“Because that would be no life for you!”
He stared into the whiskey, knowing full well it didn’t contain any more answers than it ever did. “Is it that I’m not good enough for you?” he asked evenly, unwilling to see the truth in her face.
“What? No. Why would you think that?” Real distress sounded in her voice, so he made himself meet her earnest gaze.
“I’m not a prince,” he reminded her. “Not magical. Not a shapeshifter. I’m just a sailor—and sometime pirate, it’s true—who happens to be good with a blade.”
“Jak,” she said, clearly stricken, “that doesn’t come close to encompassing all that you are.”
“But all that I am doesn’t fit anywhere into your future.” He sounded as dead as he felt inside.
“It’s not because of you,” she whispered. “It’s me.”
He nodded, mostly because he didn’t trust his voice. It was an old insecurity, one he thought he’d left behind long ago, but apparently not. When you’re friends with the children of kings and queens, of sorcerers and dragonkin, you couldn’t get too caught up in comparisons. He’d always known he wasn’t good enough for Stella, but that hadn’t stopped him from wanting her. That was the pirate in him, he supposed, always reaching for unearned treasure.
“Jak, please talk to me,” Stella said quietly, her tone beseeching, her voice strained.
With a hoarse laugh, he looked at her, so incredibly beautiful in the candlelight, her skin glowing against that remarkable dress that teased with what it nearly revealed. Her dark hair cascaded around her like a cloak of night, and her eyes were silver as the moon. Quaffing the rest of the whiskey, he considered drinking the entire bottle. Maybe that would kill the pain. “I thought you knew everything I’m thinking already.”
“Not at the moment, I don’t. The emotions are too strong. All I know is how upset you are.”
“I’m thinking this is not how I envisioned this night going,” he said, trying to keep it light and failing miserably.
“Jak…” She sounded miserable and broken. The little fingers of her left hand twitched, and he more than half expected her to chew on them. But she curled them into a fist instead. “I’m so sorry. See? I’m no good at this. I’ll only bring you misery.” Standing, she smoothed her dress. “I’d better go.”
“Yeah, you do that.” He didn’t care that he sounded bitter. “Actually, wait. Tell me this: if this is how you felt all along, why did you agree to letting me court you? Why are you even here with me right now?”
She twined a long lock of hair around her fingers, twisting it in her agitation. She hated hurting him, and she’d done it anyway. “I wanted to test the waters. To try to see if I could make it work with you.”
“But you didn’t try,” he hurled at her, a well-aimed throw because she flinched and paled. “You’re so far from testing the waters that you’re standing on shore, perfectly dry, and do you know why?”
“It sounds like you know,” she said with a testy edge. At least he could get under her skin this way. “Why don’t you explain myself to me, Jak?”
Standing, he poured himself more whiskey, because why not? “You’re afraid, Stella. That’s why you’re always extending yourself to help everyone else, because you can’t bear for anyone to see inside you, to truly touch you emotionally.”
“You don’t know what it’s like for me.” A quaver laced her voice, and she looked away from him. “I’ve told you: letting people inside is painful.”
He barked out a humorless laugh. “I have news for you, sweetheart. It’s painful for all of us. But you’ve developed a dodge, always being the one giving because you’re terrified of needing anyone or anything.”
“That’s not fair,” she replied, but her mouth wobbled.
“Isn’t it? You’re the one who’s figured out a way to avoid being close to anyone.”
“I’m close to Astar.”
“Not anymore,” he persisted ruthlessly. “You’re letting him go, too. Remember how you worked so hard to make sure Astar didn’t know you felt abandoned by his falling in love with Zeph?”
“I didn’t want to impinge on his happiness. To behave otherwise would be selfish.”
“Oh, right.” He gestured with the mug. “You and Astar, both so fucking noble all the time. Has it ever occurred to you that clinging to this honorable ideal is the most selfish thing of all?”
“No, Jak, it hasn’t. And you getting drunk isn’t going to solve anything.”
“Also wrong,” he snarled. “Getting drunk is how us lowly mossbacks deal with emotional pain. Something else you wouldn’t understand.”
“Which thing wouldn’t I understand?” she snapped, finally losing her cool reserve. “Emotional pain or using liquor as a crutch to escape it?”
“Besides which, I’m far from drunk. Something I intend to remedy, so unless you want to keep me company—or commit to a real effort to make this work between us—you might as well leave.”
“Fine, I will.” She strode to the door.
“You do it so well, after all,” he called after her. “Enjoy your life alone. Just remember that you’re the one who made it be that way.”
She slammed the door behind her. He poured himself more whiskey.
It was going to take a lot.
Stella dashed the tears from her eyes, glad she’d at least managed to keep them from spilling over until she made it out the door. Once in the empty corridor, she paused, glancing back at the firmly shut door, more than half expecting Jak to come storming through it, demanding that she come back and resolve the argument.
But he didn’t.
He really was, finally, letting her go. She should be happy. Relieved.
What had she done?
Feeling too shattered to walk to her room, unable to face running into anyone, friend or stranger, she leaned for a moment against the wall. Pressing her forehead against the smooth, plastered surface, she let the tears fall. Giving in to the need, she tucked her left little fingers between her lips, the taste odd from the crystals Gen had glued to her nails. Sucking on them just a little, she splayed her other palm against the wall, the stone structure beneath old and rooted in the ground. Steady and solid in a way she wasn’t. Especially in that moment, she was as fragile and ephemeral, no substance to her at all. She hated that about herself. Back when she’d told Astar she wanted to test the waters with Jak, it had felt possible to be someone else, someone strong.
But she honestly wasn’t that person, and never would be.
“I take it this means I get to sleep in my own borrowed bed?”
Stella jumped, tucking her hand guiltily behind her back and jerking her head away from the wall—how foolish had she looked, standing there like that?—and faced Rhyian. He lounged against the same wall, shoulder against it, arms folded, one ankle crossed languidly over the other. Clearly he’d been there a while, and she’d been so fogged in by her own turmoil that she hadn’t even noticed.
“Ah, um, yes,” she stammered. “If you hurry, Jak might not have drunk the entire bottle of whiskey yet.” She tried a smile, but it came out wobbly, along with a fresh spate of tears. She never had been any good at humor.