Home. The word echoed in her head. He wanted to go back, and she couldn’t blame him. “One day you might be given a chance to go back without Zirra’s help to finish what your king called you to do.”
“Nay.” The response came swiftly, but nothing came after it.
“There’s got to be a way.”
“There is. The day I fall in love, the curse will break, and I will go back.”
Her chest tightened. “Maybe I could visit?” She longed to visit Imperia again.
Expression dark, muscles clenched, he shook his head. “I have no magic to transport you, Julia. If I went back, I would never see you again.”
And he wanted to see her more than he wanted to go home? “Are you ready for your shower now?” she asked, because she didn’t know what else to say.
“Nay. I am ready for our shower.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
You Own Nothing, Not Even Your Own Happiness
LATER, JULIA AND TRISTAN FOUND themselves in the backyard, a cool breeze gusting. Muted rays of light fought with mounting darkness. Tristan’s box was still locked inside the planter, where it would stay, a great relief. They laughed, played tag and rolled atop a hill. Because of the storm, the ground was soft and wet, and streaked them both with mud.
Tristan made a great production of removing the twigs from Julia’s hair as she struggled to contain her laughter. Each time she smiled, his own lips would stretch, unbidden, into a grin. He did not recall a time when he’d been happier or more carefree.
They settled on lounge chairs, lying there in the cold and holding each other to stay warm. He shared memories of his mother and of the trouble in which he, a precocious and mischievous little toddler with a sweet tooth, had always found himself.
“Before my parents split up,” Julia said, “I once found Faith’s diary, copied the pages and taped them all over the house. I’m still not sure if she’s forgiven me.”
“Cruel, cruel Julia,” he teased.
“I had to do something to make her suffer.” Almost absently, she picked at the ivory buttons on his coat. “The night before, she’d sneaked into my room and cut off all my hair. Looking back, I know we just wanted my parent’s attention.”
He tangled his fingers in the thick mass, angling her head up. His eyes flashed. “Such a travesty deserved a harsh punishment. You did well.”
“Thank you,” she said, fluffing her hair.
Beautiful female. Needing her again, he captured her lips with his own then, a hungry kiss that filled his soul and melted his bones.
* * *
THE NEXT TIME ROMULIS APPEARED to Zirra, he gripped a turquoise shard of the Kyi-en-Tra Crystal, the source of all their power. Smug secrets danced in the golden depths of his eyes as he angrily faced her.
“Think you Tristan is the only man who can meet your desires?” he growled.
“Aye,” she answered, though a single doubt sprang to life inside her. She hastily tamped it down. “I do,” she said with greater force, more for her own benefit than his.
He blinked, the action somehow highlighting the smugness in his eyes. “Even if I prove beyond a doubt that he hungers for another?”
Her stomach twisted at the thought, yet she had to know. “What have you found?”
“Watch,” he commanded. “See.”
He lifted the prism. With a few muttered words, multiple rays of color exploded toward the ceiling. Red, pink, blue, green, all brilliant and nearly blinding. They whirled together, colliding, mixing, and when they evaporated, she spied Tristan’s image hovering in her air.
Zirra watched him and his guan ren play and laugh. Tristan tackled the woman to the ground, twisting in midair to take the brunt of the fall upon himself. The woman smiled up at Tristan. He returned the smile with one of his own, one filled with joy and affection. Then he kissed her hungrily.
Waves of emotion flooded Zirra, a sea of anger and fear, cresting with a relentless desperation so intense she wanted to shout, You belong with me.
“I cast a spell to destroy that woman,” she said through clenched teeth. “Why is she still alive?”
“Your magic was too weak to do much harm.”
“But yours was not, and you helped me with the spell.”
“Nay.” He slowly shook his head. “I only helped you with your powers. I used none of my own.”
Pure hatred filled her. For Romulis or the woman, she wasn’t sure which. “Kill the woman for me, Romulis. Kill her.”
Lethal fury smoldered in his gaze, and he watched her for a prolonged moment. “This is how you react? Do you not see these two are in love?”
“They are not in love, you fool,” she spat. “Otherwise, his spell would be broken.”
“Why can you not forget him?”
Her nails cut into her palm. “I will forget him when I am dead, and no sooner.”
“Mayhap that can be arranged,” he said quietly, deceptively, and strode from the chamber.
* * *
ZIRRA SPENT THE NEXT HOUR agonizing over exactly how to acquire Tristan. She wanted his box, and to get it, she must first destroy his guan ren. But how? How did she accomplish those things when her magic continued to fail her? When Romulis continued to refuse her?
The answer lay in Romulis. He could not refuse her for long, for he had given her his vow. He must help her.
Scowling, she prowled through the empty, silent hallways, a meadow of arching walkways, sea-scented air and cool, midnight-colored marble flooring, a direct contrast to the alabaster columns that stretched to the high, high ceilings.
Because she did not acknowledge the lamori gems, they ignored her, enveloping her in darkness. But then, she did not need light; she knew the way. Knew all the palace residents slumbered peacefully in their beds. Because of their magic, they assumed no one possessed enough courage to stalk their hallowed halls. That complacency might one day be their downfall, she thought disgustedly.
Finally she reached Romulis’s private passage. She did not bother to announce
