Thread of Ash and Fire

Ch. 46: How Could You Love Someone Like That?

Ah.

So the fireflies weren't just for decoration, then.

Faolan crossed to the chair, picking up a bundle of silky material. "Nice jacket." He waggled the garment. "I wouldn't have thought you were into polka dots."

Tristan swallowed. "It's not mine, actually."

"Ah," Faolan said slowly. "And where is Owain this morning?"

"He should be back soon," Tristan said.

Faolan set the jacket down. An odd expression crossed his face. Something very like determination. "Tristan, there's something you should know. Owain isn't—"

Something tapped at the window.

They both turned. A raven hovered just outside the window, looking impatient. A letter dangled from its talon. A letter, Tristan noted, his heart speeding up, with a very distinct-looking red seal.

He crossed the room. "Just a moment. Sorry."

The bird flew inside. Faolan watched with inscrutable eyes as Tristan detached the letter, unfurling it quickly.

"Who's it from?" Faolan asked.

Tristan hesitated. Ah, screw it. It wasn't like Talulla wouldn't already know; he suspected the princess had been monitoring his mail from the moment he'd arrived. "Anna."

Faolan blinked. "As in Annalise Cidarius? I didn't realize you two were close."

Tristan looked away. "It's a recent development."

Faolan looked at him expectantly, but Tristan didn't elaborate. Even if he wanted to, Tristan thought, it was impossible to explain what happened in that tower. Eris's cruelty. Anna's screams. The unending weeks of physical torture and starvation. Sometimes he still dreamed of it, waking up in floods of cold sweat.

Tristan turned back to the letter.

Tris, Anna had written.

I'm not sure how to begin this letter. I'm not even certain that it will find you. But I really, really hope that it does.

There was a blot of ink on the paper, as if Anna had paused.

We invaded Helos Castle last week. Eris intercepted us, and there were mass casualties. In retrospect, we should have waited until we'd heard from you. We could have used Talulla and her army by our side.

But that's not all.

Another ink blot.

Lucia is alive. She's working with Thoraine and the faeries—

Shock lanced through Tristan. The parchment shook in his hand, and he forced himself to reread the words. No. He'd read that correctly.

—and the faeries to expand their territory. We suspect that she'll march on Wynterlynn first, then take Zarob, Salvatoria and the Gongo Islands. We haven't confirmed if Owain is involved, but I suspect that he is.

I'm sorry, Tristan. Please come home as soon as you can. We need you more than ever.

Anna.

Tristan raised his head. His first thought was that Anna must have realized that Talulla would read the letter, because it was designed to frighten the princess. His second thought was that he was going to be sick.

He stumbled to the corner, seizing the bedpan. Tristan retched. Retched again. Nothing came up, and he wiped his mouth, his hand trembling. Faolan moved closer.

"What is it?" Faolan demanded. "What's wrong?"

"Faolan," Tristan said, and his voice sounded odd. "What were you about to tell me about Owain?"

Faolan looked away. "It's nothing, really. I shouldn't have brought it up."

Tristan lowered the bucket. "Tell me. Please."

His heart raced like a runaway carriage, bumping over foreign and treacherous ground. Faolan's face tightened. "It's only... Do you remember when I said that Owain was at court before? And that he'd brought his human lover here?"

Tristan's mouth tasted of acid. "I do."

"He was a foreigner," Faolan said. "But we all knew who he was."

The wolf shifter was speaking slowly. Trying to prepare him, Tristan realized, for a blow. His heartbeat accelerated. Tell me. Get it over with.

Faolan licked his lips. "Tristan. The person that Owain was dating — the man that he loved — it was Halson."

Tristan stared. "Halson Dolphenberg?"

Faolan's dark eyes were solemn. "I'm afraid so."

White noise roared in his ears.

Tristan was vaguely aware of setting down the bucket, of sinking onto the bed, but it all felt faraway. Like a play he was watching from the last row of a theatre. "He gave up his title... his whole world... for Halson."

It couldn't be true.

He wouldn't believe it.

And yet, Tristan thought, his chest hollow, it made a terrible sort of sense. Faolan had been surprised that Owain had fought in the Battle of Port Flurry. What had he said at the time? I suppose Owain had his own reasons for getting involved.

And then there was Owain.

Owain, who'd admitted he had secrets. Secrets that had to do with his family. Secrets that would change how Tristan thought of him. Still, Tristan had never thought... never even suspected...

He dropped his head into his hands, taking deep breaths.

Faolan stared down at the whip; it trailed across the room like some insidious serpent. "I understand if you don't believe me."

"I do believe you," Tristan said dully.

He thought of all the rumours he'd heard about Halson. The mass genocide, the spectacular feasts that took place at court while the Loxian population starved... and then there was Halson's wife, Isolde. "She had bruises," Penny had once confessed. "And they didn't look like an accident."

Tristan's mouth tasted of metal. "Halson's a monster."

"I share your sentiments," Faolan muttered.

He shook his head. "How could you love someone like that?"

Faolan shrugged. "Love blinds us." He paused. "Still. I'd like to think it's possible to put on a pair of glasses, occasionally."

Tristan shook his head. His heart was racing, and he felt suddenly dizzy, as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. A warm hand landed on his shoulder.

"Tristan?" Faolan murmured. "Are you alright?"

His fingers tingled. "I can't..."

"Tris?" a voice called.

The door swung open.

Owain shuffled into the room, weighed down by a large brown bag. He was dressed in a green cloak, his auburn hair damp with rain. He didn't look up as he unloaded the pastries. "So I couldn't find any cucumber sandwiches, but I did find a cranberry muffin, so that'll have to..." He looked up, and his face changed. "What's going on here?"

Tristan looked away.

He was painfully aware of what this must look like: himself, half-naked on the bed, and Faolan touching his shoulder. Still. Tristan couldn't bring himself to care. Not after everything he'd just heard.

"Faolan." Owain's voice was flat. "Why am I not surprised?"

"I'll leave you two to talk," Faolan murmured.

Faolan gave Tristan's shoulder a squeeze before turning for the door, his whip trailing behind him. There was a click as the door shut. Owain crossed his arms.

"Well?" Owain's eyebrow arched. "Care to explain?"

Tristan raised his head. "Are you working with Lucia?"