“You have a strange way of showing it,” I said with eerie calm. Disassociating from myself the way I used to do all the time, the way I haven’t been able to do since that night on the hillside.
“As I’ve said—repeatedly—I didn’t remember. What I did remember was bad.”
“But people told you. You just didn’t care.”
“Are we done with this?” Lorcan demanded hoarsely. “I can’t go back and change what happened. Wishing I had done everything differently doesn’t make it different. I want to make amends, Zosia, but I can’t if you’re too embittered to ever forgive me.”
He turned his back and walked out. Down the hill into the fields, sunlight glinting on his hair the way it did that day in the Colosseum, three years ago.
Leaving me alone for the first time since my rescue.
CHAPTERELEVEN
Ipottered aimlessly around the house. Organizing my belongings. Preparing for my departure the day after Lorcan’s birthday celebration—with or without him. I’m no longer sure which it will be.
When evening came and went without his return, I fixed myself a simple meal and finally downloaded those articles about head injuries Raina sent me. It took a while for the satellite connection to transfer all the file data.
It’s not an ideal reading situation, but since I didn’t have anything better to do, I curled up on Lorcan’s side of the bed to read on the screen. While I was online, I fired off a few emails to Saskaya—a long form she sent a while ago for me to fill out and submit to a charitable organization, in hopes of securing funding—and to Scarlett:can you please bring computer printer paper, and three pairs of size 36 Converse in different colors? They’re a gift. I’ll reimburse you.
With what money, I don’t know. Arya will like them, though it hardly makes up for the fact that I’m not going to marry her brother, thus stranding her here in Tenáho when she’s been looking forward to getting away.
While I was messing around with my device, I noticed a new email pinging my inbox.
Dear Princess Zosia,
Last year, my husband and I had the honor of winning a charity auction held at the Louvre for a visit to your country. I have hesitated to contact you after reading reports about the precariousness of your political situation. However, I understand that the problem has since been resolved. We are keen to visit Auralia. My daughter is a tremendous admirer. Her birthday is coming up this fall. We would like to claim our prize if it is safe to do so.
-Mrs. Knauss
Oh, fuck. Forgot all about that obligation. I forwarded it to Raina with a quickwhat do you think?
Then I settled in to read about traumatic brain injuries, which is a thoroughly depressing way to spend a pleasant summer evening.
Everything supports Lorcan’s assertions. TBI, as it was abbreviated in the articles Raina sent, can be associated with memory loss, personality changes, poor impulse control, and anger—all of which Lorcan has demonstrated. Memory problems in particular tend to be centered around a period of time near the injury. Nothing he says he experienced is implausible.
Yet he made a remarkable recovery. Physically, he’s stronger than ever. Psychologically, it’s amazing he came out of the experience as undamaged as he did. It was about as good an outcome as we could have hoped for.
Lorcan isn’t gone. He’s different. The man I knew before is someone I am still getting to know. There are definitely parts I don’t like. His carelessness in sleeping around, of course. His open disregard for my well-being from when he woke up until a few weeks ago.
But there are elements that I do prefer over his old, silent self. He’s freer with his affections. I don’t wonder what he’s thinking all the time anymore. He’s emotionally more available than he was before his accident, and to me, that’s an improvement.
The phone ran low on battery. I didn’t have a way to recharge it, for now, so I set it aside and went for a short walk. Fireflies lit the path into the town. I choose the opposite direction, going down the hill, around the fields, and then looping past the apple orchard back to Lorcan’s cottage.
He was there when I got back. Watching me from the window, ready to intervene if anyone attacked—even here, it’s a risk. I doubt he went very far away today. Just enough to give us both some space. Always watching over me.
I have to admit that the first sight of him jolted me. I was so on edge about our fight that I didn’t know how to react.
“You came back.”
“It’s my house.”
He was sitting on the unmade bed where I spent the afternoon. Changed and ready to sleep. His bed. Asserting his ownership.
“Do you want me to leave?”
Lorcan held out one hand. “No, Zosia. I want you to stay.”
For how long, though?
