The Continent (The Continent #1)(58)

“Noro?” I say, the knives forgotten. “What is it?”

He reaches for my hands and pulls me close to him. “When first we met, you were a frightened thing, robbed of all you had known and loved. You were broken, lost, then stolen by grief as you recovered in the healing room. You have come back to life, girl—I can see it in your eyes. I have watched you carve a way out of the darkness, even as the Continent thrust you into a life you did not plan, one you have embraced at each turn with courage and grace.” He smiles. “And now, I see you, girl. Alive. Brave. It is a beautiful thing.”

I cannot think what to say to this, but it is no matter. Half a moment later, Noro’s fingers gently brush my cheek, and his lips find mine.

It is strange what becomes clear when a small thing changes us forever. What we have counted as merely ordinary takes on new meaning when viewed with the certainty of hindsight. For me, this has never been more true: with something so small as a kiss, Noro has opened my eyes.

In my grief, in my weakness, he was there from the beginning. I was drawn to his strength, but he did not want for me to rely upon him—what he wanted most of all was for me to come into a strength of my own. I see this now, by his absence when I grieved at Eno’s, by his friendship over the past two months, by the look in his beautiful dark eyes in the moment before he kissed me. There has been no grand process involving a declaration of intention, no series of parties and family gatherings. Our courtship began long ago, with the kindness of Noro’s heart. This is all so different than the stilted, regulated romantic traditions of the Spire. The path to love has been completely unfettered by formality; Noro simply waited for me to come back to myself, and when I did, he allowed himself to love me.

When he kissed me, I knew it was all the declaration that was required. My acceptance of his affection was an admission of my own feelings, my willingness to pursue a romance. I know this, I feel it—and it brings me joy rather than anxiety. I embrace my feelings with a very un-Spirian, nearly improper sense of excitement and anticipation.

However: if it was difficult before to see him set out on a council mission, it is agony now. I was correct when I assumed that they would be sending him away—just a few short hours after our intimate moment in the garden, he is gone. I spend most of the evening in a state of both elation and terror; my heart soars at the memory of his kiss—a thing not wet, or brief, or strange, like it was with Aaden, but powerful enough to shatter my very sensibilities—then thrums with fear at the thought of the danger before him. Every moment brings a new emotion, like I am lost at sea, my spirit at the mercy of the cresting waves.

I count the days while he is away, three, four, five. In my mind, the Topi lie in wait to ambush him. I see his blood upon the mountain snow, his body defiled and left to rot. I wake in the night with dread burning in my stomach, certain that I’ve somehow sensed his death. My heart, still mending from the loss of my family, surely could not survive the loss of Noro as well.

Most of his trips have been relatively short—four days, six days, ten at most. By the eighth day, I crawl into bed feeling like there is a stone in my stomach, and cry myself to sleep. I curse him for kissing me, for changing things, for making this so much harder. Yuki spends most of the week with me and tries to divert me as best she can; she brings me new books to read, but I stare at the pages, my mind in the wilderness with Noro.

The days tick by, nine, ten, eleven.

Keiji is unruffled. Noro’s been away for a month before, he tells me. There isn’t a Topi alive who can kill him. I want to believe this.

I do not.

On the morning marking fourteen days, I go from task to task without care or purpose. I send Yuki away when she calls on me; I tell Keiji to go home when he knocks on the door. I climb into my bed at the end of the day, the green quilt drawn high around my shoulders, and watch the moon rise through the window. It surely has seen Noro, and knows where he is, but it has no answers for me. It only gleams white and silent in the blackened sky.

I hear my name, whispered from far away, in a voice I have longed to hear.

Vaela, he says. I’ve returned.

Noro, I say to the voice in my dream, I thought you were dead. The moon wouldn’t tell me a thing. Are you dead?

A gentle shake of my shoulder draws me from the thick fog of sleep, and I see Noro sitting on the edge of my bed, his face illuminated by moonlight. I sit up at once and catch my breath.

“I’m awake?” I say. I don’t want to be dreaming.

“You’re awake.” The deep, low sound of his voice fills me with warmth.

I reach out and take his hand, my senses coming into focus. He smells of sweat and earth, and it is the sweetest scent I have ever known. He is alive. He has come back to me.

“Is it all right that I’m here?” he says. “You left a lamp in the window, which…well…to my people, at least, is an invitation to enter. I only wanted to ensure that you were all right. I didn’t want to wait until—”

I silence him with a kiss, my arms encircling his neck, pulling him close. All sense of Spirian propriety is washed away in my relief. I feel bold, independent. My lips press against his with an urgency I cannot deny; a moment later I feel his arms slide around my waist, and I am lost to the world. This kiss is nothing like the one we shared in the garden—that was a whispered question, could you love me, too? This kiss, then, is the answer; it burns through us both, splitting the world into starlight. His lips taste of salt, his hands feel like fire against my skin. Never have I felt so alive. Never have I felt such boundless, rapturous joy. I do love you, Noro. I do. It is a truth not spontaneous, not new, but one that has been building in my heart from the moment I set eyes on him.