Page 71 of Of Songs and Silence

It’s true that I would have chosen Ari, had he asked me. But he didn’t ask me. It still bothers me that he doesn’t see why that’s a problem, but I finally feel like I’m in a place to explain it to him.

And I need to. I need him, us, to be solid, when everything else is spinning out of control.

I feel like I’m on a precipice, balancing on the edge of the world with only tragedy and grief to catch me when I fall. I don’t know if my aunt will be able to help my sisters. I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again. If anyone will even get word to me if something happens to them.

I don’t know if Mother will die, or if any part of me will mourn her loss when she does. But I do know that whatever this life brings me, I will find a way to spend it with Ari.

Or die at his side.

I push open the door between our rooms, quietly closing it behind me and leaning against the sandstone panes.

Ari looks up expectantly from where he is stretching in a warrior’s pose, his tattoos writhing on his rippling muscles. Napo ceases his stretching as well, darting a knowing glance back and forth between us before quickly swimming out the window.

Ari ignores him entirely, his turquoise eyes transfixed on me.

“Kala?” he says my title like a question.

“Ariihau,” I answer.

For all that I have thought about him, I don’t know that I’ve ever said his name to him. His eyes widen, but his mind is still closed.

He solves that problem for me, though. In one fluid motion, he’s upright, closing some of that distance between us. Even from a meter away, I can feel the heat of his body radiating to mine.

“I cannot live a life where I am silenced and kept in the dark,” I tell him earnestly. “Not again.”

He shakes his head, real pain in his features. “I would never do that to you.”

“Maybe not intentionally,” I allow. “But there I was, without the knowledge to make any kind of informed choices. Without the ability to voice an opinion. Just because you are in my head does not mean you can decide for yourself when I don’t need a say.”

I wait until I feel him accepting my words before I go on.

“I need to know that it won’t happen again. No more secrets or half-truths or decisions for my own good.”

He visibly wars with himself. “The things the king is capable of—”

“I know,” I cut him off. “You know that I know.”

His muscles go tight as he clenches his fists. “I couldn’t bear it if something were to happen to you.”

“Nor I you,” I say pointedly. “I know that you want to protect me.”

More than that, I know that he needs to protect me. That rejecting his protection would be rejecting him. I can sense it, now that I understand more of how the bond works.

“And I will always accept your protection,” I go on. “But I am not a child, Ari, and I require your respect as well.”

He looks up in shock. “Of course, I respect you.”

I don’t break his gaze, willing him to see the connection as I see it. Minutes pass in silence, but it doesn’t bother me. It’s not an empty, broken, yawning void like the silence of my childhood.

It’s draped against the backdrop of Ari’s constantly working mind, all the pieces of our story he is rearranging and putting together in light of the things I have finally been able to bring myself to say.

“All right, Kala. No more secrets,” he says, entwining our fingers together.

“Even if you feel it’s dangerous,” I press.

A wave of grief passes over his features, like he has seen my death already, and I am asking him to let it stand. But he gives me a sharp nod, letting his walls crash down around us.

I feel his pain and his acceptance and his honesty, the way he would stop at nothing for me, even this. Even though it’s killing him.

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