"What kind of relationship binds you and the accused?" asked the Chairman.
The girl was confused for a moment but did not look toward the defendant — a tall blond boy who had been staring at her the whole time.
"We're… housemates."
Well, yes. What else could one call their relationship?
He had barged into her compartment on the train with his fellows on their very first trip to school. His voice could still be heard from the corridor.
"I absolutely fail to understand how the Board could tolerate such humiliation. Not only is it unworthy of a wizard to travel by machine, but this one does not meet even the most basic requirements — capacity, let alone comfort or elegance."
He had no intention of asking permission to join. Moreover, he tried to scare her off by declaring something like, "This part of the train is for the chosen only."
It wasn't that she wanted their company, but in a way his claim was justified — she had taken the last available compartment. So she had no intention of giving it up and replied:
"Chosen by whom?"
"What do you mean?" He plainly wasn't ready for that.
"Chosen by whom? Who knows — perhaps I am. And how can you be so sure that you are?"
"You are definitely not one of them if you ask such silly questions." The confusion on his face gave way to disdain. "True wizards always know who they are. They are chosen by birth."
"Well… we'll see," she said thoughtfully.
"Yes. We will," he said with a sneer. "Guys, we're staying here."
She called him Blondie to herself, because he babbled the whole way — about how they should be excited to begin the most important chapter of their lives, about their future at the school, about the 'right' House, and so on and on. "Just like a girl." She was listening, but she didn't show it. He went through the other Houses, and eventually moved on to speculating about various magical beings and creatures.
In the end, she couldn't stand it and asked — not out of indignation, but out of curiosity — why he was doing it. Their conversation did not end on a pleasant note.
In the second year, it happened again.
"Hey! This part of the train is intended only for the chosen!"
"Again? Oh… chosen for what?"
This time, she understood that his aim was to mock her — the previous year she had passed as one of the weak. The exchange quickly ran into a dead end, and a strained silence settled in the compartment for a while. The boy was clearly bored, and eventually he turned to his friends:
"Did I tell you I was invited to join the team this year?"
"Aha…"
"Yeah…"
They were absorbed in their card game — apparently for money — and it did not seem to be news to them. For some reason, she decided to support him; she didn't quite know why.
"My congratulations. You fly well."
"Indeed. At last the school has opened its eyes and learned to appreciate it." He tried to mask his genuine pleasure behind arrogance. It was unexpectedly touching. "And with the new brooms, the other teams stand no chance. The best deserve the best…"
She turned to the window with visible disappointment on her face. He gave a short chuckle but fell silent. She appreciated that.
"Tell me about the game. What are the rules?"
Friendship did not begin here. It wasn't meant to. Nevertheless, it later gave her the opportunity to obtain some important information from him — in a matter that concerned nearly everyone that year.
A familiar anxiety struck her in the chest when, returning from the library, she passed their inseparable trio, who broke off their conversation the moment she appeared. She paused involuntarily, said hello, and moved on. Then she quietly doubled back and slipped into a high-backed armchair nearby. After a while, she heard two pairs of feet hurrying away. The anxiety subsided.
"They're rather odd today, don't you think?" she remarked, still keeping her distance.
"Indeed…" he agreed, without reacting to her presence at all. "One put on glasses like an idiot, the other kept going into fits. They brought up the Chamber and the Heir again. Asked who it could be — even though I've told them more than once I have no idea…" He pressed his lips together in irritation and struck his knee with his fist. "Where did they rush off to? And since when are they interested in anything other than food?"
"Perhaps something extra was added to the feast-day cupcakes…" She hesitated, then decided to continue. "I can't believe you know absolutely nothing about this case."
"About cupcakes?"
"No," she laughed lightly, "about the Chamber."
"What do you mean — 'absolutely nothing'?" he snapped at once. "I know quite a lot. But I can't know everything, can I? And why should I, exactly?"
She walked round the sofa and perched on the table directly in front of him.
"Come on. This is the history of our House — its heritage. Who better than its hereditary representatives to study the first and preserve the second?"
He gave her a surprised look. She had counted on the appeal to his pride.
"Only the Heir can open the Chamber. But what kind of inheritance are we talking about? Ideology?"
"We have a whole House full of that," the boy said, spreading his hands.
"Yes — but are any of us ready for decisive action? Hmm? Perhaps… magical ability?"
He understood whom she meant; his eyes flashed with anger. She suspected envy beneath it. In any case, she did not pursue the line.
"Bloodline?"
She paused after saying it.
"We can guess who the last one was — and that the wrong person eventually left the school… You told me yourself he was descended from the founder of our House. Now he's gone, but the Chamber is open. How is that possible? Did he leave someone behind?"
The change in his expression told her she had caught his interest. He looked down, thinking — then his face brightened.
"You are damn right… I think I know something." His voice dropped to a whisper. "The Lord left not someone — but something behind. I've heard of certain objects carrying a powerful imprint of his magic, his will — even his personality. He created them deliberately, for his own purposes, and hid them from everyone…"
"So, theoretically, if one of these objects were hidden in the castle and someone found it…"
"Or someone brought it here with them… then that person could use it to open the Chamber!"
Incredible. She had never seen him so openly animated before. Like most children his age, he was drawn to secrets, loved riddles, the rush of discovery, the feeling of brushing against something significant. His lips spread into a broad smile, his eyes shone with excitement. Whatever her own expression showed, for a moment his cheeks flushed and he looked away — and then he stiffened, and she noticed a faint tremor pass through him. When he spoke again, his posture, gaze, and voice had returned to their usual haughty composure.
"That's all I can tell you. The rest isn't for everyone's ears. And I'm certainly not going to reveal my sources to you."
"I can guess," she thought, recalling what he had said about his influential father. "So that's it…"
She composed her face into seriousness to reassure him.
"Then I won't ask. Thank you for the conversation."
Despite the cool ending, he must have grown on her. In the third year, he once again found her compartment on the train — this time the audacity felt more like tradition.
"Hey! This part of the train…"
She couldn't help laughing.
"Welcome to another episode of our regular segment — The Carriage of the Chosen. Which aspect of chosenness are we debating today?"
After that, things went wrong. Quarrels followed one after another. Over the poor animal — "If pride and stupidity were punishable, both of you would be in the dock." Over her obvious contempt for House values. Over her keeping company with the wrong people. Then came the grand finale of his failure: "Don't come to our matches anymore — you bring bad luck." And the following summer, his bullying of frightened people in the woods did nothing to improve their 'relationship'. She did not let him into her compartment that year — one look was enough to stop him at the door.
But later…
"Housemates, and that's all?" the Chairman asked.
"What do you mean?"
"I've heard the young man is in love with you."
She didn't need to look at him to know his cheeks were glowing against his pale face like holly berries in the snow.
"Ah… I see. Yes. Me too…" She always felt awkward about it — even a little guilty. "I mean, I've heard about it too."
From him personally.
It happened right after her Backup Keeper broke up with her — in the library. The letter with her brief reply — "They're right — we'd better break up" — fluttered away to a chorus of sighs from the nearby girls, and relief quickly gave way to disappointment. Not only in him — in all of them. Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to cry. Not in front of them. She just wanted to get away, so she stood and walked silently toward the exit.
"Oh — my things."
She waved her hand; her belongings gathered themselves and flew after her. Then something crashed. After a few steps she realised it was her books, sighed in irritation, and went back. She had neither the strength nor the desire to cast another spell. Someone helped her pick them up — someone familiar — but she didn't want to talk. She only said "thank you" and moved on.
She heard footsteps echoing behind her.
"No — they're not mine."
Someone was following her. She quickened her pace. Unfortunately, the hint went unnoticed — the steps behind her quickened too. When he caught up, she shot him an annoyed look: he had been hovering around her far too often lately.
"What do you want?"
She kept walking, hoping that would keep the conversation short.
"You."
"What for?"
He stopped, but she ignored that, just as he had ignored her earlier signals. The pause stretched.
"I love you."
"What?!" She had to stop — turn around — search his face — "What kind of…" — and confirm that this was not a joke. Not even close.
He stood slightly bent forward, fists clenched, visibly tense. Paler than usual, except for his flushed cheeks. His eyes were fixed on her, filled with a strange mixture of panic and hope.
She couldn't make sense of it. By his own value system, he should have despised her. Her first thought was that someone must have hit him too hard and scrambled his mind.
"Why?!" she demanded.
Hope drained from his face. It was painful to watch — and it was the last thing she needed that day.
"When?" she asked softly.
"Apparently, when I entered that infamous compartment for the third time."
She remembered how he had frozen in the doorway after her joke, staring at her. Two laggards squeezed past him from both sides, barely fitting between him and the doors, and collapsed onto the seats. He finally sat opposite her and, without looking up, rummaged through his bag, pulled out a book, opened it at random, and pretended to read.
His panic had faded now. Perhaps he had already heard the worst answer he feared. He straightened. He no longer looked at her, but somewhere into the past.
"But I only understood it the following year — at the ball."
There, in front of him, stood another her.
"You were beautiful in that dress. Beautiful and cold as… as always. You entered the hall so casually, as if you were walking into a lesson. It meant nothing to you. For me, it was an event."
She recalled that night — how he followed her out of the hall to track down the false professor, but lost his nerve when he realised what the goal actually was; the cover story — unpleasant for him — that she invented to explain why they were together, dangerously close to the truth; how he said nothing about it — but didn't need to. His cheeks burned, his eyes flashed with cold anger. And later — oh — how he told the others himself, cleverly turning it to his advantage.
Whatever kind of person he was — if this wasn't fiction, it must have been difficult for him. Yet both then and now he was holding himself together surprisingly well. She felt sorry for him.
"I… Look, I'm not really able to sort out my feelings right now. I'm sorry. But I will think about what you've said. Later. All right?"
She didn't fully believe him — it seemed too strange. What she knew of him didn't match what he claimed. And yet it also didn't match how he behaved in moments like this.
"And who do you love now — him?" Her ex's gaze flicked somewhere over her shoulder.
Curious, she turned. A tall, slender blond boy stood behind her. By the look of it, he had been there for some time, now waiting for her answer. She studied his calm face for a moment, then shook her head apologetically: "No, I'm sorry." Not a muscle moved — only his gaze dropped.
Say what you will — she was not the one who made a cuckold of her dormmate.
"Do I understand correctly that, despite not even being on friendly terms, you came here to testify in the defendant's favor — even though your statement could turn the proceedings against you? Is that correct?"
("Are you truly ready to take poison for me?")
"Where did that come from?!" The girl made a slight movement of her head, as if trying to shake off the vision that had risen before her eyes.
"So it seems."
"Why?"
"Because he saved my life."
And she was glad it had been him. Though there had once been a time when she would have been glad of the opposite. Something changed in how she saw him after the incident at the station.
"Don't listen to that idiot. He has no idea what he's talking about. He hasn't seen him and he doesn't know you — but I do… I know it hurts you when others are hurt. I know you never skip breakfast. I know you hate fussing with your hair — and it's too thick and unruly. I know your anger fades quickly, but your joy lasts... I know you can forgive."
Not much — but enough.
"How did he save you?"
"He reminded me what matters in a person — and what doesn't matter in life."
As the green light flared for the third time, the Boy fell — and his enemy collapsed as well. She closed her eyes. Silvery streams of magic flowed out from her across the ground, evaporating and rising into a shimmering haze above the lawn. She was draining away like a pierced vessel. She pushed aside her thoughts and feelings, not allowing them to stop her. When the last of the magic was gone, nothing remained to contain the curse she had intercepted — nor the first curse that had surrounded her all her life.
"I have to come back, I promised."
Everything unfolded as expected, and she found herself standing beside her own lifeless body — an unseen presence. All she had to do was want to breathe. Want to open her eyes. That was all — to want it.
"The Boy did it. So can I. I still have time. What's stopping me?"
For some reason, it was unbearably difficult.
"My father's power is gone — I won't be able to do what once set me apart. My mother's power is gone with it — I won't be able to do anything that earns respect in this world. Why would he want me now? Why would he need me? What could I give him — how could I help? I'd only be a burden. What would we even talk about? What would we share or discover? But I promised to live… What am I supposed to do with that life?
Will I become like my foster family — between two worlds, belonging to neither? Living in memories of the past, with nothing in the present and nothing for the future. But I promised to live. I can't let him down. I can't make him suffer… again. And what if I return — and he's dead again?"
"Evelyn!"
A familiar voice rang out from the far side of the clearing. A familiar figure crossed it uncertainly — then broke into a run, dropped to his knees beside her, lifted her hands from the ground and pressed them to his chest.
"Evelyn, don't go. Don't leave. You can come back — do you hear me? You can come back!"
The unseen presence watched from aside, bewildered at what this fair-haired young man was doing here. Of all people, he was the last she expected. She hadn't expected anyone at all. Why had he come? For her? Why would he care — especially now? What use was she?
"He's alive — I've seen him — so you can be alive too. Please — please come back. You have to. You can do it. You're strong. You have the will."
He stopped, noticed he was still holding her hands, and flushed — as if ashamed of his boldness. Embarrassed, he gently set them back down.
"Not like me. I'm the useless one — but you, you…"
He forced himself to continue.
"I admired you — your fearlessness, your persistence, your strength… your kindness. To everyone — even your enemies. You never even treated them as enemies — you had enough heart to forgive. Take me, for example. I betrayed you. Again and again… and still said I loved you — and only then did I begin to understand that I truly did. Because I'm a coward. I was even afraid of my father — afraid to fall in his eyes. And in the end, I fell lower than I thought possible."
Suddenly, with a strange mix of anger and hope, he lunged forward, seized her by the shoulders, trying to meet her closed eyes.
"Does that mean I don't love you? That's what people usually say. But I do love you — I know I do! What about that? … It won't bring you back for my sake — then come back for life. Eve — come back for life!"
He gave her one desperate shake — then froze, afraid to move at all.
Because she opened her eyes and drew in a sharp breath, like someone waking from a nightmare. He hardly dared believe it wasn't an accident — that she wouldn't slip away again. But she kept breathing — unevenly — staring at him in confusion.
"Eve?" he whispered. "Is it really you?"
"Yes."
She still struggled to focus — shaken by how close she had come to leaving. Completely.
"Yes. It's me."
"And…," he flushed again, "did you hear what I said?"
"Yes." She steadied herself. "That's why I came back."
He didn't know how to respond and hesitated. She helped him by resting her hand gently against his chest.
"Thank you — for coming. For finding me. For saying those words. You saved me. That's the truth — I would have gone if you hadn't come. Don't doubt what you feel. It's real."
She no longer doubted his feelings. Strangely enough, they were most often expressed through actions — sometimes surprisingly bold for him, sometimes unexpectedly gentle.
It was a genuinely brave act when he followed her out of the compartment and went looking for her while the train was swarming with prison guards. In the fourth year, the only reason he did not sit with her was because he respected her wishes — such consideration was hardly typical of him. His remark at the ball — that if she was about to do something foolish that might cost them points, he had better keep an eye on her — was, of course, merely a pretext. He stopped her at the entrance to the hall for an entirely different reason. Had he withdrawn even a little earlier, her surveillance might have failed at the very first stage.
It was he who put an end to the boycott declared by their House in the second half of the fifth year. When one large, heavy figure with a round, cheerful face suddenly dropped onto the bench beside her, and then another — just as heavy but shorter, with the same round face now distinctly unhappy — settled opposite, no one doubted who would appear next. And when he did, answering the second boy's indignant protest — "What are we even doing here? She doesn't give a damn about us. She doesn't need anyone." — he said simply, "You're wrong. She cares. Sometimes more than is good for some of us. She is our friend." And she wondered whether he alone understood that she stood with no one — and, at the same time, with everyone.
Later, after the Headmaster's death, when they were leaving the school grounds and a lone voice — raw with anguish and wrath — hurled curses after them, the one she had been following was now following her. He shielded her back with his own from the spells flying their way. He could not shield her soul — it burned with great grief and burning hatred... great hatred and insane triumph… — but she knew that if he could have, he would have done that too.
At the gates of his ancestral estate, he made a quiet, tentative attempt to stand up for her before a massive, savage werewolf. She stopped him — she needed to face that moment herself, to be ready for the meeting with her father.
And wasn't it telling that one morning at the manor he came running to check on her after noticing her breakfast tray had been returned untouched?
And his silent defiance of her father — when, despite orders, he did not try to force his way into her mind. It would not have worked anyway — she was far stronger, and she had an excellent teacher — but that was not the point. Once, realising that his presence only worsened her suffering, he even promised he would not come again. Yet he came — like a lamb to slaughter — and stood in the doorway, unable to lift his eyes from the floor in shame.
It was true — he had never quite had the courage to finish what he started.
Strangely, it now seemed to her that things had ended differently there — at the station. Not with her foster parents arriving just in time.
All that while he had been comforting her, glancing around from time to time, yet always turning back to her. The behaviour unsettled her, and for the first time she became aware of their surroundings. She looked about properly and realised they were sitting alone on a bench at the far end of the platform, across the tracks — a place where neither passengers nor greeters usually came. The train had not yet departed, which meant no one could see what was happening there. Most likely, no one had even noticed where she had gone.
He glanced over again. This time his gaze fixed on someone, and he gave a slight shake of his head. The unease in her chest tightened.
"Is your father there?" she whispered.
He nodded.
Breathing out shakily, she covered her face with her hands. Shame and disappointment burned at once. How foolish she had been — to trust so easily. What if this entire display had been staged to lower her guard and bring her here, where no one would see them take her away?
"Eve, please — come with us."
He read the hatred in her eyes and faltered. His hands slid from her shoulders to her wrists and closed around them. To stop her resisting?
"No one will hurt you here. You'll finally be where you belong. You have nothing to fear."
"I doubt that very much," she said through clenched teeth.
He gestured subtly for his father to wait and spoke quickly, under his breath.
"I know why you go to the Head. He trains you — develops your abilities. The Headmaster wants to restrain them, control them. No one will restrain you with us. Father will finish your education, and you'll be able to use your power against anyone. Do you hear me? Anyone."
"Is my hearing failing me? What is this — a plot against my father, or… how does he know so much?" Her temples throbbed. "Does his father know about the Head?" A cold wave ran through her body. "How does he know me this well?…"
For a moment she felt the impulse to follow him. It passed just as quickly. She did not want to lie — but she could not explain the truth either.
"I... I hear you. It's just — the time hasn't come. You see? Listen." She leaned closer, meeting his eyes with complete seriousness. "I will come with you — I promise — but when the time is right. Please. Believe me."
"Son," came a calm, authoritative voice from behind them, "why are you keeping the young lady in the cold? It's impolite."
Her heart clenched, but she forced herself to remain composed. They rose and greeted him.
"Have you delivered my invitation to Miss Greenwood for a festive dinner at our manor?"
The plan sounded odd — as though he knew nothing about her circumstances. "How come?"
"I have, Father. Unfortunately, she has already accepted another invitation, and it would be discourteous to withdraw now."
His words almost made her sink back onto the bench.
"I'm sorry to hear that," the man said coolly.
The air tightened. She braced herself.
"May I ask — from whom?" he added.
"From the Headmaster," she said at once. "Sir."
It was the safest answer. He would not be questioned. He could not be pressured. She would not be expected to refuse him — and if she failed to appear, he would act. And if they intended to compete for her loyalty, it was only logical to assume the Headmaster would do the same.
"My dear, what are you doing here? We've been searching everywhere for you! If someone hadn't spotted you from the carriage window…" Her foster parents. She exhaled halfway in relief — witnesses mattered. Living ones most of all. "What are you doing with these people?"
"Good evening, Mr and Mrs Greenwood," the older man said flatly, a note of cold disappointment in his voice. "I was merely assuring your daughter that she is always welcome in our home. A young lady of her standing should begin appearing in society. I must say, it is rather negligent not to see to this."
"Thank you for your concern — that is most gracious of you," she replied instead. "I'm afraid we must decline. Perhaps another time. A pleasure to meet you."
Standing between him and her guardians, she kept herself carefully controlled. Then she stepped towards the boy, embraced him, and kissed his cheek. Turning back to her bewildered foster parents, she wished both men happy holidays and walked towards the exit.
There were other 'memories'.
For instance — the conversation in an empty classroom. He had summoned her with a note hidden inside a textbook. She confirmed that she intended to go with him, but warned him that her father's victory was not her goal — she was going there for his defeat. Completely. She framed it as revenge. At the same time, she told him how it would end for her.
"This can't be avoided. I'm almost certain. No — I am certain."
At first he refused to believe her — she offered no explanation.
"How can you possibly know that? Is there some sort of prophecy involved?"
"No. There is no prophecy. There could have been one… but it has already been fulfilled."
"Step back! Don't go. Leave the past behind and live."
"How can I leave the past behind when you've dragged it into my present?!" She regretted the words at once. "I'm sorry. That was unfair. You had nothing to do with it."
Perhaps he did not believe her afterwards either — or did not want to. But he made a decision of his own.
She also 'remembers' the look in his eyes in the train carriage — jealousy, anger, despair; the strange surge of joy, the trust, and finally the realisation. Then — how his chest shuddered when she kissed him, how something stirred in her when his fingertips brushed her neck. Then — his tears falling into her palms when he bent his head, venturing to show her the Mark — an act of absolute trust. And the guilt that she had not been able to prevent it.
Or that extraordinary Christmas gift — the blooming maze garden. He led her there with her eyes closed. After the dim corridor, the sunlight was blinding. For a few moments she could see nothing — only hear birdsong, the whisper of leaves, the murmur of water. Then came a soft warm breeze and the sweet scent of flowers.
A willow tree and a kiss — calm, assured, and warm, like a summer day in the middle of winter. Then another — in darkness — where passion tried to drown out terror and fear.
And it was his hand that stopped her at the cliff's edge when she could barely endure the pain of her father forcing his way into her mind. She could see only the hand. She could not raise her eyes any higher — she had no right. To do so would expose her, and that too was forbidden.
"How did you learn the Boy was here? Did you help him escape?!" Her father burst into the room like a storm — and at that same instant a thin spike of pain drove through her head.
"No! I didn't do anything!"
"Lies! How did you know?!"
"You showed me! When you were summoned — I was with you. You know I was!"
"You helped him escape!"
"No! How could I?"
Another needle entered her head, making the pain unbearable. As always, she scooted to the cliff, but it followed her. The sun was shining brightly, the wind was raging everywhere, the billows were crashing on the rocks. She was overhanging the edge and looking down gasping for air. For the first time, she felt the urge to throw herself off it to get rid of this sense caused by a red-hot needle, but someone stopped her, taking her hand.
Another spike — sharper — made the pain unbearable. As always, she retreated to the cliff, but the pain followed. The sun blazed overhead, the wind howled, waves smashed against the rocks below. She hung over the edge, gasping. For the first time she felt the urge to throw herself down — just to end the burning pressure in her skull — but someone caught her hand.
"Who is that?!" Her father bored into her with smouldering eyes.
"I don't know! No one should be here — there's never anyone there!"
"Lies! Who is it? Look at him!"
"I can't — I don't know him!"
She forced her gaze downward, away from the arm, back to the waves. When the hand vanished from sight, it vanished from the vision too.
"Who was that?!"
"I don't know! I don't remember! Someone must have thought I was about to fall and tried to stop me — I don't remember!"
The young man betrayed himself simply by recognising the moment they were discussing.
"Fine!"
The pain ceased as abruptly as it had begun. Her body sagged in the chair where his stare had held her pinned.
"I have more important matters to attend to."
He was deeply displeased, but turned and headed for the door. Behind him stood his young servant, rigid as a post. Something flickered across the servant's face; his master halted for a second, then — breaking into loud laughter — left the room.
Finally — open defiance of her father. Reckless. Potentially fatal for all of them. And yet unavoidable.
"Please. Just do what he wants. Don't be foolish. It could be anything — you don't have to hurt me badly. It won't change anything for me, I promise. Just do as he says."
"No. It would change everything for me. If I cross that line, there's no going back. Do you still not understand?"
And once again he finds her between life and death in the forest. His face is pale, almost corpse-like; his eyes are fixed, refusing what they see; his whole body trembles under the weight of it. He sees only her body — not her. She presses her forehead to his chest and feels his breath catch in sudden shock. A short pause — then his heart begins to race, his breathing turns uneven.
"Evelyn?"
"How did you find me?"
"The unicorn led me. Are you alive?!"
"No. I'm sorry… Can you hear me?!"
"I'll take you home. We'll call a healer — he'll bring you back."
"That's impossible. Take me to the school."
"It will be all right! I'll save you!"
"It's impossible — please, understand." She cups his tear-wet cheeks in her hands. He stops scanning the forest and looks straight into her eyes, as if he truly sees them now. "I'm sorry. Please — take me to the school."
Once again he tries to persuade her to return — but this time he cannot.
Why couldn't he? Where had all this come from? Had her father broken something in her mind with the torture? What was real and what was not?
It no longer mattered. She wanted to help the young man. To return the kindness he had shown her.
"Don't doubt your feeling — it's genuine, just not always enough. No matter what anyone says." He understood at once. "I'm sorry. I can't be with you. I love someone else."
"Who?" Genuine surprise crossed his face.
She did not answer.
"But if you ever need me, I'll be there. I promise." He helped her to her feet. "Come on."
At his questioning look, she took his hand. She spoke calmly and steadily, as she always did when looking someone straight in the eye.
"Come with me. We both need it. You need to be there — and I need you there. I can't defend myself. I'm not a witch anymore. Perhaps I never was."
"How is that possible?"
She only shrugged sadly and led him on.
They walked slowly and in silence through the forest towards the castle. The woods were still and empty. She held his hand the entire way — it gave him courage and steadiness. He held hers just as long, brushing his thumb lightly over the back of her hand. He was surprised she allowed it, quietly grateful, and did not mistake it for anything more — she always spoke plainly. This was care, not pity. Pity gives alms. Out of pity she might have kissed him, might have gone against her own heart. But this was different. She had promised to stand beside him. She wanted him to be strong. She cared — and he believed her.