Chapter 38-2

Dellacov cursed under his breath and inhaled a sharp, aching breath. "I should have been there. I—She—I should have—" He bit his lip so hard I thought it might draw blood. "She—She needed me and I—I wasn't there." I thought of that brokenness, the shell of Uri I'd found in the palace. That girl had been drugged and hurting. She'd been abused. But she'd believed with her every breath that Dellacov was going to save her. He's coming for me; she'd said to me. Hugo is supposed to save me. It was one of the last things she'd said. Possibly her last words. Even as she'd been dying, she'd wanted him. She'd believed in him. Looking at Dellacov, I knew I couldn't be the one to tell him that—not now. Not with the news so fresh. If he asked, I'd tell him the truth, but I wouldn't layer more guilt on him unnecessarily. Not when it would do nothing to help things. He lowered himself into an armchair and buried his face in his hands. "Dellacov, she—you know she loved you. You know that. But...you have to also know that she would have told you to get help for Erydia. You know that the choice you made...If your coming here to Pellarmus aided us in any way, Uri would have wanted that." His words were muffled behind his fingers as he said, "The last time I saw her she—she called me an asshole and a coward. She—she told me she didn't want to see me, not for a long, long while." He shook his head. "It was a misunderstanding. I was jealous. Stupidly jealous. And I wanted—I wanted so badly to tell her how I really felt about her. But..." He leaned back in the chair; those green eyes glazed as he looked up at the ceiling. "But I didn't tell her. I thought—I thought we both needed time. She'd just lost her mother and her father and her life and I—I didn't want her to think I was..." He shook his head. "You didn't want her to think what?" He swallowed and turned his gaze to me. For a moment, I thought he wouldn't respond but then he whispered, "She was vulnerable and I didn't want her to think I was taking advantage. And...I thought it was taking the easy way out. She was right, I am a coward. I should have admitted how I felt about her in the palace. I wasted so many damn years wanting her. But I was afraid. Afraid to risk my position or her mother's anger—and I didn't risk anything for her. It felt cheap to tell her after she'd lost everything. After things were—after she was free. After we'd both lost everything. I figured she wouldn't want me, not when she finally had options. Not when, for the first time in her life, she could have anyone." "She wanted you." His laugh was bitter. "You don't know what she wanted." "I do," I argued. "I do know what she wanted. Dellacov, she loved you. At the palace—I saw how she looked at you. She was afraid of her mother, but she cared about you. You were the only person she wanted to dance with at the Commencement Ball. And if I hadn't been there the night of the Welcome Dinner, she'd have let you walk her back to her room. I know she would've. She wanted to be with you. She told me—The day before Sauenmyde, she told me that she loved you. She was afraid she wouldn't get the chance to tell you herself." He blinked at me, stunned. "She loved you," I said. "You were the person she wanted. At the end, it was you." Dellacov made a quiet sound, just a breathy little cry of anguish. "Was—I want to know more about it. What—What happened? Did—Was she...Was it sudden? Britta was with Cohen and she didn't want to discuss it in front of him and..." He met my eyes. "I need to know—I—I have to know." And so, I told him. I told him about what had happened, how Uri had been shot and how Kai had taken the throne. He listened, his entire body rigid as I explained how she'd died—how Cohen had wept. "She's in the royal cemetery," I told him. Although I'd never actually seen the spot. I hadn't been allowed to attend the services. Cohen had gone to her funeral on his own, with Kai and Larkin as his only family. And while no one had told me how that had gone, I could imagine that it hadn't been comfortable for any of them. I knew it had to have been incredibly lonely for Cohen. By the time I'd finished speaking, Dellacov was crying openly. And I hated it—seeing him hurt like this. I was used to his anger, his distain. He'd been a friend to me once, but when I'd betrayed his trust and used him to supply the Culled with palace intel, our relationship had changed. He'd never exactly stopped seeing me as a traitor, even after he'd changed to my side. This, seeing his face running with tears, felt too personal. It felt like I was intruding on something I shouldn't see. What I didn't tell him was about Uri's final words. How even as she'd died, she'd believed he was going to save her. I wanted to. And I thought he deserved to know. But not from me. That wasn't something he ought to hear from me. Maybe one day, I'd have Cohen tell him. And maybe one day, Dellacov might be able to see the beauty in being her last thought. Maybe it would be a comfort to him and not something that would wreck him. Maybe. *** Dellacov didn't stay to explain himself to me. I had a ton I wanted to know, but after reliving Uri's death, I was thoroughly exhausted. He thanked me and then excused himself, leaving my bedroom before I could muster the energy to ask any of my own questions. I heard him bump into someone in the hallway outside my room, but their conversation was too quiet for me to hear. I went into the bathing room and rinsed my face with cool water. Looking at myself in the mirror, I saw a girl who was thinner than she'd been months ago. A girl with dark circles under her eyes and fading bruises on her arms and legs. There were small cuts on her face. White scars from burns and intentionally-placed knife cuts on her wrists and hands. I was map of where I'd been and where I was going. I was still standing there, my palms braced on the bathing room counter when a knock sounded at my bedroom door. I called for whoever it was to enter—it would be a healer, maybe Annalise returned to check in on me. I hoped it was her. I hoped she and Isla were alright. Someone in our wretched tale deserved a happy ending. I wasn't foolish enough to wish it for myself, but wanted it for them. But the healer that entered my bedroom, the one that leaned a shoulder against the door of the bathing room, wasn't Annalise.