Selfish Is the Heart Read online

  His gaze grew wary. “Yes. I’ve read it, years long past now, but of course I did during my training.”

  “Deleon interpreted the story of Sinder and Kedalya by saying that when Sinder came upon her in the woods, she asked him his name. Fearing he would frighten her should he reveal his true nature, Sinder first lied and gave her a false name.”

  “Deleon’s commentary has wildly been denounced as whimsy. What name would Sinder give? What part would he play? As the Allcreator, he’d made the world. Who would ever mistake him for somewhat he was not? Certainly not Kedalya, unless she were an idiot.”

  Annalise continued. “Deleon’s commentary was extrapolated by Garwin Alsider in a pamphlet he distributed himself along with several others.”

  “I’m not familiar with Alsider.”

  “You wouldn’t be. He was never a priest, just a man who found value in study. He dined out on those pamphlets for many years and was quite popular among certain groups whose common interests featured the Faith. He was a guest of my parents many times.”

  Cassian raised a brow. “Your point is to make me aware there are commentaries about which I’m unaware? I assure you, Annalise, I know this. But Alsider’s pamphlets weren’t accepted as canon, therefore they’re of no more value than anything anyone could’ve written.”

  “Alsider claimed,” Annalise continued, determined to make her point, “that Kedalya knew Sinder wasn’t telling her the truth. She knew who he was. She allowed the lie because it served them both for him to woo her as another, first. One who was not a god, but a man.”

  He stared. “Make your point.”

  “Sinder lied to Kedalya to save her from himself and yet she loved him anyway. It didn’t matter what he called himself, or what face he gave her. She loved him anyway.”

  Annalise wasn’t on her knees, but she was Waiting. One hand inside the palm of the other, cupping air. She remembered the beat and brush of wings, a rapid heartbeat, the rush of air as the bird flew away.

  “You don’t need to save me from you,” she told him quietly. “Because I love you.”

  In her dreams, in the fae stories, such a declaration was always met with a kiss and an embrace, with mingled laughter and tears and followed by a wedding.

  This was not a fae story.

  Cassian said naught. She waited for him to speak, or even to blink, at least to look at her, but his gaze had gone blank and far away. When her ears began to ring, Annalise realized she’d been holding her breath and let it out. Dizzy, she put a hand on the desk. Surely now, she thought, he will reach for me.

  “You should go,” Cassian told her.

  Annalise managed another sip of air. “No.”

  Cassian slammed the text closed, the sound like thunder. “Did you not hear what I told you yesterday?”

  “I heard everything you said! Every word!”

  Now he moved closer, though not in the way she wanted. He menaced, standing tall above her without touching. His gaze, still cold fire, blazed.

  “I do not believe in Sinder and Kedalya. I don’t believe in the Word of the Book, I don’t believe in commentaries. All of it is pretty fiction, made up by men to satisfy their need for explanation. None of it is true. There is this world and the Void and naught else. I do not,” Cassian bit out, “have faith. A priest without faith is naught but a man. And a man without faith, Annalise, is no man at all.”

  “Don’t say that.”

  “I’ve said it.”

  She stepped closer, this time to snag his sleeve. Her fingertips ran down the fine cloth to find his flesh at the end of it. “It’s not true.”

  He didn’t allow her to take his hand. Cassian stepped away and made her a detestably formal half bow. “Good day, Mistress Marony.”

  “Do not dismiss me, Cassian. Please.” Once she’d have demanded. She pleaded now.

  He’d moved away, but she drew close again, this time to slide her hands up the front of his jacket and then to his shoulders, the back of his neck. His hair, still so unfashionably short, brushed her knuckles. He turned his face and put his hands upon her wrists as she said, “Talk to me. Let me help you. What can I do for you, just tell me. I love you.”

  She didn’t hope for bells to chime this time. She didn’t even expect him to reply in kind. All she wanted was him to look at her, but before he did, the door opened.

  “Annalise! You’ve a letter!” Tansy stopped inside the doorway. “Oh, your pardon.”

  Cassian gently put Annalise’s hands from him and stepped away. “Take your letter, Annalise.”

  “This is not finished between us,” she murmured.

  Cassian didn’t reply. She turned, trying not to slay Tansy with a glare, and took the letter. Jacquin’s familiar hand slashed across the envelope, sealed with his family crest. She held it to her chest, eyes closed for a moment. It even smelled of him, the pungent spice of his cologne.

  “Thank you, Tansy. Come, walk with me.”

  Tansy looked over her shoulder as they left the room. “I interrupted. Your mercy. I didn’t know.”

  “It’s all right.” Annalise forced a smile. “It was naught of consequence. Come . . . I fancy seeing if we can woo Cook out of a sugar bun. I’m fair famished and could use a strong pot of cacao as well. Will you go with me?”

  Tansy grinned, then looked crestfallen. “I can’t. I was to deliver the letter and then meet Helena and Wandalette for a game of snap me in the library. They claim to have a method of losing I must learn.”

  “Losing? I might imagine you could do that without being taught.”

  “Oh, no, it’s a subtle way of losing so that your patron need never know you’re throwing the game.”

  “Ah.” Annalise said with a lifted brow, unable to take much pleasure in the humor of Tansy’s description. “Some can take pleasure only in winning fairly, yes?”

  “I suppose so. Are you well? I’ll stay with you, should you need me.”

  “No. You go. I’ve my letter to read.” Annalise waved her friend away. “Make most merry with your friends.”

  Annalise, when Tansy left, didn’t go to the kitchen. She had no appetite and was fair grateful for Tansy’s previous commitment, so that she needn’t keep on a brave face for the other woman. Annalise took her letter to their room and closed the door. She took a long embroidery needle from her sewing box and slit the seal.

  She began to read.

  My dearest Annalise,

  It’s with great sorrow and also the greatest joy I write to share with you our mutual good news. Sorrow, for I had long hoped the pair of us would make a wedded couple; joy to share with you somewhat I know you’ ll find as amazing and delightful as I.

  I’ve fallen in love and agreed to marry a woman of such worth, such beauty, such intelligence I can scarce describe her adequately with the poor tools of pen and ink. Moreover, my love for her is such that even the physical—dare I say it, especially the physical—aspects of a marriage have ceased to be so daunting. I tell you, my dear one, I’m no longer unable to be a true and good husband.

  By the time this letter reaches you, we’ ll have already said our vows. I trust you’ ll not despair at missing the ceremony of our binding—I know how important your time in the Order is to you and would never, as your dear and longtime friend and companion, expect you to leave somewhat you find so necessary in order to witness the wedding. Trust you we’ ll be thinking of you as with us in spirit, for I tell you truly, without your influence the marriage would never even take place.

  I wed your cousin, Caterina. As the daughter of your father’s only brother and his only heir, your father has considered his niece to be as a daughter to him, albeit one without need of a dowry from his own pockets. My place within the family business is still secure, as are your father’s coffers.

  As are you.

  I pray you’ ll find peace and joy no matter the path you choose and hold me ever dear in your heart as I will ever hold you.

  Your dear and faithful,