The Unfortunate, стр. 63
“And have you?”
The prince shook his head. “I do not claim to be flawless. I have done things I regret, but I swear I have never been a coward.”
Jenn put her arms around Banan as she moved closer. “And you never will be. Even in the darkest times, you will always remain strong. You must.”
He sighed before finally looking at her. “Father told me what happened. I think he blames me for my mother’s madness as it is being called.” He then laid his head against her shoulder. “For everything wrong he blames me, as he always has, but I think this time he speaks true.”
She could not recall ever having seen the prince so helpless. “Oh, Banan. You did what was expected of you. You did what you thought was necessary,” Jenn reminded and stroked his hair. “There was no other way.”
“Yes,” Banan replied. “Had it been my father’s decision, the punishment would have been more severe, more atrocious. What I did … I did out of necessity because it was expected, but more so I did it out of mercy.”
Jenn could feel him trembling, and she held him closer. What is done is done, she wanted to express, but she knew the words were overused and for this situation, inappropriate. She therefore remained quiet and waited for Banan to again speak.
“I never wanted it to come to this. I have lost a mother because of my actions.” The prince sighed and paused briefly. “And with Deogol’s execution, I lost a friend, a teacher, and the closest I have ever had to a true father.”
She could understand Banan’s sorrow. To an extent he had lost both parents in less than a week. Queen Marlisa had sinned, yes, but to see Deogol suffering had been too horrifying an event and had driven the queen to madness. And then there was the father who had never truly been. Because King Beadurof was more concerned about advancing his legacy than he was about his own son, Banan had looked elsewhere for a paternal figure. But had this not also been a sin on the king’s part? Of course it had been. What worth is the monarch’s legacy without Banan? The questions remained unanswered as a new thought invaded Jenn’s mind. Forget this life … and begin anew. Banan’s voice echoed as she became aware of what truly mattered, and she reminded, “We still have each other.”
Banan nodded slightly, but there still had been a hesitation as if he were reluctant to agree. Slowly he raised his head and looked away as he resumed grating the sword across the chamber’s cobblestones.
“Is it not so?” Jenn at last spoke. “You promised you would forget this life and we would be together, did you not?”
“I have many times, but …”
“But what?”
It was as if all joy had departed Banan’s soul and every strand of hope had been removed from his heart. It was as if the desire to forget and begin anew had been forgotten and hurled into an abyss from which nothing returned. All that seemingly remained was the constant reminder of failure and the unwillingness to accept its existence.
“But it will not be as we wanted,” the prince answered sternly and stopped toying with the sword. “This war has been for naught. Its only success is that it has delayed my marriage to Princess Eadlin, but it has not prevented it. I am still betrothed, and a new treaty has been proposed to King Ryce absent a request for Drunacht. Your claim to King Aengus’ throne cannot help us now. And to think we were foolish enough to believe everything would go as planned and to think we could so easily become lord and lady of Drunacht without the slightest opposition. Perhaps we were never intended to succeed. Perhaps—”
“Perhaps nothing,” she interrupted. “Forget Drunacht and power. That no longer matters. Only you and me … together. Even if we have to forever leave the capital or even Armania.”
As quickly as Jenn had suggested the option of taking leave and never returning, she was reminded of how she had once criticized Banan for offering the same motive. Any attempt would never succeed. Despite the differences between the prince and his father, despite all the questionable acts, King Beadurof would do whatever necessary to locate and have his only heir returned. As it had been then, the idea of an escape from their current lives to begin anew was still, as it always would be, a fantasy.
“Only you and me,” Banan eventually repeated as if he were in a stupor, and the awkward tranquility continued, but eventually for the sake of remaining composed, Jenn altered the topic by inquiring, “When do you leave for the war?”
“By week’s end,” Banan answered, and his tone still was littered with shame. “We are to serve as resistance against any invaders from Drunacht.”
“How long will you be away?”
“The fighting will be tedious because the armies will be so evenly matched. It could be weeks or even months. With Fate’s blessing the winter will not be harsh, and the fighting will be at an end by spring.”
They again sat in silence momentarily before Jenn again spoke. “I have something for you.” She reached for her head, removed her miniature-dagger hairpin, and laid it in Banan’s palm. “I want you to carry this. If today’s events offered any joy, it is that I no longer need this.”
He raised his head and smiled. “Are you certain?”
The decision to return the hairpin had been, in a way, spontaneous. No doubt she