He lowered himself upon her, wrapping her in his arms. His cheek was wet against hers. He turned his face into her hair.

“Tell me you love me,” he whispered desperately. “Please, Rielle. Tell me, and I’ll believe it.”

“I love you,” she said over and over, and it was true, it would always be true. If Corien disappeared tomorrow, if he lived in her mind for the rest of her days, it would still be true. Even if Audric grew so afraid of her that he turned away from her forever. Even then, she would love him.

He finished inside her, pulling her down once more along with him, and after the deep roar of her blood had quieted, and his sharp breaths against her neck had slowed, she turned around to face him. Gently, avoiding her eyes, he helped her sit on the table. Then he wrapped her in his arms and buried his face in her damp hair.

She welcomed him, curling her shaking legs around his. “It’s all right,” she whispered, holding him as he wept. She wiped her cheeks on his sleeve, stared blearily past him at Saint Katell’s stern visage. “It’s going to be all right.”

42

   Eliana

“Go fast into the night,

Go soft into the fight,

Hold on to your heart,

And keep your mind bright.”

—Traditional Mazabatian soldier’s prayer

Eliana awoke slowly to find herself wrapped in Simon’s arms, his face buried in her hair, his light snores coming soft and steady against her neck.

For a moment she allowed herself to enjoy the warmth of him, the peaceful silence of the room. She pretended this was all there was—a quiet bed, a night of kisses upon her skin, Simon holding her securely against his chest.

But soon dawn was painting the black windows gray, and she forced herself to sit up, slipping out from Simon’s heavy embrace. She dressed in silence, bare feet on the cold floor, and felt it the moment he awoke. The room expanded to contain the force of him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, his voice hoarse with sleep.

She did not turn to look at him. She couldn’t, or she would return to bed and never leave it.

“I’m fine.” She buttoned her shirt, rolled the sleeves up to her elbows. “We have much to do today. Time travel, confronting my all-powerful mother. That sort of thing. I’d like to get started.”

She heard him rise, and it took every ounce of her control not to turn and watch him dress.

“Do you have a morning-after tonic?” he asked. “I didn’t think… I should have asked last night. I should have made certain. I’m sorry.”

“Not to worry. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of my own body.” Briskly, she ran her fingers through her tangled hair and tied it back into a braid. “I took a medicine two years ago that will prevent me from having children. A woman who worked in one of the Orline Red Rooms gave it to me. There’s no need for concern.”

Then she moved toward the door and was about to leave when Simon gently caught her wrist.

“I won’t be able to concentrate if I think you’re angry with me,” he said.

She glared at the door. “I’m not angry with you.”

“You’re clearly not happy with me.”

“I’m not happy with anything.” And then tears were filling her eyes, and she growled a little and looked up at the ceiling, blinking hard. “I was happy last night. I was so happy I felt reborn. And now it’s time for us to try this mad thing, and I’m furious with myself for letting this happen, because now part of me is hoping it won’t work. Part of me is hoping we’ll fail, because if we do, at least I’ll still have you with me.”

Simon murmured her name, tenderly, and she turned to look up at him through a glassy film of tears. He bent low to kiss her—her lips, her cheeks, her brow—and she clung to him, and hid her face against his chest when she could no longer bear the touch of his mouth.

“I don’t love you,” she whispered, the lie bitter on her tongue. “I refuse to love you.”

“I know,” he said and held her to him, stroking her hair. “I don’t love you either.”

She smiled a little, her throat aching. She held on to him until the ache became too sharp for her to breathe. Then she pulled away, squaring her shoulders against the sight of him standing there, so near and warm, his hair messy from sleep, and fled downstairs without looking back.

• • •

They worked in separate areas of Willow’s gardens, separated by a good mile of rain-heavy trees, muddied paths, swollen streams. Simon insisted upon it, claiming that traveling through time was a sensitive, unpredictable act, and that, while he was relearning all he had once known, he wanted no one near the danger of it.

Even if he hadn’t requested this, Eliana would have left him to his work. Sitting with him in the gardens, healing the scar on his chest, had helped him recover the feeling of what it meant to weave a solid, stable thread. He was now able to summon them more easily, and so, her part finished for the moment, she wanted to be as far away from him as possible. The sight of him left her undone. She passed him in the hallways of Willow, and his presence pulled at her. She sat across from him at mealtime and felt so desperate to touch him that restraining herself required all her energy.

After a few hours spent practicing various elemental tasks with her castings—Remy providing irritatingly cheerful encouragement from a nearby bench—Eliana marched around the estate until she found Jessamyn sitting in the grass under a sprawling silver oak, cleaning her knives.

“I need to fight something,” Eliana announced.

Jessamyn raised her eyebrows, then gestured at her leg. Her crutch stood propped against the tree. “I’m afraid you won’t find me much of a formidable partner at the moment.”

“Fine.” Then a thought surfaced, startling her. “Can I heal you?”

Jessamyn considered her quietly for a moment. “I was wondering if you’d offer that.” She set aside her knives and stretched out her wounded leg with a wince. “Do I need to do anything?”

“Just sit quietly.”

“Will it hurt you to do it? Will it require too much of your energy?”

“No, and no.”

Jessamyn waved a hand at her. “Slow down for a moment and really look at me. Is this all right? Will Simon be angry that you’ve wasted your strength on me?”

“It’s not a waste. You’re a good fighter. We’ll need you in excellent shape for the Jubilee. And if Simon gets angry, well…”

But the mere mention of him left her feeling muddled. She fell silent, glaring at the ground.