ââYou must know that your sister will never forgive you,â Rafal says curiously. âFor whatever she thinks youâve done, at any rate. Letting her have a chance. And then letting it be taken away.â
Sader stays quiet, patient. Waiting to be dismissed. He has a way of silence that sets Rafal on edge; a silence laden with things unsaid, with things that Rafal cannot ever begin to understand.
He is loath to call it disturbingâ but Sader, at the heart of it all, is disturbed. And though he might not care, it is certainly discernible to anyone watching him closely enough. As Rafal does. As Rafal will.
âAs I said,â Sader offers, finally, almost bored, âperhaps sheâs just here before her time.â He knows something. Obviously. He always knows something. Rafal cannot bear it, Sader and his careful neutrality, his trained apathy. It is wretched, how much he cares.
âI was given to believe that Evers cared about family,â he jabs, if only for the sake of saying it. âAbout love. About doing right by it.â
âThe Sader family is not traditionally Good,â Sader says, still soft, still desperately unreadable. âTo us, there have always been things that matter more than love. But I would assume you know all that already. You are quite familiar with our line.â
He says it like a matter of fact, which it is. Which it must be, to him. It is Saderâs wont to always know more than he should. He calls himself a studentâ and teacherâ of history, and so the secrets he deals with are those of the last, antithetical to his Sight as it is.
To Rafal it is a discomfort; an unease; a danger, even. Sader knows of his long-dead ancestors, those who first spoke to Rafal and his brother so long ago. He knows of Peter Pan and Hook and everything in between.
And he knows about Rhian. Of everything, that is the one secret Rafal must take to his grave. The one secret he cannot afford to let go.
It is fortunate, he supposes, that Sader is so inclined to silence. He is perhaps the one person left Rafal cannot afford to kill.
(Heâd thought that before; Sader must know that, too.)
âAnd I think,â Sader says abruptly, into the lull of silence, âthat of all people, surely you must understand why love can so easily take second place. I will do what I must.â
It is also particularly annoying that Sader fails to be scared of anything. If he has not Seen it, it must simply not be true, and if he hasâ there was never anything to be scared of. Someday Rafal will cheat fate, just to see the fear on his face.
But for now Sader says exactly what he wants to, and Rafal bears it as he always has done. It is not often that Sader prefers to run his mouth. Certainly he has far more often been obedient; been quiet. No matter how infuriating that is, either.
Breathe in. Breathe out. âYou arenât wrong,â Rafal concedes. He gave up on love a long time ago. He knew what the price would be; he knew it would haunt him. Hundreds of years render the memory hazy. But this is crystal clear: he knew, and he chose anyway.
âThey are not going to forgive you,â he says. âNot now, not ever.â A warning, perhaps. Though heâs not sure what compels him to say it.
âThere will never be forgiveness for me,â Sader says readily. Easily. In his mouth, his steady voice, it feels something like a prophecy. âIâve made my peace with that. Have you?â
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