Zoya stared at her reflection in the mirror, astonished all over again. She had been eating on a semi-regular basis lately, and her bony edges were beginning to fill out into gently rounded curves. But the dress! Zoya hadn't thought such a thing could be possible without magic. It draped over her body like a slice out of the night. The cut was both sophisticated and provacative, and it fit her amazingly well. And the material - tighly woven of tiny fibers, it was nearly as soft as silk, but somehow warmer; less aloof.
Tearing her eyes away, she picked up the box. The silver necklace was cold and then suddenly warm against her throat. She touched the bejeweled earrings, but left them in the box for now. Slowly, as if in a dream, she crossed the room and entered her study, a comfortably jumbled mess of books and papers. Her feet carried her to the window, magically set to overlook the Dragonsmere. She leaned against the wall, resting her head on the window's stone casing. She stared out at the stars reflected in the water and tried not to think.
She tried not to think of the cool sensation of the teardrop drying on her palm as he confessed his fears.
She tried not to think of the desperation in his voice as he begged for her love.
She tried not to think of the feel of his lips on hers or the taste of his tears.
She tried not to think about how hard it had been to pull away from those kisses, from his caresses.
She tried not to think about the stark terror in his eyes belying the brave smile as he submitted to her spells.
Most of all, she tried not to think about all the various way she could lose him before this was over.
So many times she had stood here at this window, imagining the feel of his hands on her waist, his lips at the nape of her neck, that she did not realize he was truly there until he whispered, "Zoya, love, what's troubling you?"
For a long moment, she did not answer, though she leaned back into his strength, grateful for the respite from the stone. She had never been easy with strong emotion. She had learned, after great effort, to wall it off if necessary, though that price was great. But she could not control her emotions, and because that troubled her so, she often tried to ignore them. Had it been Kevil asking, or even Darin, she could have dissembled; she'd have said that she was only watching the stars and the water, and they'd have believed her. But Marten, who had trusted her not only with his life but with his soul - who had time and again submitted at her word to his greatest fears... To him, she owed the truth.
"I am worrying," she answered finally, "about the end of this." She turned to face him, and his arms tightened around her. She felt tears rise in her eyes. "I do not want to lose you."
"I am yours, always, love," he whispered.
She looked up into his eyes, and it suddenly seemed absurd to her that she had seen in them terror, anger, and love, but never ecstasy. Gently, she took his face between her hands and kissed him lingeringly. He responded instantly, with gentle but fervent passion, and though every few moments he stopped to look at her in wonder, she didn't pull away. When the slice of night slipped from her shoulders, it slid unnoticed to the floor.
Copyright 2000 by Elizabeth L. Brooks. Not to be reprinted without written permission of the author.
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