Bewildered shock swallowed the terror, enough that Meilyr did not run. ‘You… you knew? How?’
‘I have always known. Since I first saw you.’
Yet again, the world tilted.
‘How?How did…’ He stumbled back, as from a physical blow.
Nothing was where it should be, nothing made sense. Anguish and confusion bloomed beneath his sternum. ‘You knew – all this time, and… Why? Why did you pretend? Why didn’t you tell everyone? I should be dead – why did you save me? Why let me…’ Anger flared. ‘I thought I would die if you knew. Why did you let me believe that? All this time…’
‘I am sorry, Meilyr.’ Resignation and regret marked every inch of him. ‘I should have told you, from the very start. But I knew you would not believe me, would not believe I meant you no harm.’
‘So you let me believe that were I discovered, I would be put to your sword? That were I to even breathe wrong, I would be condemned for these killings? Why, Osian?Why?’
He searched for the answers in Osian’s eyes, blinking away the rain soaking them both.
‘I told myself the best way to keep you safe was by my side,’ Osian said. ‘To elevate you above their reach until I could get you to safety. It was selfish – the most selfish and easiest thing I have ever done. But I should have found another way, to not risk you like this. I can never make it right, and I will not flatter myself that my actions were solely to protect you. But I wanted you safe, I still do. I always will, no matter the cost.’
The impossibly tangled chaos of Meilyr’s emotions whined. Exhaustion strained his voice. ‘How did you know, Osian? How?’
It was as though the entire garden had stilled to listen.
Osian’s fingers lifted, ever so carefully, to touch the sodden hair falling close to his eyes. His own gaze bared him utterly. ‘I heard you, Meilyr. As plainly as if you had told me yourself. Like an almost-forgotten song on the wind over the hills, I heard you, and I knew. There is only that song. Only you.’
His words were a different form of magic, opening the world. Reaching with ardent honesty through the bond of their blood.
In the wake of the agony and terror, those words made Meilyr want to burst into tears. Made him want to curl against Osian until the earth stopped shaking.
Osian knew. But Meilyr did not have to be afraid of him. Not at all.
The relief of that burned: small embers, then a conflagration.
Osianknew, and Meilyr did not have to be afraid.
Exhaustion took him, and they leaned their heads together, Osian’s voice close and earnest. ‘I could never harm you, Meilyr. I would sooner die.’
‘Do not say that.’
‘It is the truth.’
Meilyr’s lips were near his jaw, his throat. They were both succumbing to the tide, pressed against one another, not close enough.
‘I am sorry,’ Osian whispered, near his ear. ‘Meilyr, I am so, so sorry.’
Meilyr’s entire body trembled in a barely swallowed sob. ‘I thought… I thought you would have to…’
Osian kissed his hair, arms firming around him. ‘I am so sorry. You do not have to be afraid, not of me.’
Meilyr squeezed him so tightly he thought they both might rupture. Osian met him in that tightness, a sure and steady certainty.
All the knots of fear and grief and guilt that made Meilyr loosened slightly, an ache through his whole chest, stinging his eyes.
Osianknew. Osian knew, and was still here.
The rain rushed on, and the thought slipped in. ‘That first night, you gave me your blood…’
A small huff, nearly a laugh. ‘In fairness,’ Osian said, ‘I know no more than the average non-Cyngaleg person what enables your magic. I also never believed you would do what you did – that knife was gwaed-steel.’
Meilyr smiled, impossibly tired. ‘Not everything works as it does in the stories.’