rhysfcyre:

Kestrel felt a flicker of instinctive curiosity. Then she reminded herself bitterly that this was what curiosity had brought her: fifty keystones for a singer who refused to sing, a friend who wasn’t her friend, someone who was hers and yet would never be hers.
Kestrel looked away from Arin. She swore to herself that she would never look back.

“Kestrel, please don’t cry.” Tentative fingers touched her face. A thumb ran along the wet skin of her cheekbone. She suffered for it, suffered for the misery of knowing that whatever possessed him to do this could be no more than compassion. He valued her that much. But not enough.
“Why can’t you marry him?” he whispered.
She broke her word to herself and looked at him. “Because of you.”