I am so late with this. I suck. Apologies. Long story short, our landlord decided to try and screw us over so we had to move house. But! All merrily moved now and in a shiny new flat which can hold the quite literally hundreds of books I’ve acquired.

Many, many thanks to the wonderful and endlessly patient people who read and reviewed last time. Thank you 365-Pages-of-Awsomeness, Shang Leopard, takishia (I do enjoy the Fey. They have quite a significant part in this story, and while Vaje is lucky to have found Nimue, he did make the inevitable mistake of insulting the Queen first...

Blue would have underestimated her – after all, she didn’t really challenge him much during Chimera, and he would have thought her pretty cowed by the fact he knew her secrets.

If Cougar’s going to be with Toya, he’ll do it on her terms, not any one else’s. After all – otherwise he’d be very like Blue. The hardest part – Lisa and Alex’s interactions. I know how it’s going to unfold, but it’s making sure that their actions make sense and their motivations do when there’s a whole lot they don’t know about each other still. I would say Lisa’s conflict about Alex – writing it without getting repetitive or boring or over-angsty about it. Thanks!), Ambrosien, QueenOfSlayers, Chocolatetree (I’m thrilled Alex is intriguing – he is a very different cut of cloth from Blue. The Furies of his time had entirely different goals and ethics. I’m glad Lisa’s strength is coming through – I really enjoy writing her. Thanks! ), Cianna Greenwood (My god! Hasn’t it been a while? Great to hear from you again, and welcome back for the nostalgia shot ;)

Haloed is the sequel to Chimera – which I’ll start after this story as the two are very directly linked. Chatoya takes the lead again, and I already have some very evil plots up my sleeve which I hope will be enjoyable! Good luck with that essay – and fantastic to hear from you again!), ess3sandra, oreocookiepup101, Lee Haynes, terrorofthehighway (Thank you! I have read Lords and Ladies (hilarious – I adore the Morris Men, especially as we have morris dancers in the village where my parents live), and if you liked that, I highly recommend Jonathan Strange and Mr Norrell as I think that book really nails faeries as entirely whimsical and frightening.

Nimue’s voice is familiar because she was the one who asked Vaje what he’d wish for befor he passed out. It’s her equivalent of an interview ;)

Toya’s portrait hasn’t yet been painted – that will happen between the end of Long Lost and the start of Haloed. Thanks!), Inspired by a Kiss, Lacrymose, Bella (Thank you so much – I’m delighted you like it. The update’s been a while in coming, for which I apologise, but I hope you enjoy that too.), Bais and last, but by no means least, the brilliant Juv (Thank you! I am writing something original at the moment, and if it’s any good, I’d like to try and publish it. I’m so happy you like the fic.)

As you can tell, feedback is very much adored. I welcome criticism, so please don’t hesitate to tell me what you think. And you can use the shiny new PM system if you don’t want to review in public. I hope you enjoy!

Long Lost Part Nine

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the stars refuse to shine
Out of the back you fall in time
I somehow find you and I collide
- Collide, Howie Day

He was the only living man in a world of ghosts. Yet in the midst of Nimue’s memories, the ancient rain passed through Vaje as if he was unreal, the dream of days still to come.

The thunderstorm crackled overhead. Even lightning could not pierce the grey curtain of rain that obscured everything but the sodden ground a few feet ahead. Beneath it, the longhall looked small and besieged.

The guards either side of the entrance stood to attention, grimly ignoring the water dripping from their helmets and spears. Under its eaves, two people waited. Nimue was unmistakable, her red hair twisted into loops that hung at the nape of her neck. A young man with a handful of gleaming gold rings and a striking black fur cloak was tense as a bowstring beside her.

He squinted into the downpour. “I wonder how the governor’s liking his first taste of Britain? Can’t be easy for a soft Roman, wading through the mud.”

“If you think Aurelianus is soft, Tristan, you need to think again,” Nimue said, voice cool. “You might wear a wolf on your shoulders, but he’ll wear your skin if you push him.”

Tristan shot her a startled look. The cloak and his armour lent him an air of experience that he didn’t really have. “I thought that was a rumour.”

“Rumours start somewhere. You don’t have to like the man, but you need to at least pretend to be civil. Right now, he’s all that stands between us and the Saxons.”

“We don’t need to hide behind the Empire.”

There was pity in her eyes. “We can hide or we can die, Tristan. Unless the tribes unite-”

“Under him?” He snorted. “No one will accept a foreigner. They’re all the same – slick-talking snakes who want to tax us into submission.”

“There speaks your father,” she said sharply.

That got to him. There was something between anger and shame in those soft brown eyes. “I’m nothing like that old bigot.”

She gave him a long look, top to toe. “No. You aren’t. But you did sound uncannily like him.”

He grimaced. “You’ve made your point, Nimue. I’ll reserve judgement on our new overlord. For now.”

“That will do,” she said. And then, to Vaje’s surprise, she looked straight at him, and smiled: those star-blue eyes pierced time and illusion. “Tristan had a good heart and a bad upbringing. Don’t judge him too harshly.”

Vaje cleared his throat. “You can see me.”

“These are my memories. This is my world.” Her smile faded as if the water had washed it away. “Or it was, once.”

~*~

Miles and years away, and far wiser, Lisa stood in front of Alex and offered herself up to him. It was the only bargaining chip she had, and also the only one he wanted.

But she had caught him entirely unawares, of that she was sure. There had been a depth of shock in his black eyes that even he could not feign.

“I wasn’t expecting you so soon,” he said, a note of query in his voice.

“Consider yourself lucky,” she said.

His glance was sudden and heated, lingering like a brand on her heart. “I always have.”

“I guess I’ll leave you to it,” Flick said, sounding confused. She was out of place between them, innocent of all they had done. “Thanks again, Alex.”

Unusually, he didn’t go through the social niceties. She must really have rattled him. Barely a murmur to Flick, not even glancing in her direction, and they were alone.

His lips parted: he took a breath as if it was his first or his last, and the shadows in his eyes had the heaviness of a summer night.

“Forgive me my suspicion, Lisanor,” he said, “but this change of heart seems a little sudden. What do you want?”

“I’ll do the picture,” she answered. “But I want something from you in exchange.”

His smile had a hint of the devil to it. “Tell me it’s the endless pleasure of my company.”

“It was hardly endless,” she said shortly. “More like about ten minutes.”

He gave her an unimpressed look. “Time has clearly dulled your memory, cher. You couldn’t get enough of me once.”

“You know what they say,” she parried, taking refuge in words. “Too much of a bad thing-”

“And I can be very, very bad,” he purred, stepping closer. She didn’t retreat; she knew he respected resilience. But panic tingled in her hands and feet, willing her to move, to run – or worse, to stay, to melt into him, to let it all be easy and careless once more.

“Agreed,” she snapped, ignoring both options. “Terrible, in fact.”

“Ouch! Enough of this foreplay. What do you want, Lisanor?”

“Leave my friends alone.”

“Easily done,” he said with a graceful shrug. “I’m not interested in them. Treat me with respect, and I’ll happily repay the favour.”

She stamped very hard on the thought that she was going to try and steal his blood to hand to Blue Malefici as a trophy, because somehow she didn’t think Alex would view that as respect.

“Then we have a deal,” she said, and gingerly held out a hand.

He couldn’t have guessed the fear that paralysed her. Or maybe he did: he looked at her hand for a long time, his eyes soft and sad. Then he said, “Is that what we have come to, my Lisa? Strangers who shake hands because words are not enough?”

She didn’t waver. But she did let a little of the pain creep into her voice. “Too many of your words were lies.”

He flinched, as if that had hurt. Maybe it did: but he’d use it to manipulate her all the same.

“Sometimes lies are necessary,” he said. “Please. Let’s at least not stand in the street like a pair of market traders. I’m giving you a memory to draw. It will take a little while, especially with the complications of a soulmate link. I won’t go where I’m not invited, and that will take some...restraint.”

She could see the sense of it. “All right. What did you have in mind?”

“Somewhere warm. Comfortable.” Intimacy filled his voice. “Private. I’m sure you can find a place.”

~*~

Vaje was glad he couldn’t feel the insistent rain. It felt as if they had waited an eternity before a shout came: a small, half-drowned boy came sprinting out of the downpour.

He skidded in the mud, and would have gone flying if Tristan hadn’t seized him by one scrawny arm.

The boy dropped to one knee, looking up with adoring eyes. “Lord Tristan, they’re here. A big party – twelve horses, and a wagonload of goods. He looks like a king, the governor, all in gold!”

“Well done, lad,” Tristan said, lifting the boy to his feet. “Go on in, there’s food and a fire, and you look like you need both.”

The boy threw a cheeky salute to him, and a more respectful one to Nimue, then scuttled inside.

“Gold,” muttered Tristan. “What sort of fool wears gold in a country like this? They’ll see him coming a mile off, and have an arrow between his eyes before he has time to realise he’s worth far more dead than alive.”

Nimue coughed delicately. “I thought you were reserving judgement, Tristan?”

His sideways glance was full of chagrin, his silence telling.

Over the mutter of the rain, a new sound emerged: the steady thump of hooves. Vaje turned to find it, and saw them, emerging from the curtains of shimmering rain like shadows that formed into a company of men on horseback.

The leader rode a huge black warhorse and even in the dull light, his armour gleamed like a banked fire. A longsword that must have been as tall as Nimue was in one hand. But the messenger boy had made a mistake.

Alexandros rode behind the man in gold armour, his face bare to the elements. His hair was cut in the style of the legions, and he wore the short sword that marked out the Roman elite. He looked uncannily like that picture Vaje had glimpsed in the archives: there was the same determination in his face, the same cool intelligence.

Others followed after, mostly military men who carried weapons with the ease of practice and use. And last, a cloaked figure almost slumped over their horse.

The gold-armoured man sprang to the ground. He was a giant. Both the guards on the door shifted nervously.

Tristan made a small bow. Nimue stepped forward to stop him, but too late. “Governor, welcome-”

As Alexandros slid lightly off his own horse, Vaje saw a smile glimmer.

The golden giant gave a great bellow of a laugh. When he wrenched off the helmet, it revealed a mass of scars and missing teeth. “A pretty compliment, but you have the wrong man. I’m just his champion.”

Tristan inclined his head stiffly. “My apologies.”

“None necessary,” Alexandros said smoothly, moving to join them. He held out a gloved hand: Tristan clasped it, eyeing him with uncertainty. Vaje could understand that - Alexandros looked barely more than a boy, slight under the weight of cloak and weaponry. “Galahad has been an excellent decoy. How many arrows have you taken for me so far?”

Something unpleasant in Galahad’s smile. “Enough to dent my armour.”

Alexandros shrugged. “I did warn you that gold is damnably soft. A waste of your winnings.” He turned back to Tristan, eyes intent. “Galahad had a most successful career as a gladiator before he joined my service.”

Around them, the other men were dismounting, tending to their horses.

“Such a warrior is welcome to our shores,” Tristan answered, showing a streak of political savvy Vaje hadn’t suspected. “We have need of every sword.”

“Aye, I hear the Sais are banging at your door,” Galahad remarked. “Well, fear not...” His gaze flicked over Tristan with contempt. “Lord Tristan, is it? The might of Rome is here.”

A flush crept up the young man’s cheeks. “The might of Rome looks markedly like a dozen men.”

Galahad’s eyes darkened. He was spoiling for a fight, Vaje realised, as the longsword scraped into the air – Tristan was just as quick, flinging back the black cloak to snatch at the blade on his hip...

“A dozen men of Rome who are worth their weight in gold.”

The icy edge in Alexandros’s voice cut through the gathering tension: Galahad hesitated.

“Which,” he continued, “we happen to have brought with us. At the very least, I will begin by buying peace from the Saxons until our defences are better prepared. Perhaps we might go inside and speak of these urgent matters.”

Tristan stepped back. There was a measure of respect in his nod. “Forgive me, Governor. You must be tired. We have room at the hearth for you and your men.”

“They will be glad of it, warlord,” murmured Alexandros. There was a genuine warmth to his smile that Tristan responded to; his hand moved from his knife, and he gestured the Romans into the hall.

Soon only Nimue and Alexandros were left outside, huddled under the eaves – and one other, that cloaked figure still upon the horse who seemed to be struggling to dismount.

“You defused that well,” she remarked. “Gods spare us the pride of men!”

He chuckled. “Let’s hope not. I’m relying on that infernal British pride to destroy the country.”

“They are to be slaughtered, then,” she muttered.

“You sound disapproving,” Alexandros said with a sideways glance. “The British are a rabble, Nimue. Wasn’t that what you wrote in your report?”

She gazed out on the rain, and her face was thoughtful, as far from the mud and the thunder as the moon from earth. “So they seemed when I first came here. Rowdy, contentious men who love to war. Clinging to their old gods and their old ways, resistant to any order at all. And yet...”

“And yet?” he prompted, gentle. Vaje was surprised at how calm he was, how subtle. This was not the man who had carved his name into legend, who had washed a country bright with blood.

“Their songs stir my blood,” she answered, a kind of ferocity in her voice. “They sing of glory and bravery and of endurance, and something in me echoes with their voices. I ride out in the countryside, and I see how hard they fight for their patchwork pieces of land, how hard they work to bring life from the stones and the soil. I see how loyal they are to those they honour. I see the strength of a vow here, true as fact, strong as iron. I see all this, and I cannot help but love them a little.”

He didn’t mock her or dismiss her: he merely nodded and said, “I don’t think my mind will change, Nimue, but I will think about what you’ve said, and I will learn for myself.”

She took a breath, something like relief in her face. “You know, Alexandros, you might just be good for Nightfire.” Her gaze slide past him, to the figure on the horse who was hanging perilously from the beast’s side. “Who is that?”

“Who...” He turned, and a frown dented his brow. “Ah. My slave.”

“I had no idea you had a taste for owning flesh,” she said, a touch of acid in the words.

“Neither did I,” he said with a peculiar crooked smile.

She opened her mouth to reply – but as the slave’s feet at last reached the ground, they swayed, and crumpled into a limp heap. An exclamation flew from Nimue’s lips. She ran over to the prone form, heedless of the rain.

“Are you all right?” she demanded, and then repeated it in half a dozen tongues Vaje couldn’t understand. “What’s her name?”

She pushed back the hood, and Vaje could not conceal a gasp as he saw her face.

“Lisa,” he said softly, as behind him, Alexandros said, “Lisanora.”

And there was nothing between past and future then: they were two men who were hopelessly connected to this girl who had no idea how extraordinary she would become, how extraordinary she would remain.

He stood in a world full of ghosts, bereft, and wondered who here was truly alive.

~*~

“I didn’t have the local library in mind,” Alex said, wearing an expression close to disgruntlement as he sat on the creaky leather couch.

“No?” Lisa said sweetly, balancing the sketchpad on her lap. “You can’t tell me this doesn’t fit the bill.”

He glared over at the reading club in the corner, avidly discussing what sounded like a particularly involved Harlequin novel. “Yes, cher, just you, me, and a dozen spinsters.”

“They won’t disturb us.” But they were a safety net, if a small one. Her blood was like electricity in her veins, fear and anticipation and resolve. “Let’s get this over with.”

His lips thinned at her bluntness. Little did he know how she was steeling herself for what she had to do: not because she didn’t want to feel the soulmate link again, but because she did.

Like an alcoholic inhaling the fumes of that first drink, she could already imagine it.

Lisa did not look at Alex. In truth, she was afraid of what she might see there – victory, pity, or worst of all, love.

His voice was gentle. “Don’t be afraid.”

“Too late,” she answered.

“I hope not, Lisanora,” he whispered, and took her hand. The link burned through her like fire. The library disappeared in a bright blaze of sensation, so close to pain, so close to bliss, and she was left with nothing between them but this: the past, and the future.

~*~

“Can you understand me?” Nimue said, her voice calm and patient. She repeated it several times: it took Vaje a few moments to realise her lips were not moving in time with the words. She was translating for him, then.

At last she hit the right language: some of the stupor left Lisa’s expression.

“I can understand you,” she said in voice that shook with tiredness.

Vaje had never heard her sound like that: weak, frail, so human. And she was human, this Lisa – a shivering, soaked girl with eyes that had none of the affection and depth he was used to. It roused a need to protect her, to whisk her away from this damp dank land and this idiot who clearly didn’t want her.

He didn’t realise he had knelt down beside Nimue – that he had tried to reach for Lisa and comfort her - until his hands swept through her body feeling nothing more than the cool moist touch of mist.

“At risk of asking a foolish question,” Nimue said dryly, “are you all right?”

Lisa gave a bitter laugh that ended in a long, hacking cough. “All right?” she croaked. “We have ridden for three days in this hellish rain, three days without more than five minutes rest.” Her voice broke: she gasped for breath that rattled in her throat.

“Easy,” Nimue murmured, helping her to sit, so she could breathe easier. But Vaje could see how Lisa shook in her arms, how many hollows her face had.

He was shocked to see tears stream down her cheeks to mingle with the rain: he’d only seen her cry once, and it had been for him, in a night so desperate he’d thought none of them would live.

“I haven’t slept or eaten or even had a drink and I’m so c-cold...I hate this country. I hate this, this empty sky. And I hate him.” She fought for air, and fought to spit out the words, slow as poison. “I will go to my grave hating him.”

“What on earth is wrong with the girl?” Alexandros asked idly.

Vaje could quite cheerfully have hit him.

Nimue glanced up, her voice even colder than her ice-chip eyes. “She is human, Alexandros, that’s what’s wrong with her, and you seem determined to punish her for it.”

“What do you mean?” he demanded, eyes wide.

“How long have you travelled for?”

“Three days. I wished to be here as promptly as possible.”

“And did you bother to stop in all that time?”

He looked amazed. “Of course not. The country is on the brink of war. We have all been travelling just as hard as she has, Nimue, and you do not see me crumpling on the ground.”

“Did you stop to hunt?”

He shrugged. “My men and I hunted along the way. There’s plenty of game in the fields.”

“And what did you give Lisa to eat?”

His mouth opened and closed as comprehension dawned on him. “Oh,” he said quietly.

“And did anyone bother to think that she is not immune to colds or lung-rot?”

Alexandros looked positively mortified. “I haven’t kept a human before,” he said in almost meekly.

“Or that she might need to sleep at some point?” Nimue said, sweet as cyanide.

A flush stained his face, and to Vaje’s surprise, he knelt down in the mud beside them, his eyes full of regret. “I have treated you badly, Lisanora,” he said, and brushed her face gently with a gloved finger. “Forgive me.”

Nimue translated and Lisa’s eyes widened, glazed with fever and surprise.

“Gallantry is all very well,” Nimue remarked, “ but this rain is doing her no good.”

Alexandros was gazing at Lisa with a strange expression – as if seeing in her something new and unexpected. Vaje felt a shaft of jealousy spear right through him. It hurt: it hurt to think that she would love Alexandros, even if he knew that she would leave him eventually.

He said absently, “You’re right, Nimue, as you usually are.”

And then he leant forward and carefully gathered Lisa in his arms. She let him, though her face was confused, and a little afraid. He stood and then he carried her out of the rain like a bride, holding her as if she was precious.

“He knew, even then, what she was to him.” Nimue followed them but her voice drifted over the rain. “And I think that was the first time he realised how easily he might lose her.”

The scene shifted: Alexandros was laying Lisa down carefully on a heap of rugs, peeling away the waterlogged cloak. The fire in the room was banked and burning merrily: candles lit the corners to drive away the darkness. The rumble of voices was distant, and the domesticity of it seemed far removed from the dangerous world of war and politics.

Nimue watched from the door, a bag in her hands that smelt of herbs and spices.

He was careful not to let their skin touch, Vaje noted with some puzzlement. Alexandros piled furs and blankets around her until she was cocooned. His face was intent, almost tender. Lisa watched him with wary eyes, shivering even under all the layers. Neither spoke, but the silence was charged.

At last, Nimue gave a sigh and went in.

A mask slid over Alexandros’s face so smoothly it spoke of practice. He was the Governor again, come to rule and ruin Britain.

“Will she live?” he said as the Fey woman peered in Lisa’s eyes and felt her forehead, her skin, listened to her heart.

Nimue made him wait. She dug out some herbs and ground them into paste, throwing in berries and a pinch of a dark powder. Nothing but the sound of pestle in mortar disturbed the air.

“Probably,” she said finally.

Until he relaxed, Vaje wasn’t aware how tense Alexandros had been. A dangerous man indeed.

“I’d like you to spend some time with her,” he said, back to business.

“Given your tender treatment of her, that’s inevitable,” Nimue retorted. “She’ll need infusions for some days yet. Not to mention a decent meal or two.”

“Beyond your professional duties,” he said, with a hint of sharpness which made her glance up. “I’d like you to spend some time teaching her our language. And the local dialects, of course. She’ll need both.”

“With pleasure,” Nimue said. “Perhaps then you will hear her voice.”

The atmosphere became palpably colder. Something dark stirred in Alexandros’s eyes: Vaje felt the roll of power, immeasurable as the sea. Nimue paled, but held her head high.

“I have admitted my mistake,” he said, voice level and controlled. “But I will not be goaded by you Nimue Half-Human. If you do not like this world, there is another I could send you to, far colder, far less accepting of your kind.”

She looked down. Lisa watched both curiously, but did not seem to understand.

“I spoke in haste,” Nimue said. “I ask your pardon.”

The power faded. Whatever lay behind Alexandros’s black eyes sank back into obscurity, leaving him a young man who looked weary, hardly worthy of the titles heaped upon him. “Granted. Take better care of her than I have.”

He left without looking back.

~*~

Lisa shuddered under the impact of the soulmate link. She had heard so many people – gullible people – described it as soft, gentle, magical. It was none of those things, only a magnetism so strong that it was woven into her blood, her bones, her very soul. She could not more resist it than she could shed her skin.

It ran through her like molten lava: she was not sure if it was pain or a kind of ecstasy. Then the brightness and the heat vanished, and there was only Alex.

She could hear his heartbeat as if it was next to hers. She felt his breath as if it filled her lungs, and where his hand was on hers, there seemed little difference between them.

But to her surprise, he was holding back, holding them apart.

His voice came through the link, smoky, low, ironic. I promised I would not go where I was not invited.

You promised a good many things, Alex.

Hurt: black, spiky, crawling through him like brambles. And most, I kept. I broke one promise, Lisanora, one.

The most important one, she said quietly.

I... She felt emotion, piling up against his shields with relentless intensity. You’re right, he said. At least help me keep a less important promise. For Flick.

Show me, she said.

The library came back into focus. It seemed so ordinary, a world unaware of the connection that pulsed between them. The chatter of the book group was mere background.

She formed in front of them: a teenage girl with long dark hair pulled into plaits and a smile full of innocence. There were echoes of Flick in her grey eyes and her blunt bone structure.

Lisa pulled the silver knife from her bag. His eyebrows raised – but it was small, and when she used it to shave a pencil to a fine point, Alex's suspicion vanished. She set it down beside her. It felt comforting to have a weapon, even knowing he could probably wrest it from her anytime he chose.

She began to sketch, grabbing every detail she could.

Meanwhile, she could feel Alex – the press of his fingers light and maddening, emotion surging between them. He was keeping his word, keeping them separate.

And while she was grateful, she didn’t know why.

It was to his advantage to let the soulmate link drown her, to let her remember how good it had been – how good they had been. Surely this had all been a ruse to get close to her.

And still he held back.

The picture grew – she added light and shadow, tried to capture exactly the curve of her smile, tried to bring back the dead in the only way she could. Her misgivings grew with it. She tried to figure out the trap, the grand finale.

She kept her tone light and cool. “Who was she?”

“Flick’s sister. Her name was Karen.” There was regret in his voice that she didn’t understand.

“You sound like you know her.”

Silence spun out while that shadow of a pretty girl smiled as if death was light years away, never to touch her.

Lisa glanced over, and saw his face was pensive. “I know what she’ll look like in a year,” he said quietly, “when Flick will figure out where she’s gone, and find the car by the lake. I know what she’ll become. What they all become, these people I carry.”

The link quivered: his eyes were dark as pitch, and full of what might have been pain.

“I’ve tried to forget them,” he said. “But I can’t.”

Images appeared either side of Karen and her starlight smile: Merlin, face full of dislike – Tristan, arms flung out, face astonished, falling-

“They’re always there,” he said. “They never leave me.”

They vanished.

He took a deep breath. His nails dug into her skin.

She thought his grief was genuine. And that was bewildering. Part of her wanted to be gentle, because she’d loved him once. Another part knew that he would only use her kindness as a lever later. That part remembered why she had ceased to love him.

“Is that what Hades did to you?” she said.

“That’s the smallest part of what he did,” he said, voice rough.

Her heart went cold. He had met Hades then – he had admitted it, and she had to distract him before he realised, before all this emotion drained away and left him clear-minded and calculating.

“I miss them too,” she said. “I wish...I wish it had been different.”

For all that she had gained – her friends, her education, her strength – she had lost something too. Nothing was worth what she had done to Tristan, to Merlin, to the countless men who’s died.

She knew he could feel her sincerity. There would never be a better moment.

“And...maybe it could be,” she said.

He stared at her. His eyes were heavy and soft as smoke. “What do you mean?”

“I promised you a second chance, a long time ago.” It frightened her, saying these words. She let him feel that too. A lie wrapped up in the truth was far more convincing than the lie alone. “Here’s your chance. Take it.”

His face didn’t shift: the link was potent with emotion that was barely held back.

“You’ll have to forgive me if I’m a little sceptical,” he remarked.

“I can understand that,” she said. “I guess...this was a test. To see if you’d changed. If you regretted any of it.”

“Most of it,” he said softly. “But I can’t believe you’d forgive me so easily. After so much blood.”

“I haven’t forgiven you,” she said. “But maybe I will. Only maybe. That’s all I can offer you, but...” and then she saw her opportunity. He had said it himself. “I’ll give you a chance. I’ll swear it in blood.” She gave a careless laugh, one that did not hide her nerves. All the more convincing. “After all, what’s a bit more?”

She saw the belief crystallise in his eyes. He was a Fury to the bone. He understood blood, he understood sacrifice.

Lisa picked up the silver knife. Carefully, avoiding the sketch, she sliced open her palm, then offered it to him. He used it quickly, grimacing – blood welled across the hand he held out to her.

“A second chance,” Alex said.

“I promise,” she said, and took his hand.

The shields between them fractured like glass. He hadn’t expected her to do it. His shock was immense: thoughts and memories and a tidal wave of emotions crashed over her...

How tirelessly he had looked for her. The anger, the shame, the self-loathing when she had left and that nagging little voice saying you should have told her. Saying he tried to take her from me! Saying it wasn’t worth it, not for the world, it wasn’t worth it.

He was haunted by all the memories that came back in the dark empty night to nip at him like rats. The way that she laughed, and the light it brought into her eyes. The times that her eyes met his through crowds, secretive and full of possibility. The fearless way that she walked through armed men, sure of his ability to protect her.

Lisa was stunned. She had never expected he could feel such devotion: she had never known how much pride he took in all those tiny moments with her. Nor had she imagined could be intrigued by such tiny details – the way she did her hair, the softness of her lips.

And it was very hard, then, battered by need and his desire and that torrent of memories, to forget everything that she had loved about him.

His arms found their way around her, and she was unsure if it was memory or reality. She was in a library and in the villa in Aquae Sulis. She wore denim and satin, she wore undyed linen.

She loved him. She loved him not.

Lisa couldn’t even admit to herself whether she meant this embrace, or if it was just feigning to keep her friends safe a little longer, long enough.

Either way, when he kissed her, it was soft slow shivery astonishing...

And there was rain in her hair, sun on her back, years dissolving under the pressure of that kiss.

Alex drew back: heat burned in her cheeks and on her mouth. His smile was dazed, charming.

He said, “Lisanora…”

She blinked, and her head cleared. She didn’t know whether to congratulate herself on her acting, or curse herself for her folly. Then she remembered why she had done it in the first place.

“You’re bleeding,” she said. “I’m sorry – the knife must have had some silver in.”

He blinked, and looked at his hand as if he had only just noticed it. “It’s nothing.”

She dug in her bag and pulled out the tissues, crumpled. “Here.”

“I didn’t know you cared,” he said, and his smile widened. “Until now.”

“Neither did I,” she muttered. Her nerves felt frazzled. It was too much. It wasn’t enough.

He tossed the bloodstained tissues into a bin. A thin red line crossed his palm, slicing his lifeline in two. He carefully put some space between them: he could probably feel her conflict.

“A second chance, then,” he said.

She couldn’t say anything. The remains of his kiss were tingling on her mouth, and she was afraid of the words that it might have inspired.

He stood. His eyes were black and glittering, a flush high on his cheeks. “Meet me tomorrow night. Please.”

She had promised. Lisa nodded. The hope that gleamed in his smile stung her with doubt. She had changed – what if he had, too? What if he was no longer the man who had sold his blood for power?

When he was gone, the library felt too small, too confined. She fled it gratefully, but not before she had picked the tissues from the bin, ready to betray him, because he had taught her so well.

And even knowing what he had done, no longer sure if she wanted to.

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills my mind
I somehow find you and I collide

~*~

Many thanks for reading! I would absolutely adore hearing what you thought.