Looking away, Barl let herself slump against the bookshelves. Morgan watched her, his heart pounding, so frightened she’d say no and walk out of his life forever.

What will I do if she leaves me? How will I live if she’s gone?

“Barl—”

She held up a hand, demanding his silence. So he fell silent, and waited, sweat trickling down his ribs.

At last she straightened, and stepped close to him. Her hand, fingers spread, came to rest above his thundering heart. Lifting her head she stared at him, seeming to see right through his soul.

“Swear to me, Morgan, on the memory of your father, that everything you’ve said is true. That Dorana is in mortal danger. That there is no other way to save it but this. And that if we should learn we’ve made a mistake we will stop our dangerous magework… and destroy all trace of what we’ve done.”

He covered her hand with his. Lowered his lips to hers, and kissed her. Relief and joy and excitement were a bonfire in his blood.

“My love… my beloved… I do so solemnly swear.”

“Promise me this, Barl. Promise me you won’t die.”

Lying in Morgan’s bed as he slept restless beside her, Barl heard his anguished plea echo in her memory, and sighed. He was so powerful, and yet so afraid. She’d never expected that. The new Lord Danfey was such a contradiction. In his magework unassailable, but in her arms, as vulnerable as a child. And not simply because he mourned for his father. He was scarred more deeply than that.

Since the night of Lord Danfey’s death, Morgan had laid his life bare to her. She’d wept with him as he remembered his mother. Held him tight as he shared his memories of Luzena, reliving his first love’s cruel, untimely death. Watched him, close to tears, as he haltingly roamed his chamber, chivvied by Greve Danfey, that imperious, autocratic, demanding old man.

Four days had passed since his lordship’s crypting, performed privily with only themselves and Rumm as witness. She’d helped Morgan with the preserving incants and the effigy for the tomb, lending him her magework when his own faltered beneath the burden of his overpowering grief. At first she’d been afraid her own memories of loss would render her useless to help him. Instead they’d given her strength… and he’d leaned on that strength as though without it he would perish.

“Promise me this, Barl. Promise me you won’t die.”

And of course she’d promised. What else could she do?

“Neither of us will die, Morgan. You and I will live forever.”

Which wasn’t true, and never could be. Of course they knew that. But for a small time they had to pretend it was, or be broken to pieces.