After an eternity I broke the kiss, pulled back enough to search his face. “Boss,” I said, speaking the word as the endearment it was. “Why are you here?”
“Eilahn came to me but moments ago as I engaged an anomaly in Rhyzkahl’s realm,” Mzatal said, voice low but no less intense. “She told me of your grievous plight—the sundering of your arcane senses.” His eyes remained on mine as he stroked the backs of his fingers over my cheek then pushed a strand of hair from my temple. “I saw you in shadow form on Rhyzkahl’s terrace not a full day ago, and within hours he sent a woman to me with no explanation.” Deep concern darkened his eyes as he read the details from me. “You have an agreement with him.” His tone held no jealousy or accusation, only worry and a desire to protect me.
“I do what I must,” I said with a slight quaver.
“I cannot restore your abilities, zharkat,” he said. Frustration and deep regret filled the bond. “Perhaps later I will be able to—”
“It’s all right,” I said. Strangely enough, it was. My abilities weren’t a priority at the moment. I caressed him through our bond and cupped his cheek in one hand. “Beloved.” I drew a shuddering breath. “You shouldn’t have come here.” He’d abandoned the other lords during a crisis and traveled through an unstable valve because he was worried about me. In the scope of one wavelength of light, the act was a priceless, romantic gesture. But within the full spectrum, it bordered on self-serving madness. During the plantation battle, Rhyzkahl had taunted Mzatal that I would be his downfall. I hadn’t wanted to believe it, but now I understood.
Pain deepened the shadows in his face. “How could I not when you are at such risk?” His awareness of his folly resonated through the bond, as did more: He didn’t want to be the Mzatal who could set aside worry for me—or others. That Mzatal was closed to such petty distractions. Closed to all but that which served to achieve his goals.
Tears spilled down my cheeks. “Your world is at greater risk than I am. Both our worlds are.” I placed my hands on his chest, gathered the silk of his tunic into my fingers. “Oh, Mzatal,” I breathed. “I saw you. I watched you engage the anomaly and lead the other lords. You were brilliant, and I have never loved you more or been more proud.” I clung to him, held him close by my grip on the silk. My throat clogged to where I could barely speak. “That’s who you need to be, for the sake of our worlds. Without distractions.” He drew breath to protest, but I rushed to continue. “Because of the love we hold for each other, we must both fully commit to our causes, or else all will be lost, and that love will be for nothing.” My heart screamed at me to stop at that and speak no more, but I plunged on. “You can’t hope to succeed in this without your blade.” Essence-deep agony flared with my words. “You must call Khatur and . . . fully commit.” I wept openly as he wrapped his arms around me and held me close.
“Zharkat, I cannot.” A shiver passed through him, of denial, of horror. Fully commit. Terrible implications echoed within the two words. “I cannot.” His voice broke. Closing off was a desolate and isolated prison of his own making, near as dire as the submersion Szerain endured.
And I had to convince him to step into the cell and lock the door behind him. “We fight a war on two different fronts.” I reached for the thick rope of his braid, drew it over his shoulder and gave it a tug. Desperate emotion twisted his face at the simple gesture that meant so much to us. A secret and wicked joy, a shared passion. Dying inside, I released the braid. “We . . . we had our time in the sun, but we dare not indulge any longer. Not if our worlds are to stand a chance of survival.”
“Zharkat—”
“You always do what is needed, beloved,” I said in little more than a whisper. I tipped my head up to his. “You must do this. We must do this.” I swallowed. “Together we can do anything.” Even if we aren’t together.
A long sigh shuddered from him. He cradled my head to his chest and remained still for a long moment. When he spoke, the words flowed through the connection and resonated through my skull.
“It is the only way.”
I slid my arms around him, beneath his shirt to the skin of his back. I memorized the feel of him, his body against mine, the steady beat of his heart against my cheek. I drank him in, knowing it would never be enough.
And now we must each go to our own distant battles. My hand went to the back of his neck, and I drew him down for a kiss. Our parting kiss, perhaps our last one. He knew it as much as I, and we joined with all the desperation and pain and love and grief and joy that had brought us to this point. He broke the kiss, cradled my face, and rested his forehead against mine. The world retreated and we simply Were. United. Timeless. Infinite.