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Aeduan felt too dangerous. There would be no escaping him now, and she couldn’t believe she’d ever wanted to. That she had ever convinced herself that leaving him would be the right course. There is no we, there is no us. He had said that to her in Tirla, and it had broken her heart.
He didn’t pull away. Their lips grazed. Their breaths mingled. And at last, the Threads of the moment gave way. The red strands that bound them snapped taut. At the touch of Iseult’s lips, Aeduan broke in two. A stiletto in his heart. A breaking of his spine beside a lighthouse.
“You shouldn’t waste energy,” she told him, “on showing off.” “And you should not challenge someone more skilled than you.” “Then teach me,” she replied, and she yanked Aeduan to her. Their lips touched a second time. Their teeth and tongues too, while Aeduan’s mind, Aeduan’s body, and Aeduan’s magic shattered all over again.
So Aeduan bowed his head, “As you wish, Dark-Giver.” Then he kissed her on the forehead and returned, pace agitated, to the tent.
“I love you,” she said. “Te varuje.” She kissed him. He stiffened for half a moment against her … then he leaned into her lips. One hand clutched the back of her head, fingers curling in her scarf. He held her tighter, tighter against him. A panicked kiss with clashing teeth and no time—no time. Iseult broke away first. “I love you,” she told him again. “I will find you” was all he replied.
Then the man crouched before Safi and warm skin brushed her chin. “Domna,” he said softly. “Stay awake. A healer is on the way.”
That was the last thing she heard before Merik’s arms scooped beneath her and blessed unconsciousness swept in.
