I snatch a robe off the end of my bed and wind the tie around my waist as Eamon enters. He clears his throat and shifts away his gaze, as if I were immodestly dressed. I can remember a time when he would have jumped at the chance to see me like this. “I’m decent. You don’t have to be such a prude.”
Heat stains his cheeks as he clears his throat. He clasps his hands behind his back and stands rigid, the door open wide to the hall beyond. I release my grip on my stomach and rub my forehead, already feeling the seeds of a headache beginning to take root. “Can you at least close the door so the guards have to strain to hear our conversation?”
Eamon takes a step forward and turns to close the arched wooden door. It squeals on its hinges as the lock falls into place. His movements are inflexible. His discomfort painfully obvious. A deep sadness falls over me. How far we have fallen, I muse as I slip to the edge of my bed, lacing my fingers together as I wait for him to announce why he has come.
It is hard to recognize the man I grew up with in the strong, hard planes of his face. His cheekbones are more prominent with his weight loss, his eyes slightly more sunken, giving him a severe look that contrasts sharply with the laughing boy I once knew.
His gaze sweeps over my face, slowly at first and then a second time with far more scrutiny. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking,” I say.
“I was assured by Aminah that you were.”
I bite my tongue against the sharp retort that is begging to escape from my mouth. “It was good of her to come and see me. I’m surprised she got past your guards. Did they pat her down in search for weapons too?”
He grimaces and shifts his weight. His hands hang awkwardly at his sides, as if he’s unsure what to do with them. “Don’t be like this. It’s for your own good.”
“My own good?” Anger simmers in my chest as I rise swiftly to my feet and face off with him. “You are not my father, Eamon. You have no right to scold me or send me to my room when you think I’ve been bad.”
“I have every right!” His face reddens as he shouts. His stance widens as he juts out his chin. “I wouldn’t have to do something this rash if you would just do as you are told.”
I step back, feeling the color drain from my face at the impact of his words. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing,” he mutters and lowers his intense gaze.
“No, not nothing.” I move toward him, attempting to restrain the urge to throttle him. I tuck my elbows in close to my body to keep from doing just that. “I want to know.”
For a moment, I think Eamon is going to lash back at me. I can see the desire in his eyes, darkening their lovely ice-blue color to something resembling a washed-out and dingy gray of a winter sky. And then he cracks.
The tight line of his mouth sags, his shoulders wither, and he slumps back into a chair that sits in the corner across from my bed. He looks utterly broken.
His eyes look over-bright, his face flushed as he looks up at me. “I can’t do this anymore, Illyria. I can’t keep fighting you, trying to keep you safe, when all you want to do is run headfirst into mortal danger.”
His head droops low as he buries his face in his hands. I watch in disbelief as his shoulders begin to quake. At the first sight of a tear hitting the floor I rush forward and fall to my knees at his feet.
“Talk to me,” I whisper, heartbroken by his wretchedness. My chest tightens and my throat feels dry, sore.
When he looks up at me, I can see the streaks of red in his eyes that betray sleepless nights. Dark circles ring his eyes. His cheeks are gaunt, his face drawn. It is as if he is wasting away in front of me. “I…” His voice trembles so fiercely that he pauses to clear his throat. “I’m going to lose you and I can’t bear it.”
“Is that what this is about?” I twine my fingers with his and hold firm. I can feel how badly he’s shaking. “You can’t lose me when I am sitting right here.”
“For now.” Haunted eyes shift to meet mine. “But it won’t always be. You will be taken from me.”
I attempt a smile but know it pales in comparison to a genuine expression so I let it falter completely. I settle for drawing his hand up to my mouth and pressing my lips against his knuckles. They feel cold against my lips, as if he has stood outside for far too long. I close my eyes and feel the tears that begin to build in the corners.
“I’m not going anywhere.” I pause, knowing I need to continue but dreading the effect it will have on him. “But you have pushed me so far out of your life I don’t know how to stay.”