Page 131 of Trick

It didn’t take a mirror to know the desires broadcasted across my face.

Eliot saw the proof and shook his head. “You of all people, who wrinkles your nose at dalliances, who’d never been touched by man, and would rather eat salt than dance. But there you were, going rogue with a bunch of immodest Spring revelers in the labyrinth. The only other time I’ve seen you that carefree was when we met, during those few hours before your father died.

“I’ve treasured the person you’ve become, but I’ve always felt sad for you, too, because you’ve never been completely yourself, never been happy. I knew that woman was inside you somewhere, and I’ve been seeing glimpses of her.” He stared at me. “Now I know the reason why.”

Yes and no. Poet had not brought out anything that wasn’t already there. That woman had been buried within me, dormant beside my father, waiting to resurface. I had resurrected her just as much.

I released a jagged breath. “Poet’s important to me. You know I wouldn’t take the chance if he weren’t.”

Eliot spread his arms. “Briar, I haven’t no damn clue what the hell you’d do anymore.”

“Please, Eliot. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I begged. “I swear, I thought about you. I thought about you and Mother. But he became someone who didn’t exist in the same way.” My voice softened, and a pang cleaved through me. “It’s over now. It wasn’t going to last.”

Eliot stared at me. “Do you love him?”

“Not like I love you.”

“That’s obvious.”

“You’re my best friend.”

“I’m your only friend. And that’s not an answer.”

It was not. I recalled Poet’s sorrow when I withheld what he meant to me, then his collapse when I insulted Nicu. In my tumultuous state, I had abandoned myself and offended his beautiful son. I’d uttered words I hadn’t meant, would never mean. I couldn’t punish myself enough for it.

Nicu had leaped into my heart.

And his father had stolen it.

Based on the anguished clench of Eliot’s face, he guessed my feelings. He didn’t know about Poet’s history. He didn’t know Poet’s secrets. He didn’t know Poet’s worst fears, hidden demons, or greatest desires. But it didn’t stop Eliot from wanting the jester, too.

Many would dismiss my friend’s affection as irrational, misguided, and based solely on infatuated lust. Whereas others would consider it earnest and true, as I did. Because now I understood.

Eliot and Poet had developed their own bond. My friend might love Poet from a different angle, but it was still love.

All these years, not for a second had I feared an interloper would jeopardize our friendship. That didn’t mean Eliot mattered any less to me. Whatever I felt for the jester made no difference there.

A sob slipped from my lips. “If I have to make a choice, I will always choose you.”

“Do you honestly believe that?” And when I made no reply, Eliot crossed to the door, held it open, and spoke coldly to the floor. “Besides. What if I don’t choose you?”

Memories of the ancient garden, our meeting spot where we’d whisper and laugh together. Stolen moments that we used to wrap ourselves in. They pierced my mind, the visions there and gone.

Seconds passed by in a montage, swift and intangible. Us, no longer young and innocent. Him, averting his gaze as though my avowal repelled him.

Me, silently begging him to look my way. My minstrel, silently begging me to leave.

My friend, closing the door behind me when I did.

The latch, clicking into place.

***

Lark’s Night’s annual sunset carnival lauded the end of the Peace Talks. It began in the early evening and lasted into the night, the revels spanning the rolling hills.

In the past, custom limited the event to Royals, the court, and selected performers—the resident troupe and Spring’s traveling groups. But this year, Lark’s Night welcomed all citizens, including servants and villagers.

The first hours would supply an array of richly dark diversions. Naked acrobats, uncensored musicians, knife-throwers, taboo storytellers, and master puppeteers. Instruments of play, such as blindfolds and batons.

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