The gale force thrust him against the wall. Invisible bands snapped from his wrists and neck, every docile acceptance he had ever given lifting from his shoulders. He doubled over when his cells blazed white-hot, the magic burning, leaving his pores in ribbons of smoke.
By the time he straightened, he knew he was free.
Free!
But the knowledge held no joy. Only a painful reminder that he was without Julia. No Druinn would escort him back to earth, even if they’d wanted to prick Zirra’s ire. Not without another Imperian there to anchor the magic. The best they could do was hurl him through the cosmos, like before. By the time he reached Earth again, Julia would be dead.
Zirra yelled with rage and flung herself at him, hitting and kicking. What should have been a catapult of teeth, fists and nails—a warrior woman at her finest—was merely a creature to be pitied. He recognized her agony, because he experienced his own. He understood her obsession. He understood it so well, in fact, he could almost forgive her. Almost.
“I will not rest until you’ve suffered a thousand deaths,” she spat, then collapsed to the floor.
“You cannot curse me again, not when my heart is full of love. But worry not. I will suffer forever, anyway, for I am parted from the woman I love.” How true those words were. His life was nothing without Julia.
He pivoted to leave when a thunderous sound stopped him.
Percen, High Priest of the Druinn, appeared in a brand new whirl of wind, resplendent in his royal robe of turquoise and scarlet cloth. “I wish words with you, Tristan. But first…” He pointed an accusatory finger at Zirra. “I will deal with you, a disgrace to our kind.”
“I am the best of our kind,” she snarled, jolting up.
“Keep talking. You are only increasing the scope of your punishment.”
Gone went her haughty smile, her smug air. She snatched up her robe to cover herself and blurted, “What of Romulis? He aided me.”
“Nay. He aided me by distracting you. He thought he could save you in the process. Alas.”
She licked her lips and backed up a step. “Percen—”
“I told you to leave this mortal alone,” he continued. “I told you the Fates would one day return him.”
Tristan listened to the exchange and just felt…empty. He could not hate the man for having sent him to Julia, any more than he could despise Zirra for it. But he could certainly mourn all he’d lost.
“Percen—” the sorceress tried again.
Percen silenced her with a wave of his hand. “You will interfere in the lives of mortals no more. The Alliance is too important to our kind.” He raised his hands and uttered a spell very much like the spell Zirra had uttered over Tristan so long ago.
Her eyes widened with horror as her body morphed into mist. Mist that got sucked into the very box Tristan had once occupied.
The sovereign looked to Tristan. “I cast the world traveling spell because the time had not yet come to free you. Do you forgive me?”
“I understand and forgive.” And he did.
“The Druinn will leave you in peace.”
“Wait,” Tristan rushed out. “I would first beg a favor from you.”
Percen paused, his expression weary. “I know what you plan to ask.”
“There is an otherworlder, Julia.”
“Aye. This.”
“I ask that you send me back to her somehow,” he finished. If anyone could do it, it was this man, who’d visited Earth a time or two himself.
The male shook his head. “Your place is here. The centuries you endured on other worlds have not yet passed here. To us, you have been gone a short while. We are still adrift as the rebellion grows, and we need leaders such as yourself. But most importantly, it has already been prophesized that your firstborn will one day rule Imperia, ending the feud between our people once and for all. I am sorry, but you must stay here.”
Tristan blinked, almost choking on a wave of longing. My child will rule? “I will have a child with Julia and no other.”
“Would you have this planet at war, simply to be with your woman?”
“Yes! I would burn this planet to the ground to be with her. So bring her to me. I will give her as many children as possible.”
“What if she does not wish to come? She has a shop to run. A sister.”
He lifted his chin. “She will come to me. She loves me.”
Percen sighed. “Very well. If you spend the next season fighting the rebellion and still yearn for the otherworlder—and if she wants to come to you—I will bring her to you.”
Knowing he had no other option to gain his heart’s desire, Tristan gave a stiff nod.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Your Greatest Satisfaction Is Knowing
You Pleased Your Mistress
“JULIA,” FAITH SAID on a sigh. She sat beside Julia’s bed, concerned. “Tristan left you. You can’t mope here forever, neglecting your life and your business, praying for him to return. You have to move on. No man is worth this amount of suffering.”
“You don’t understand, Faithie,” she croaked. She’d known saying goodbye to him would be hard. Brutal, even. She’d thought she would be prepared. But this…this was the cruelest torture, loving Tristan and living without him.
She’d always thought of herself as content. A mistake. She’d never known true contentment before Tristan.
Murky darkness filled her bedroom, the curtains drawn, the lights switched off. She liked it this way. Here, she could remember; she could picture Tristan in her mind and could catch a hint of his lingering scent on the sheets and pretend that he really was here.
“Just go, Faith.” She wanted to be alone with her memories.
Don’t cry. Whatever you do, don’t cry. Once you start, you’ll never stop.
“I went out with Peter again yesterday,” Faith said. “Some women like excitement. I like boring. For some reason, when he starts talking about plants and gardening, I get all hot and bothered.”
“I’m glad
