Zakai leaned in close. “Fools,” he whispered, a teasing note in his voice. I laughed softly, my skin flushing. For the breath of a moment . . . I’d returned to Sundara, the place where Zakai had whispered in just such a way, distracting, as a dozen eyes looked upon us and he moved above me. I gave myself a very small shake, shrugging the memory away as Zakai leaned back and made a chuffing sound. He nodded to the painting of the first U.S. President and his crew, a mind-boggling masterpiece of immense size, a piece of art that depicted George Washington crossing the Delaware on Christmas night, 1776. “Do you know anything about that painting?”
“Only what I’ve read on the placard.”
He gave a short nod. “George Washington said later that as they crossed the river, the fog was so thick, only God could have steered their boat through the middle. They traveled by faith alone.”
I tilted my head, looking at him with interest. “Do you . . . have faith?”
He gave me a bashful smile. “I work to hold on to it but, yes. It’s brought me peace.”
Peace.
He cleared his throat. “Anyway, regarding your bad reviews, I’m sure someone thinks George’s coat isn’t the right shade of blue, or that the expression on his crew mate’s face is overly dramatic, even for someone headed into a winter war completely blind.” I laughed and he smiled, but it quickly turned serious. “You give people hope. Be proud of that.”
Someday maybe you’ll string all those words together and they’ll tell a story.
What kind of story?
Something good, little star. Something that inspires hope.
I lowered my head. “Thank you. I appreciate it,” I whispered, overcome with emotion.
“Speaking of your stories, though, I do have one critique.”
I turned, a surprised laugh bubbling up my throat. “Oh?”
“Mm. This Prince of Dusk and Starlight?” He raised one dark brow. “He’s very confusing. Sulky. Moody. Secretive. An asshole, honestly.”
“Maybe he has his reasons?”
He nodded once. “Yes. He must. And I sense that . . .” As his words faded, I lifted my gaze and met his. His expression was so solemn, so full of gravity that my breath hitched. “I sense that you love him. Am I right?” he whispered.
I let out a small laugh that was mostly breath, but I didn’t say a word. How could I? He knew very well the character was based on him. Yes. No. How did I answer in a way that wouldn’t reveal my terribly complex feelings? Love and hate, I’d come to realize, were so inextricably entwined. “I suppose I love all of my characters, in some way or another,” I said, going for flippant. “Even the assholes.”
“Will you redeem him in the last book? Or will we discover he’s really the villain? That he’s been one all along?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” I told him, giving a small shrug. “I’ll have to see how the story unfolds.”
We were silent for a moment. “I was surprised to see you last night after all this time,” I said softly. “Why now, Zakai?”
He looked down. “The last time I saw you, you told me you hated me,” he said softly. “For a long time . . . I thought I could live with that. It turns out I was wrong.”
“You said you hated me too,” I reminded him, and even I could hear the sadness in my voice, the memory of the wonderful-terrible way we’d last parted, with fireworks that both dazzled and scarred.
“I never hated you, Karys. I hated what I did to you. I hated the yearning inside me that never seems to fade. No matter what I did. No matter what I do. No matter how much I drank.”
I blinked at the stark honesty in his voice, our gazes holding, the pain in his further stealing my breath. But resentment followed quickly on the heels of my surprise. I hadn’t expected to hear such a confession, and the memory of all the pictures I’d seen of him partying and cavorting over the years had me doubting his sincerity. “It seems you found a way to numb your yearning,” I said, the bitterness oozing from my voice and making me wince. I didn’t want to be that person. It didn’t serve anyone. But it seemed my feelings were more raw than I had hoped.
“No,” he breathed. “Never. Please, Karys, if you ever trusted me, trust me when I say, I’ve longed for you every second since we parted.”
I shook my head, a refusal of his words, or a wished denial of my feelings? Both perhaps. I still felt the chemistry sizzling between us, just as I had the night before. My heart still reached for him despite all the reasons it should not. But I’d had time to look at my relationship with Zakai from a distance, and through my writing, I’d probed all the corners of my wounded soul. Perhaps I couldn’t stop loving him completely, perhaps I never would. And maybe melding the truth and fantasy of Sundara would take a lifetime of effort. But I could still attempt to resist crumbling in front of Zakai the way I always had. And I could attempt to look at my reaction to him objectively. “Maybe we were both conditioned,” I said, not meeting his eyes. “Maybe we were brainwashed, Zakai. What we felt . . . even the vestiges of those feelings that still remain . . . it isn’t our fault. All the things we did to each other, all those emotions—”
“You’re wrong. It’s not the way you make it seem, Karys.” I didn’t look at him but I sensed by the tilt of his head in my peripheral vision that he was distressed. “I know I’m the one who led you to that conclusion. But . . . what I said about Bibi? That was never true.” He paused for a long time and for a moment I wondered if he’d go on. “On Sundara,” he finally continued, “I just . . . I didn’t want you to yearn the way I did. God, Karys, I didn’t want you to hurt. And, yes, your beauty, your ability to find joy where none of us could, felt like something precious. It felt like oxygen in an airless room. I loved you so much. I still do,” he uttered, the last words fading away.
My chest constricted, pain reverberating through me. Not this. Anything but this. “You can’t ever be sure of that, Zakai.”
“Can’t I?”
I looked at him then, met his gaze with resolution. “No. You were set up to think what you felt for me was love. That’s all.”
He studied me for a moment. “If it isn’t love, what is it? If I didn’t love you then, what was it?”
I turned away. “Affection. Possession. Even sickness. Take your pick. It’s not your fault, nor mine. You had no choices. It was only me. You said it once before, Zakai, and you were right.”
“I’ve had choices all these years. I didn’t make different ones. Not once,” he said, his voice so quiet, I stilled my body to hear.
Shock pounded into me. “What?” I studied him in confusion. “Your relationship with Giselle—”
“Business. Never more, though she wanted it.”
Static in my head made the din of the room fade away and then rush back in. Oh no. But . . . Oh God. That couldn’t be true.
“It is true I assure you,” he answered, making me realize I’d uttered the statement aloud. “She wanted a relationship. I didn’t. Her attempts never enticed me. I never pretended otherwise, but she never gave up hope, despite taking on other lovers while I was with her.” He paused. “She represents me, but no more. In truth . . . I owe her. She took me in during a very bad time. I would have been homeless if not for her. Everything I have is because she facilitated it.”