Page 151 of Witchlight
“Yes,” she said. “I—I took Blueberry.”
“Why?” Aeduan’s jaw fluttered with worry. “Has something happened?”
“No. I…” Iseult was suddenly very conscious of the fact that she’d come a long,longway.
And she was suddenly feeling thoroughly stupid for that decision.Fanciful fool.“The T-Truce Summit,” she squeezed out, “is all organized. And Safi is in Veñaza City, making final preparations for our new role and title. H-her uncle will be the first to announce it.”
Aeduan nodded. They had reached the fire’s warmth now, and he released Iseult—although he didn’t step away. “I just finished speaking to Lizl. She asked that we not take too long before choosing apprentices.”
“Yes.” Iseult had expected this.
And now they were out of conversation topics. Which was silly. After everything they had been through together—everything they’d done for each other…
“I wanted to see you,” she blurted at the same moment he said, “I love you.”
Oh. She squared herself toward him. Firelight cast shapes across his white cloak and pale face. His eyes glittered—and the annulus glowed.
“I love you,” he repeated, a rigidity claiming his muscles. His face. “I should have said it when we parted on the Windswept Plains. I don’t know why I didn’t.”
“Because you didn’t n-need to.” It was true: Iseult had known he loved her, even if he hadn’t said those exact words. Did the phrasemhe varujtanot tell her as much every time he uttered it?
Yet, she was discovering that it was one thing to know something abstractly and quite another to find it real and within your grasp. Like knowing that your body and its organs could function without you commanding them…
Versus hearing your heartbeat stutter or having your lungs fill so full they ached. All these weeks, Iseult had sensed how Aeduan felt for her.
But now she knew.
He loved her, and she loved him too.
Her throat closed up. Her tear ducts sharpened. And it was—as it so often tended to be with Aeduan—too much. Shehurtfrom it even as she wanted this hurting to never stop. So she reached for him, one gloved hand extending.
He stepped in close. Then her arms came around his waist, and she laid her head against his shoulder. Her eyes closed. She breathed in cold air that smelled like Aeduan’s armor, like the lanolin he used on his blades, like blood and starlight and the man whohadwalked a thousand years and would—if she asked him to—walk a thousand more.
“I made a vow to you,” she said into his neck. “That when this was all over, you would serve no one but yourself, and we would find wh-what it is you want.”
He squeezed her more tightly. It pressed his knives into her chest—and also the pouch that held the Truth-lens.
Iseult rested her hand over that pouch for three heartbeats. Then she drew back. Just enough to find his eyes. To hold that gaze of understanding. “I made a vow, yet here we are again, with this lens and this sword.” Her hand slid down to the pommel at his hip. “You are y-yet again, serving someone else. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.”
For several seconds, the only sound was the fire crackling. The wind briefly twisted, and smoke whispered between them. It hazed Aeduan’s face. Softened how tense he had become.
Then the wind resumed its southern aim and Aeduan finally spoke: “There is a difference this time, Iseult. I am choosing to become the bearer of the sword and the necklace. I amchoosingto follow you and the light-bringerwherever your path takes you. It’s my chosen cause, and that…” A frown. A slight shake of his head. “It’s not the same as serving a master.”
Now Iseult was the one to frown. She felt her brow pinch, felt her nostrils flare. She supposed he wasn’t wrong. When she had been Cahr Awen—when she’d been nothing more than the Rook King’s tool—it hadn’t been her choice. As much as she’d wanted to be special, she would never have chosen it that way.
Now though, being the Cahr Awenwasher choice. Iseult and Safi were taking on that title because they wanted it to stand for something; because theybelievedthat someone needed to steward magic and ensure it was never abused as it had been.
“I understand,” Iseult said softly, and with cautious—and still painful—hands, she cupped Aeduan’s jaw. Then lowered his head until she could rest her brow against his. “There are words,” she began, feeling her tongue instantly thicken.Stasis, stasis.“Th-that the Nomatsis say. In their braiding ceremonies. In o-ourbraiding ceremonies. A Threadwitch who leads the tribe will ask questions, and the couple answers them.”
Aeduan nodded against her. “Are you married? Do you have a lover? Are the Threads between you true?”
Iseult swallowed. “You know them.”
“I do.” His left hand came to her hip. His right hand slid behind to rest on her low back. “And here are your answers: I am not married. You are the only lover I have. And the Threads between us are true. At least.” His lips parted. Shut. Parted again. “For me they are.”
Iseult’s tongue tripled in size. “Y-you aren’t the only one who needs to swear this vow. I must too.”
“Then do it.” He said this in a way that was both playful and also brutally serious. A subtle juxtaposition Iseult had first glimpsed on him in the Contested Lands, when it had been only the two of them wondering who would betray whom first.
