The Blade Itself (The First Law, #1)

by Joe Abercrombie

‘I did come. Twice. As soon as I learned that you were back, I came. Your mother turned me away at the gates of your estate. She said that you were too ill to take visitors, and that in any case you wanted nothing more to do with the army, and nothing more to do with me in particular. I came back again, a few months later. I thought I owed you that much. That time a servant came to see me off. Later I heard that you had joined the Inquisition, and left for Angland. I put you out of my mind . . . until we met . . . that night in the city . . .’ West trailed off. It took a while for his words to sink in, and by the time they had, Glokta realised that his mouth was hanging open. So simple. No conspiracy. No web of betrayal. He almost wanted to laugh at the stupidity of it. My mother turned him away at the gate, and I never thought to doubt that no one came. She always hated West. A most unsuitable friend, far beneath her precious son. No doubt she blamed him for what happened to me. I should have guessed, but I was too busy wallowing in pain and bitterness. Too busy being tragic. He swallowed. ‘You came?’ West shrugged. ‘For what it’s worth.’

That moment hit so hard. All the bitterness, pain, misunderstanding — and yet there’s still a sliver of something soft buried in it. Not forgiveness exactly, but a heartbeat.