Page 118 of The Enemy's Daughter

His words sweep around me like a soothing wave, cocooning me in a promise.

“And”—he finds my hand and weaves our fingers together,sending tingles streaking up my arm—“you’ll need to be at least fifty percent better to make it back home.”

Home.My eyes close as a delicious warmth douses me with that word.

Then Tristan gently, even reverently, invites life back into every corner of my body and mind, and I don’t stop him. Because as Enola said, two strands woven together will always be stronger than one.

Epilogue

Six Months Later

Henshaw frowns and hands me the small bag filled with antibacteriums and pain reliever. “Make sure the nurses don’t give them unless they’re absolutely—”

“I will.”

He stares down the hospital hallway. “The poppy extract needs to be rationed. Only given by mouth. Maximum of four times a day.”

Of course, I’ve known that for years, since long before I ever met him. But from our six months of training together, I know it makes him feel better to reiterate it every time. “Got it.”

His lips form a line. “Maybe I should come.”

I bite my cheek to keep from laughing. “You’re welcome to.”

As if he were waiting for my offer, he cracks a rare smile. “I’ll get my coat.”

After loading up my saddlebag, we ride through the checkpoint at the fence, then carry on to the worksite a hundred feet away. An army of men work, shoveling rock, cutting down trees, and sawing wood. Despite the cooler fall weather, Samuel is a sweaty mess as hecarries a couple logs on his shoulder.

We ride past them until I feel the pull of the languid warmth of the connection guiding me to Tristan. I find him leaning over a portable table, studying papers with the newly elected mayor of Kingsland. Vador points at something they’re reading as Tristan’s head snaps up. Our eyes meet.

“Iz, it’s here!”

I’m not prepared for the tidal wave of his childlike excitement. He’s practically giddy. And when I look behind him at the mammoth of a machine, I see why.

He helps me down from my horse and tugs me by the hand toward the engine of his transportation tram. It still sits on the trailer that took seventeen wagon horses to pull. Other trailers line up not far away and appear to be filled with even-size logs that have been removed from old tracks.

“It’s—”

“Incredible,” Tristan finishes. “Come. You have to see inside.” His hands grip my hips, and he lifts me into the small cabin. The walls are made of black, dirty metal and the windows are covered in soot. A shovel and a pile of dark rocks lie on the floor.

“It works with steam to convert the heat energy into mechanical energy. We burn the coal in here”—he points to a small round opening in the wall beside us—“which heats the water in the tubes behind it, turning it into steam. Then we have pistons . . .”

His enthusiasm skitters over my skin, making me feel alive. It’s impressive how knowledgeable he is about this old-world relic. And passionate.

“And the coal mine expansion is nearly complete,” he continues. “Soon, we’ll have more than we need to heat our homes, which canbe used for the tram or to trade. Maybe we could even start making our own steel, instead of harvesting it. Can you imagine? This could be the start of our own industrial revolution.”

My teeth drag over my lip as I watch his handsome face practically glow with his explanation. I don’t understand most of what he’s saying.

But I’m absolutely enchanted by him.

Tristan stops talking. Tips his head with a curious look. Then, moves to surround me in his arms.

“Keep talking trams to me,” I whisper.

He laughs. “Actually, I was thinking I shouldn’t talk at all right now.”

Heat swirls equally in our bellies as my hands move to his firm chest, then the nape of his neck. His lips come down on mine, and I quickly deepen the kiss. The urgency of it causes him to melt like honeycomb in fire around me, his arms pulling me closer.

“What is taking so—” Henshaw appears at the open door. “Oh, I see.”

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