Chapter Two: Bad Memories

Enon ignored Zelda's raised eyebrows and drained a third glass of wine. Link's mouth was hard and Enon knew he'd hear about it the moment they were alone. But between sitting next to Balka all evening, Fara's announcement about her and Cantor's apparent plans to marry, and the always unctuous Terpandra's, he didn't really care what his prince felt about his poor choices.

Finally, the meal was over. Enon pushed back as soon as polite.

"I need to do something," he said vaguely. The royal couple's looks were pointed. He avoided them. Less easy to ignore was Nelsin hurrying to catch him up.

"Nelsin, I don't think-" His mother's warning cut off as the door shut.

Enon eyed him. "What do you want?"

Nelsin set his chin. "To talk to you."

"I'm really not in the mood." Maybe this one time, he could start something. It always ended with Nelsin bleating on the ground anyway. Efficient, to just clip him one under the ear and be done.

"It's about Balka."

Nelsin backed up against a wall, hands up. "She's my sister, Enon, I'm worried about her. Just a friendly word."

"Friendly?" Enon grated. He had a headache. Zelda's healing had helped a little, but it still throbbed behind his eyes. "Since when have we been friendly?"

For all Nelsin was two years older, Enon stood an inch taller. And much broader. He doubted the man knew which end of a sword to swing.

Nelsin swallowed, his throat bobbing. "Look, I know you and I haven't always gotten along." It was an understatement imbecilic in its magnitude. "I just wanted to say, I'm sorry."

Enon was starting to feel the wine, now. "Sorry?" he repeated.

Nelsin straightened, less cringing and more mulish. "I am sorry. It's not like our families are ever not going to mingle. I was an ass, I admit it. You were, too. Can we move on? My sister frets about it. Then Sorrint gets on me about it and…well, you know how he is."

Enon grimaced. He did and had a moment of sympathy for Nelsin. A very brief moment. "Speaking of sisters, did you hear Fara…?"

Nelsin nodded and rubbed his face. "She told me, last year, I think. How she and Cantor have decided they are going to get married."

Enon was definitely feeling drunk. It didn't help his head or the knot of frustrated misery in his chest.

"Are you alright?" Nelsin asked. "You don't look so well."

Enon could never hold his wine. "Dropped my third," he muttered.

Nelsin did not understand. "How hard did you hit your head?"

Hard enough the minutes after were tinny and sharp.

"You, there," Nelsin commanded. He beckoned to a passing servant. "Help the prince to his chambers."

Enon brushed them both off. "I'm fine. Just a little drunk."

"Nelsin!"

Enon flinched, keeping his face turned away. She hissed at her brother. "What is going on? Mama said-"

"Go away, Balka," Nelsin told her sternly.

She ignored him "Are you sick, your highness?"

He was going to be. "No."

"You're awfully green. Come back-"

He shrugged out of Nelsin's grip. "I'm fine," he snapped. "Go away. Both of you."

Her fists clenched, but before they could really get started, another person arrived. This one Enon welcomed with relief.

"Sheik, yesuba Ordona."

The man surveyed their agitation with cool detachment.

"Is there trouble, Enon?"

Nelsin answered swiftly, "No, sir. The prince isn't feeling well, is all. I was helping."

"You were helping," Sheik repeated. Both siblings bristled at the drawling disbelief in the Sheik'ah master's voice.

Enon forestalled whatever retort Balka had behind her pursed lips by staggering toward him. Sheik caught his arm, truly concerned now.

"You are sick! Miss Balka, fetch the Queen. Enon-"

"I'm fine," Enon said yet again. "I just need to lie down."

Sheik helped him to his rooms. "What happened?"

"I dropped in third, got concussed, and drank too much. It's nothing."

Sheik tipped him into the bed. "Stay there."

Enon was glad to obey. The room was spinning uncomfortably fast. Sheik came back with a palace healer.

The man completed a brisk examination. "You're a fool," he said. "Why didn't you come to us at once?"

It wasn't the first time Enon had taken a blow to the head. "I'm fine."

"You're not fine. Lie still."

He grew warm and sleepy as the healing magic settled over him. He was perfectly happy to do so and enjoyed how distant reality became. Even their argument didn't bother him.

"He's still a child!" a man was saying. Sheik?

"He must be ready." That was Link.

"What for?"

"Cantor says he must be prepared."

"By bashing his skull in?"

"I-"

"He is not as strong as you. No one is."

That was true. The Prince made it look effortless, but his skill was inhuman. Divine.

"You're going to kill him if you're not careful."

"It's his choice."

"Is it?"

Enon lost interest, sinking deeper into the healing. Their arguments were nothing new. Link and Sheik always butted heads, about Zelda, the army, how many guards to employ, where to take the children for holiday outings.

The servants had a word for it: 'Shlink.' What's happening? Oh, just another Shlink. How did this vase break? Shlink was in here.

Enon's own family was loudly confrontational, so had thought nothing of it until others started whispering. Did Sheik not trust the prince? Was the Queen's guard a threat to the Consort?

Enon laughed at their fears. Both men were absolutely devoted to the Queen. If Sheik had wanted Link gone, he would have disappeared long ago. And if Link ever wanted Sheik dispatched, he would do it himself, calmly clean his knife on Sheik's tunic, and beg his wife for forgiveness.

"Now, young prince, how are you feeling?"

Enon blinked a few times. "Better."

"You will rest tonight and tomorrow. No weapons practice, no excitement. Sleep."

Enon grimaced. "I will."

"Good lad." The healer patted his shoulder and made his report to the Prince.

"Concussion. I healed much if it. Now he just needs to rest."

"Thank you, Tomas."

"And please stop hitting him in the head."

Enon grinned as the prince's voice pitched to reach him. "Then he needs to keep his guard up in third."

Enon had only enough energy to grunt before falling asleep.

Balka watched Enon stumble away with Sheik. She turned on her brother.

"What were you doing?"

Nelsin stuck his jaw out. "We were just talking."

"Then why's he so sick?"

"He drank too much, he said."

Balka had noticed, wondering at it. He didn't usually. Not at these family dinners, at least. Who knew what he did at other times.

Not that she cared. He could do whatever he wished, whenever he wished.

Nelsin was still blathering on. He followed her back to the salon. The Queen's questioning eyes drew the truth from her.

"Enon is unwell," Balka said. "Master Sheik took him to his rooms."

The Queen and the Consort exchanged a look. Balka did not miss the prince's quick glance over Nelsin.

"I'll go see him," the prince said. Sorrint half stood and was waved down. Balka sat by Han and stared at her plate, twisting a slim ring on her finger.

Han nudged her. "He'll be alright."

Balka hated her blush. "I'm not worried about him."

Her older sister's hand closed over hers, stilling them. Balka forced her fingers to relax and lay flat on her skirts.

"You should tell him."

Balka both loved and despised her pragmatic sister. "Tell him what?"

"How you feel about him."

Not only mortifying, but impossible, as she had no idea what she felt about him. "There's nothing to tell."

Han laughed softly. "He's obviously enamored with you, as much as he tries to hide it."

"Since when are you so knowledgeable about affairs of the heart?" Balka asked in a scathing undertone.

"Keen observation is the key to accurate scientific research," Han said loftily. She smiled and her otherwise stern features softened. "And why else would he get piss drunk in front of his cousin? You know the prince is going to harangue him for this."

"He's an idiot."

"Men usually are at this age. Look at Nelsin."

Balka had to agree. They were all of them idiots, breaking their legs jumping horses and betting each other to climb walls blindfolded or wrestle goats.

"What we need is a war."

Balka gaped at her sister. "A what?"

Han had her 'lecturing' look. "Males of most species are known to be aggressive and territorial in this early adult stage as they compete for resources and mates. Displays of dominance establish a natural order, with the most powerful male granted access to the most resources. Humans, generally, are more civilized, though the behavior is apparent."

Balka wasn't sure whether to laugh or hide her face in her hands.

"Ordon has an effective system, if slightly barbaric. Keeps the men in line, gives them focus. Both princes have clearly benefitted from the discipline needed for their Demon Watch. But I wonder how bored they are here in Castle Town. No wonder Enon thrashes Nelsin every time they meet.

"A word of advice, sister," Han added, rising from the table. "If you do choose a man, do it while the Prince is in Ordon. Or pick someone up to his weight."

Balka sat awkwardly alone as the others finished their food and drifted away. Fara and Cantor were under the table, still debating how much blood a man had inside of him and various ways to find out without killing someone. Balka saw her mother bearing down on her. She slipped away with a murmured excuse.

The royal wing was elegantly but comfortably furnished. The interconnecting rooms were filled with chairs and books. Toys cluttered the space, wooden figures of horses and soldiers, blocks, swords, kick balls tucked into corners. She touched the soft, woolen hair of a doll, proudly defending her castle from an attacking stuffed goat.

She drew up as the Consort's voice moved toward her. He was speaking in Ordonian. He and Sorrint went past the half open door.

"Goiza ven ta Enon dresba."

Something must be done about Enon.

She knew which room was his. She had run through these halls with him, hid under these tables. They had built hideouts in the gardens in summer and played games inside on dreary winter days.

And on one of those autumn days, sitting cozy in a small alcove, he had kissed her. On the mouth, which, at fourteen, had shocked and scared her.

She had told no one, not even Misly, in whom she confided everything. Enon had left soon after for Ordon to take his first round in the Watch.

When she saw him next, he was taller than her, his torso and arms filling out. Their days of playing games and teasing each other like siblings were over.

Now…

Now, he was almost a stranger. They hardly spoke. And the few conversations they did have were stilted and colored by bad memories.

She wanted to be friends again. She missed him; he had been such a comfort to her. Funny, cheerful, adventurous. They had planned grand travels to far off lands, finding maps in the books salvaged from the destruction and arguing over the monsters they would vanquish.

Then he went away and slew real monsters, spending months in Ordon's Watch, hunting down the demons still roaming after Ganon's defeat. Went on real adventures, saw the places she only imagined.

And she stayed behind, in the castle or bustled to her family's plantation to spend her days wandering over the hills. Eagerly waiting for his letters, just for a glimpse of new places. Wondering if she married him if they could go on the adventures they planned. Unsure why she felt terrified at the thought but seeing no other escape from the monotonous weeks and months.

She had been so happy to see him again, then. Eager to hear about his activities the past year and a half. He had changed so much, but still funny and kind.

He had kissed her again, which she allowed even as her stomach clenched with fear. Had pushed her back, pressing her against a table.

Just the memory of his hands on her made her sick. She had shoved him weakly, a breathless 'No!' barely escaping.

"What?" he'd demanded, eyes stormy.

"No. Please, Enon."

His hands were hard on her arms. "Why not?"

"I don't want- just stop."

She didn't remember what he said exactly, too angry and ashamed to recall more than his biting tone and the sting of her palm as she slapped him. The terror as her best friend grabbed her roughly. Her whimper, pleading with him to stop.

He had, lurching back so suddenly she nearly fell.

The horror in his face only magnified her own, realizing what he had wanted, what he had considered his for the taking.

"Barka te suh handia Ordona," he'd whispered. "Balka, Balka, I am so sorry. Balka, please-"

She'd slapped him again, as hard as she could. Twice, three times, tears burning her cheeks. He'd stood eyes closed, face averted.

That had been nearly two years ago.

He'd begged her forgiveness, over and over. Promising anything, swearing his affection, his remorse, until she told him she never wanted to speak to him again. That if he did not leave her alone, she would tell his prince what he had done.

He obeyed. Nearly a year passed until they spoke again. Stiff and formal, the wariness in his face matching the hurt in her heart. The way he leaned away from her when the adults sat them next to each other showing he was still obeying her command.

He didn't look at her, even now. She had been surprised he had spoken to her at dinner. She had watched concerned as he drained his glass twice in quick succession before accepting the third. She had barely sipped hers and her head had swirled fuzzily.

The prince was gone, the corridor silent. She tried not to creep. The guard by his door straightened at her approach.

"I'd like to speak with Enon," she said.

The man, an Ordonian, shrugged. "Don't think he'll be up to much conversation," he drawled thickly.

"Nevertheless…"

He opened the door for her. She did creep a little as she crossed the main living space. She had not been in here in years. It was very different than she remembered.

The clothing he had worn at dinner hung from a chair-back. His desk was littered with papers, books. She lifted the corner of one to peer at the map beneath. They had both loved maps. Such promise contained in the heavy paper, endless possibilities.

His bedchamber door was cracked. She pushed it wider with one finger. He lay asleep on the wide bed, an arm thrown over his head. His bruise was gone.

She did not have the courage to enter that space. Leaving him to rest, she slipped out and hurried back to her rooms.

His head was thick, but less sore when he woke. He sat up, grimacing as his body protested.

"Good afternoon, little prince."

Enon groaned at Firn's cheerful greeting. She always managed to be present when he had done something particularity stupid. Her very presence was a lecture, without her saying a word.

"I know," he croaked. "Keep my guard up!"

"Everyone drops in third; you have to, to complete the ultzad prim. Link is simply too fast to be caught by it. Try a xerro gotan." She poked him in the chest. "I ever catch you drinking like that again, I will write to your mother. The Queen is most displeased."

Enon scowled. "I won't," he promised. It hadn't helped, anyway. Only made him frustrated and sick.

He had hoped with time…but she still hated him. He could feel it like a miasma swirling around her.

Firn smiled at him, kissed his forehead, and went out.

He managed to wash and dress himself without falling over. Like all good healers, Tomas had done an excellent job mending the physical damage. The hangover would have to resolve on its own, a lesson in stupidity. He would have been an excellent Ordonian.

Squinting against the light, he went out into the main wing. Thankfully, the children were not there. But Balka was.

He drew up, watching as she turned over a page in a large book. An atlas, one they used to examine together.

She saw him. She blushed, pinking her fair cheeks.

Goddess, she was beautiful. Light hair tucked up on her head, full lips, slender, graceful. She was a golden echo to her dark, voluptuous sister.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Fine." He was tired of that word. He was not fine. Angry, frustrated, bored, restless. "Much better than yesterday, thank you."

"You really shouldn't drink so much."

"I don't."

She frowned at him, eyes searching his. She looked away. "I'm glad you're feeling better." She gathered up the atlas.

He spoke quickly, desperately. "Frioc's Atlas of Hyrule and the Subcontinent."

She hugged it to her chest. "Even more outdated than before."

"Ordon wasn't detailed, right? Nothing past your Waste."

She hesitated, like a rabbit torn between fleeing and freezing, praying the fox missed her presence. He swallowed a heavy ache in his throat.

"Well, I'd better find the Queen. She'll want to scold me like everyone else."

Balka's smile was stiff. He nodded to her and strode past.

He paused a minute outside the Queen's salon, his forehead against the cool wood of the door. Then he knocked.

"Come in!"

The Queen lay on a divan, her swollen feet propped up on pillows. She smiled at him.

"Enon!"

"I don't usually, and I won't again, I promise."

She laughed. "Come sit."

He did, chin in his hands. They sat in companionable silence for a long while. He could hear the children's laughter from the garden below the windows.

"What's troubling you, my soldier?"

Enon tried to smile. "Headache."

She dismissed his weak attempt to prevaricate. "Enon, what happened between you two?"

Zelda was not quite a mother, not quite a sister. A friend, but so much more.

"I demanded something I had no right to, that she was not willing to give."

The Queen's eyes were sharp and sad at the same time. "And?"

He shrugged, smoothing the fabric of the cushion, velvet against the callouses on his palms. "I crossed a line and she rightfully dismissed me. Until she decides otherwise, there's nothing I can do."

"Have you tried-?"

"No," he said firmly. "She was perfectly clear."

I hate you, Enon! Don't speak to me ever again!

They had to, forced together by their families. But they did not talk, not really. Not like they used to, sharing their ideas, excitement, plans. Plans he always assumed included her and him together.

He wanted to blame his actions on youthful ardor, but he knew himself better than that. He had been a selfish bastard and would pay the penalty without complaint. Even if she chose someone else, married someone else.

The thought made him ill with longing.

Zelda's hand cupped his chin. "My dear one, you have that same look in your eyes."

He would never forget the feel of the blood on his hands, hot and slick. "I'll be fine." Life went on, right? He would find some other woman, maybe. Or get killed and eaten by a crytch.

Zelda grimaced, hands pressed to her stomach.

"Here," she said, grabbing his wrist. Under his hand little feet drummed. "She's impatient to arrive."

"Link is sure it's a boy."

"It's a girl."

"You've been wrong every time, my Queen."

"Not every time."

"Twins don't count."

"Cantor says it's a girl."

Enon's mirth faded. "Fara said something at dinner last night. That she and Cantor are going to marry."

Zelda's brow creased, uneasy. "I know."

He watched her worried face, her eyes drawn to her children's voices echoing up to the window.

"He is an unusual child," Enon said. "Harro asks about him." More than interest in her prince's son, named for her grandfather, once the High Priest of Ordona.

"I wish…" The Queen spoke with the hesitancy of voicing long-hidden fears. "I wish we knew where Link came from. Who his parents were."

"Is there any way to trace his family?"

"We have some clues," she said. "But he…he doesn't want to find out."

Why not? Surely it would bring some closure. "Do you want me to find them?"

She glanced swiftly to his face. "No. No, not unless he wants it. It's his choice to make."

"Where is he?"

She attempted to joke. "His favorite: meeting with the magistrates."

Enon laughed obediently and went out, her admonition to rest following him through the door.

He was so incredibly bored. The summer days smeared together, sunny and hot. His head felt better. He tried a gotan. Link jerked back, untouched, but surprised.

"Do that again!" he commanded, eyes narrowed in professional interest. Enon managed to brush the prince's head, the edge of the wooden sword scraping along his cheek.

Link laughed, the deep, dark one that sent shivers down Enon's spine.

"Well done, my soldier." The bright blue of the prince's eyes gleamed. "Well done."

The castle was quiet, even with eight rowdy children in attendance. The city grew sluggish under the relentless heat. Even the river crawled, sparkling in the sun.

Enon wondered through the palace, pacing the still damaged portions of the upper wings. He and Balka used to sneak into these unused passages, clinging tightly to a lantern. They had found 'treasure,' trinkets and broken pottery left behind. Scraps of rusty armor. Animal bones, and once, part of a human skeleton.

She had bit off a shriek. He hadn't felt so well himself but wouldn't to show fear in front of the girl he adored. When he suggested she go back, she clenched her fists and retorted that she was a brave as he was. Even dared to poke the collapsed ribcage with a fire poker.

And when they emerged, dirty and well past bedtime, their respective parental figures scolded them fiercely. They shared an unrepentant grin, a camaraderie and a promise, that they would meet again for another adventure.

The palace felt much smaller now. There was little magic left in these grimy passages, only dirt and debris blown in over the years from the broken windows.

He skipped their combined dinner. He didn't think he could stand to sit next to her all evening. Nor tolerate Nelsin's attempts to be friends. The man was incessant. Instead he hid in a tower and watched the sunset.

He crept back to his room in the dusk, knowing Link would understand his need to be alone. He met the prince up on the reaches sometimes, watching the horizon hungrily.

Enon paused as voices rose behind a door. It was Misly and her mother. He grimaced. As sunny as Sorrint's wife was, even she grew exasperated when the older woman was being particularly trying.

"…must do something!" Lady Terpandra said.

"It is her choice," Misly snapped back.

Terpandra's voice faded, facing away, maybe, then, "…lose this opportunity!"

"Balka's future is not an 'opportunity,'" Misly said firmly.

"But she could wed a prince!"

Enon scowled. There were many reasons he disliked Balka's mother, but her avaricious interest in their friendship had always infuriated him. Did that pressure taint their relationship, have some influence on her refusal?

"She will marry whomever she chooses," Misly declared.

"If you would just talk to her."

"No."

"But-"

"No. And that is my last word. If you persist in badgering her about this, I will have to speak to the Queen."

Han had told Enon that Misly used to be meek, tractable, and flighty. He didn't believe it; the woman was as obstinate was she was beautiful.

He moved on, Lady Terpandra's words ringing in his head. She could wed a prince!

Enon rarely thought of his rank as a prince of Ordon. It was just something he was, a part of him. A Prince of the House, a Soldier of the Demon Watch, a Son of the Dhatin. He still took his place in the Gap, still hunted into the Watch. Still served his people as a man of his blood was expected to. It was only here that he became something to be protected, something coveted.

Prince of what, though? Link was the Prince. His son was the Heir. There was no dispute; the man had earned the right.

What did that make him? What did his future hold? More endless summers spent sparring with wooden swords? Taking his round in the Watch and returning home to…some Ordonian woman? Would Balka have even wanted to live in Ordon? Or would he have been stuck here like Link?

Enon grimaced. He knew how in love with Zelda Link was. It was obvious in the way he looked at her, touched her. In every new baby that arrived. But was he as bored running drills in the training yard as Enon was?

Balka enjoyed playing with the children, even when trapped inside all day due to thunderstorms. They ran through the royal suite, shrieking with glee as they tumbled and jumped.

She tickled Sella as the girl giggled, watching Ivin build a tower of blocks and immediately kick it down. He laughed uproariously and started a new one.

"Enon!" the children chorused.

Balka scowled. Sella squirmed free. They danced around the prince, begging him to play.

"Later, after I clean up," he promised. He was dripping wet. He saw her and looked away again. "Later," he told Anwyn. "I'm soaked. Your tama doesn't let a little rain stop his lessons."

The thunder was barely louder than the deluge drumming against the windows. He went through, his boots leaving wet marks on the carpet. One of the servants squawked at him and he left laughing.

"He misses you."

Balka jumped and blushed that she was caught staring.

Cantor stood next to her, his eyes also following the prince.

"You startled me, Cantor!"

The boy smiled at her, his teeth half grown in. "Sorry." He became serious again. "He hurts inside."

Balka didn't know what to say. She liked this child as she did the others, but there was something different about him. About his eyes and their brightness.

"Whom?" she asked with an attempt at an airy tone.

"Enon. When he looks at you, it hurts him."

She smoothed her skirts. She hated wearing skirts. "How so?"

"Mama thinks it will get better. But it won't."

Balka swallowed. "It won't?"

"No." His treble voice gave his seriousness an unexpected weight. "But when he leaves, then he can forget, maybe."

Desperate for a change in topic, she said, "Is he leaving for Ordon soon, then? Your Mama did not tell me."

Cantor cocked his head over. "Ordon? No, not Ordon."

"Then where is he going?"

Cantor frowned, his eyes narrowed so he looked like his father. "I can't see."

"Balka! Play with me!"

"Of course, darling!" she said, turning to Ivin. "Let's build another tower!"

Cantor drifted away, finding Fara where she leafed through a book. He settled on the carpet next to her and looked over her shoulder. She pointed to something and he nodded, his golden head next to her dark one.

Balka looked again to where the prince disappeared. Leaving Ivin to his construction, she went down the corridor to Enon's rooms.

She hesitated a long time outside, her fist raised. Chastising herself for a coward, she knocked.

Enon opened the door and froze a moment, eyes wide. And hurt, she could see, had seen ever since that afternoon. Pained, unhappy, because of her.

"Yes?" he asked.

"I…" She had to take a deep breath. "I was wondering if we could talk."

He didn't answer at once. Then, "Sure, Balka. Um…let me finish drying off…wait here…?"

She came in and sat in a chair, tucking her hands in her lap.

"I'll be just a minute." His bedchamber door shut, leaving her alone in the dim room. The heavy clouds washed everything into a dull gray. She cast about for something to distract her, to stop her ears from straining to hear his movements behind the wall.

He had an atlas open on a table, one more current than Frioc's. The Hebran Mountains spread before her. She traced the peaks with her finger, almost feeling the icy chill that covered them.

She jumped as the latch turned. He came in dressed in fresh clothes. He went to the desk and lit a lamp. It brightened the room, but also made it feel smaller.

He leaned against the desk. "What do you want to talk about?"

As far from her as possible, she realized. Giving her space? Or resisting temptation?

What did she want to talk about?

"I…" She had to look away. "I just wanted to talk. To you."

He was barefoot, she noticed. Had she ever seen him without shoes on? Maybe swimming on a summer day long ago.

He shifted but he didn't respond. Her eyes were itchy. She hated crying; it gave her a headache. Still demeaning her own cowardice, she forced out the truth.

"I miss you, Enon."

His voice was rough. "I miss you, too."

"You were my best friend."

"You can always count me as a friend, Balka."

That seemed unfair. For him? For her? He didn't want to be her friend, not only a friend. She didn't understand this, didn't know what she wanted.

"Can't we be like we were?" she asked. Another long silence. She chanced a look. He was looking out the window. Not at her.

"No," he said softly.

She scrubbed a tear off her hand, furious at it, at all of it.

"I won't lie, Balka. I love you. I've loved you since I first saw you."

She remembered. In the aftermath of the war, the city roiling with uncertainty. Arriving to find her beloved sister married to a stranger, her life completely uprooted, many from the palace killed or missing. And into this chaos, a boy her same age. A boy who looked on the Queen and Consort not as divine heroes, but family. Who gave the stern Ordonians controlling the city names and faces. Who laughed and played, even when the winter storms blew sleet through the damaged halls. A friend who helped her realize the world would heal, that there was a future for her.

"And if you can't love me, then you can't. I understand. I know I hurt you, that I betrayed your trust. I'm sorry, Balka. I wish…" He sighed heavily. "I don't know what I wish."

He wants to forget. Cantor's words chilled her heart. He wants to leave and forget.

Was that the only option? To say good-bye?

"Look, if your mother harasses you about it, about me, tell her the truth. That you don't want me. The Queen will support you. You should never feel unsafe here, Balka. Not in your own home."

But this wasn't her home. She didn't feel at home here. She didn't feel home, safe, grounded, anywhere. She smoothed the map of Hebra, wishing she was there. She loved maps because they meant there was more. Someplace she might belong.

The silence was thick. She blinked away her tears and stood.

"Just know I do think of you as a friend," she told him. His knees, unable to look up to his face. "And I do forgive you."

"Thank you," he said. "That means a lot to me." But he didn't sound relieved. His voice was flat, leaden. "Let me know if I can do anything for you. Anything at all, please."

"Thank you, Enon."

He opened the door for her. Like a gentleman, a stranger. She nodded to him and went out. The door shut solid behind her and the lock clicked into place.