So little time. They had so little time left.
Pulling him toward her, she kissed him. He turned stone still with shock. She pushed her hands into his hair and kissed him more fervently.
Suddenly he was kissing her back, with a hunger that both thrilled and frightened her.
And just as suddenly they were back in his room, sitting on two sides of his desk, touching nowhere.
“We cannot,” he said quietly. “I had thought love would bind us together in one purpose. I was wrong. The situation is more complicated than that. You must leave me behind at some point, when I am of no more use. And that is not a decision to be made or unmade under the influence of unnecessary emotions.”
Unnecessary emotions.
Heat prickled her cheeks and the shells of her ears. Her windpipe burned, if someone had shoved a torch down her throat.
The utter humiliation of it, to be rejected like this, all in the name of the Mission . . .
But even worse was the absolute certainty in his voice. He lived his life counting down toward its end. She might as well have fallen in love with someone on his deathbed.
“Please,” she heard herself speak past the lump in her throat, “don’t be so melodramatic. Don’t confuse a simple kiss with eternal adoration. I am surrounded by handsome boys—have you not noticed how gorgeous Kashkari is?—but you are the only one I can kiss without getting into trouble.
“Besides, have you forgotten that you are my captor? I can never love you when I’m not free. That you think I could only shows how little understanding you have of love.” She rose. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to be in my room before lights-out.”
The colossus cockatrices roared uselessly outside. The wyverns had been contained in a corner of the great hall. Titus made the long, long climb to the garret of the castle, his footsteps heavy with fatigue and dejection.
Sleeping Beauty was deep in her slumber. He sank onto one knee and cupped her cheeks with his hands.
Very gently, he bent his head and kissed her.
She opened her eyes; they were the color of midnight. Her hair, too, was pure shadow.
He knew the texture of her hair, because he had once cut it himself. He knew the taste of her lips because he had kissed her—and as of today, been kissed by her.
“Iolanthe,” he murmured.
She smiled. “You know my name.”
“Yes, I know your name.” And here, inside the Crucible, was the only place where he dared to call her—to even think of her—by that name.
“I have missed you,” she whispered, her arms rising to entwine around his shoulders. “Kiss me again.”
He had changed her dialogue just before he entered the Crucible. These were the precise words he wanted to hear. But they echoed hollowly against the walls of the garret, meaningless sounds that neither soothed nor reassured.
“Ignore what I said earlier, when I was annoyed,” she went on, her fingers combing through his hair.
But he couldn’t. He knew how much time she spent with Kashkari—they were always walking to or from cricket practice together. And how stupid of him to suppose that she could forget, even for a moment, that she was here against her will.
“And they lived happily ever after,” he said.
Now he was back in his empty room. He rose from his chair and laid a hand upon the wall between his room and hers, as if that could propel his thoughts across everything that separated them and make her understand that it was not her kiss that frightened him, but his own reaction to it.
Because if he loved her, he would never be able to push her into mortal danger.
Yet he must, or he would have lived his entire life in vain.
CHAPTER 
21
UPON THE PLAYING FIELDS, A cricket game was in full progress, penned in by a crowd nine deep. West, the future captain of the school team, struck a ball directly out of bounds, giving his club six runs. The spectators roared with approval.
“Johnny, you must introduce me to West,” a girl to the right of Titus said to her brother. “You simply must.”
“But I’ve never been within a hundred feet of him,” protested Johnny, a portly junior boy.
“Johnny, my dear,” said his stern-looking mother, “is that all the enterprise you possess? If your sister wishes to meet West, then you will endeavor to make it happen.”
Fourth of June was Eton’s biggest annual fete, a daylong celebration marked by speeches in the morning, a cricket game in the afternoon, a procession of boats in the evening, and a display of fireworks at night, the whole heavily attended by Old Etonians and the families of current pupils.
Titus had forgotten what a horde of sisters and mothers always descended, inundating the school in a tide of pastel. Ruffles, ribbons, bustled skirts abounded. Thousands of silk-flower-trimmed hats bobbed and joggled. The air was heavy with perfumes of rose and lilies.
Such femininity struck him as exaggerated, almost caricature-ish. These days, a girl was most beautiful to him in short hair, a uniform, and a derby set at a rakish angle.
He scanned the mob. Fairfax had not returned. She had banded together with Kashkari and Wintervale, who also had no family in attendance, for a picnic. Titus could have joined them, but he did not.
He and Fairfax had not exactly been avoiding each other. They spoke daily concerning news from the Domain, her training, and his search for a spell to permanently incapacitate the Inquisitor. But their interaction had become formal, structured, questions that changed little from day to day, and answers that varied even less.
It was probably for the best.
But he could not help wishing otherwise. All the more so since Dalbert was on leave—his dying mother wished him to accompany her to a spiritual retreat on Ondine Island, near her place of birth. Without Dalbert’s daily reports, Titus felt as if he stood blindfolded in a minefield.
At least the last bit of news Dalbert reported before he left had been the most welcome yet: the Inquisitor had been transported to Atlantis, likely due to further deterioration of her condition.
A commotion behind Titus made him turn around. A group of men were pushing through the crowd, much to the consternation of those being shoved out of the way. To his displeasure, Titus recognized the coat of arms on the livery of the men coming toward him as the invented heraldry of Saxe-Limburg, his fictional place of origin. Behind the men came Greencomb, Alectus’s secretary, dressed in a nonmage suit.
“Your Highness.” Greencomb bowed. “The regent and Lady Callista humbly beg the honor of your presence.”
“They are here?”
“Indeed. It is a day for family, sire.”
Alectus and Lady Callista had never attended previous Fourths of June. Titus frowned. This was exactly the sort of land mine that blew up in one’s face when one gave leave to one’s indispensable spymaster. What new devilry was Lady Callista plotting?
Greencomb indicated a large white canopy that had been erected at the edge of the field. With the attendants parting the crowd before him, Titus headed toward the canopy, Greencomb trailing behind.
Murmurs went through the gathering. He had never been the center of attention at Eton, but now boys who had known him for years were taking second and third looks.
The occupants of the canopy came into view. There was Alectus, looking as eager and useless as ever. Lady Callista, to his left, was gathering a crowd of gawkers. And to Alectus’s right—
Stood the Inquisitor.
Like everyone else, she had been wrangled into nonmage clothes. Tiered, gathered silk skirt over a large bustle, a feathered hat, and a fringed parasol, all in black. She looked ridiculous but perfectly healthy.