“I am not lying.”
“Of course you are. In all the time we were together you never dreamed of me. Why would you start now?”
It was true. She never used to dream of Fetnalla, though her love claimed to dream of her often. Fetnalla had teased her about it for years. But it was equally true that Evanthya had dreamed of her several times since last they spoke, dark visions in which her love shattered her bones one by one, while a shadowy figure-the Weaver, no doubt-stood nearby, laughing.
“I’m afraid for you.” I’m afraid of you.
Fetnalla’s smile vanished. “And I’m afraid for you. You should leave here, Evanthya. Tonight. If the Weaver finds you, he’ll kill you. He knows that you’ll never join his movement, and so he sees you as a threat, not only to me, but to him as well, and to everything for which we’ve worked.”
“I can’t just run away. You know me better than that. I hate him and all that he’s done to this land. I have to fight him.”
“Then you have to fight me.”
Her shoulder began to throb at the mere thought of it.
Fetnalla walked to her mount, reached into the leather bag hanging from her saddle, and pulled out a small pouch.
“You must be hungry,” she said. “I don’t have much-some hard bread and cheese-but you’re welcome to it.”
“What about you?”
“I’ve eaten already.” She smiled sadly. “And before long, I’ll either be able to get all the food I need, or it won’t matter what I have left.”
Evanthya was famished, and after a moment she stood, stepped around the fire, and took the food. Sitting, she began to eat, shoving bread and cheese into her mouth as quickly as she could, barely chewing one mouthful before taking another.
“You’re going to make yourself sick eating that way.”
She forced herself to stop, closing her eyes and slowly chewing what she had taken.
“Have some of this,” Fetnalla said, handing her a skin of water.
“Thank you.”
“When was the last time you ate?”
“I don’t know. It’s been a day or two.”
“Evanthya!”
“You didn’t stop. How could I?”
“You’re mad!”
“I thought I was a ‘stubborn fool.’”
“You’re all of that, and more. You should have just let me go.”
“Is that what you would have done had it been me?”
Fetnalla straightened. “Yes.”
“I don’t believe you,” Evanthya said, grinning.
“I wouldn’t have starved myself, and I certainly wouldn’t have…” She looked Evanthya up and down, her gaze lingering on Evanthya’s crippled shoulder. “You’ve sacrificed too much.”
“I’ve suffered less than others.”
Fetnalla opened her mouth as if to argue, then stopped herself and just shook her head.
Evanthya took another bite or two of bread and a few sips of water. Then she handed the food and skin back to Fetnalla. Hungry as she had been, she filled up quickly.
“Don’t you want more?”
“Not now. I’m grateful to you, though.”
Fetnalla returned the pouch and skin to her bag before facing Evanthya once again.
“What are we going to do?” she asked, firelight shining in her pale eyes. “I don’t want to fight you, and I know better than to think that I can turn you to the Weaver’s cause.”
“You could come away with me.”
Her beloved frowned. “This is no joke, Evanthya.”
“I know that. Leave here with me tonight.”
“Impossible. I’m a murderer, remember? I’m a traitorous minister who killed her duke. That’s what the Eandi will say. I can’t ever go back to Aneira.”
“Then we’ll go somewhere else. Wethyrn or Caerisse or Sanbira. We can join the prelates on Aylsa for all I care. As long as we’re away from the Weaver and his war.” She swallowed, trying not to cry. “As long as we’re together.”
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
“A moment ago you said that you had to fight the Weaver. That you hated him too much to run away from this war.”
“My love for you is stronger by far than my hatred of the Weaver.”
“You’d leave Tebeo? You’d give up your service to Dantrielle?”
She nodded. “If it meant being with you.”
Fetnalla smiled at her, the tender, loving smile Evanthya recalled from so long ago, before they had ever heard of the Weaver and his conspiracy. Tears glistened on Fetnalla’s cheeks and she wiped them away. “I’d like that very much.”
“Then come with me.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It can be.”
“No, it can’t. The Weaver-”
“Forget about the Weaver!”
She shook her head, tears flying from her face. “You don’t understand! He’ll think that I betrayed him. He walks in my dreams, Evanthya. He can find me anywhere and kill me in my sleep.”
A comment leaped to mind, another barb about the Weaver’s cruelty and Fetnalla’s willingness to follow him in spite of it. But Evanthya kept this to herself.
Instead she asked, her voice as gentle as possible, “Are you certain that he would? Are you that important to him? Or is it possible that after this final war, should he survive, he won’t care enough to come after you?”
She feared that Fetnalla might take offense, but her love merely stared at her. “I don’t know,” she said. “I suppose it’s possible.”
“What choice do we have, Fetnalla? If we remain here, either you’ll have to kill me or I’ll have to kill you. Failing that, one of us is likely to die. Is that what you want? For one of us to be alone for the rest of her days? Wouldn’t it be better to take this chance? At least we’d be together, with a chance at a new life. If the Weaver finds us, so be it, but at least we’d have some hope.”
“You make it sound so simple.”
“I’m not as foolish as you think I am. I’m not saying that escape will be easy. Merely the choice.” She grinned. “That is, if you don’t mind living out your days with a cripple.”
She meant it to be humorous, but abruptly Fetnalla was bawling, tears coursing down her face.
“I’m so sorry,” she managed to say, her body quaking with her sobs. “Hurting you that way … That was the worst thing I’ve ever done.”
Evanthya should have gone to her. She should have taken Fetnalla in her arms and told her that she was forgiven, that all she cared about was being with her, that none of the rest mattered. She wanted to, yet she couldn’t bring herself to move her feet. For the first time, it dawned on her that she might not be able to love this woman anymore. She was still in love with the Fetnalla she knew a year ago, before any of this began, but could she ever really trust her again? She was in love with an idea, a memory. For as long as she lived, she would be. But for the rest of her life, she would also remember the sound of her bones shattering, the pain tearing through her shoulder like a battle-ax. How could she ever love someone who had assaulted her? Yes, Fetnalla had healed her bones, but for all her talents with such magic, her love couldn’t mend the wound on Evanthya’s heart.
“You were angry,” Evanthya offered, feeling that she had to say something.
“That doesn’t justify it.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Fetnalla’s sobbing began to subside. “Can you forgive me?”
Evanthya stared down at the fire. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I want to try.”
“But you speak of going away with me. How can we do that if you can’t forgive what I’ve done?”
“I’m sure I can with time.”
“But-”
“Can’t we just go? It’s harder with the Weaver so close and war in the air all around us. We’ll leave here together, go someplace safe. Everything will be better then.”
But Evanthya could feel her hope slipping away. For just an instant she had believed that this might work, that Fetnalla would go with her, that they could escape the darkness that was blanketing all the Forelands. Not anymore. The moment had passed, and once more she found herself face-to-face with an enemy she loved, a lover she could never trust again.