel sorry for yourself.”

She sighs, twisting her face out of his hands. “I know what you are doing.”

“And what’s that?”

“Goading me into fighting with you.”

He grins just slightly, but it disappears when he sees that she won’t be goaded. She won’t be poked and pulled out of herself.

He takes her hands in his and lowers his forehead until it meets hers. For a moment he waits there, perhaps expecting her to push him back. But she is entranced by the closeness of him, the warmth of his skin, and all she wants to do is to forget… to stay.

“Tell me what you want, and I will do it,” he says.

And there are so many things that she desires. Retribution for the Queens, and all that they’ve done, freedom for the Ledge and the destruction of the Pool of Iskra. The resurrection of her family. The death of Adrik. The healing of Esra’s wounds. Escape. Safety.

Safety, above all else.

If she asks it, he will die to achieve it, she knows. It is perhaps the most dangerous imbalance between them. Baltisse had said as much to confirm it. For all he did to endanger her, she does not wish to use him, to take advantage of his remorse.

So, she tells Ryon nothing. Instead, she presses her lips against his, starved for his comfort. Desperate for diversion.

Ryon’s hand grasps her chin, and he holds her there.

It’s like breath, this kiss. It fills her. She moves against his mouth and even this slow friction is intoxicating. She is nothing but her spent mind and dormant desire. Her body inches closer to him, her hands gripping his neck, her thighs sliding off the fallen tree so that her chest and stomach can find him where he kneels before her. She wants to feel his arms wrap around her and pull her in tightly. She wants to be small and disappear within him, let him obliterate her.

His lips pull away just enough. Enough that her whole body reaches for him, frustrated, but not enough that she doesn’t hear the words that skate over her face.

“I love you.”

She stills. Her eyes open. It is not passion that comes to engulf her, or tenderness. It is, of all things, terror.

Dawsyn has faced predators, starvation, imprisonment, poison, near-drowning, and felt terror with each. Now here, in a forest with no threat in sight, it floods her again.

His face, so close to hers, is pained. His eyes are closed, his head bowed, awaiting a rebuff. There is a pause wherein her body slowly shrinks away, and he grips a little tighter, trying to stop it.

She swallows but doesn’t speak and hopes he will follow suit.

“I love you,” he says again, softer this time.

Damn him.

She shakes her head. “No.” It is cold. Final.

Ryon sighs, leaning away from her and dropping his hands. “My apologies. I know… I know you do not wish to hear it.”