His jaw twitched, and in an instant, everything he felt washed over his face. But before I could react, he turned his back on me. I stared at his slumped shoulders, uncertain of what to do or what to say. He was not all right. I could see it and I could feel it, but I didn’t know what I could do to make it right. “Tristan?” I reached out to touch his back, but he only flinched away from my hand, unwilling to accept anything he perceived as pity.

“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” I said, trying logic instead. “Someone had to have named you, and it seems fitting that it would be him. And he wouldn’t have told me if he didn’t think I’d need it. I’m sure he wouldn’t have told me lightly.”

“How can you be sure of something you know nothing about?” he snapped.

I tried not to let his tone hurt, but it was hard. “If I know nothing that’s because you’ve chosen to keep me in the dark. As you so often do.”

“It’s the way I am. You’ve always known that.”

Exhaustion settled over me, turning my body and mind numb. “You’re right. I have always known it. But I never said that I’d be content with it.”

The words left a burning sensation in their wake as so often the truth does. But once they were out, I felt the relief of knowing that there was nothing more that I could say. I waited a moment to see if he would respond, and when he said nothing, I started walking home.

Normally I resented how quick to tears I was, but as I trudged down the snow-dusted walkways, with eyes dry as sawdust and my chest so tight I could scarcely breathe, I longed for the release sobbing would bring. Instead I felt every sleepless night, every missed meal, every mistake I’d made, and every hurt I’d caused. Never in my life had I felt so hopeless, and the result was that I was ill-equipped to deal with it. No matter how I racked my brain, I could not see a way through, and the realization was crippling.

The lamp in the front entrance was the only light in the empty house, my mother having disappeared to the Marquis’ country home and the servants gone for the night. I had walked away from the one person I’d never thought I’d turn my back on, and now I was alone. I stood motionless in front of the lamp, staring at the flame while the snow melted, puddling around my boots.

A knock sounded at the door. I didn’t move. I knew it was Tristan, and I knew I couldn’t ignore him. He was in an unfamiliar place with nowhere to go, and leaving him out in the cold was cruel.

Turning the bolt, I eased the door partially open and spoke right away so there would be no awkward pause. “I can direct you to where Chris lives,” I said. “Or to a hotel. I have coin, if you need some. Whatever you prefer.”

He hesitated, looking past me into the house. “What I’d prefer is to be with you,” he eventually said, his voice quiet. “Though that I’ve made you think otherwise indicates I probably don’t deserve the privilege.”

A sigh of relief ran through me. “Is that supposed to be an apology?”

One corner of his mouth turned up. “I was working my way in that direction.”

The need to close the distance between us was almost unbearable, but I held my ground. “Work harder.”

The wind swirled, snowflakes melting before they touched his cheeks. It made me think of the time we were on the lake, and I had described the seasons to him until the feel of his lips on my skin had chased away all thought. That was what I wanted now: not to have to speak or listen, but just to feel. I held my breath.

“I am sorry.” There was a faint shake in his voice. “I love you above all things in this world or any other, and yet there are times when I think I subject you to the worst of me, and I can’t explain why.”

I opened the door the rest of the way, then stepped aside so he could come in. The corners of his borrowed cloak brushed against my skirt, pressing the damp fabric against my skin, making me shiver. The foyer was wide, but he remained close enough that I could smell the smoke clinging to his clothing, feel the heat radiating from his skin, see the lamplight glittering in eyes that nothing of this world possessed. Close enough to touch, and oh, how I wanted to.

“I was building it.” The words were hoarse, and he swallowed audibly. “The structure that I designed to replace the magic tree, I was building it. With the half-bloods’ help, and my father’s… well, not his blessing, but his permission.”

A million questions sprang to mind, but I bit my tongue.

“I can explain later how I got that permission, but suffice it to say, it was gained by my beating him at his own game. The first time ever, I think.” A smile flashed onto his face, then faded just as quickly. “Everything’s a mess in Trollus. It’s worse than when you left. I made a mistake that nearly caused Marc to lose his mind. The twins are relegated to the mines. The half-bloods can lie. Angoulême has possession of my brother’s name. Lessa has stolen Anaïs’s life.” He shook his head once. “My own mother even tried to kill me.”

I heard everything he said, but it was almost too much for me to take in. I’d suspected that much had happened in Trollus, but hearing the names of those I cared about as those who had been harmed, and the names of our enemies as those who were triumphing? My stomach twisted, and I clenched my teeth together to keep quiet.

“But despite everything existing in a miserable mess, I was finally starting to see how all the pieces fit together.” His eyes were fixed on me, but it wasn’t me he was seeing. “I was starting to see how his plan fit together, what his motivations were. The half-bloods supported me, the guilds were rallying to our cause, and even some of the aristocracy were openly siding with me. My structure was rising higher and higher, and my people were finally beginning to work together in a way I always dreamed they would. I was so very close…”