Oh, Covenant. She had never called him Tom, or even Thomas: only Covenant. In her eyes, pacts and promises defined him. Without them, she could not have learned to love him.

Leaning closer, she said in a low voice as soft as a breath, “I wish that you would come back. I need you. I can’t do this without you.”

Still he did not react. After a moment, an autonomic shiver ran through him as if he were indeed chilled; freezing in the white void of destroyed life.

He had warned her not to touch him. But surely that prohibition was meaningless while his memories ruled him?

Surely his flesh would welcome her human warmth?

With great care, Linden shifted closer to him. Timidly, as if she risked violating a bond as fragile as trust, she lowered her head to his shoulder.

When he did not flinch or spurn her, she allowed herself to snuggle against him; nestle her forehead in the hollow of his neck. Later she stretched her arm lightly across his chest.

In that position, his absence was vivid to her, as hurtful as a wound. Nevertheless she did not pull away. The sense of cold in him was growing stronger: she hoped to help him resist it. And she needed this contact. Since she could not rescue Jeremiah, Covenant’s involuntary embrace, vacant and fraught, might be as close as she would ever come to the touch of true tenderness.

Some time later, her hopes were answered. The wedding band between her breasts began to emit a gentle heat, responding naturally to his need. And soon the ring’s soft warmth eased his chill. He did not return to himself; but perhaps he had found his way into some less bitter region of his memories.

After that, the metal cooled again. Apparently he had stopped calling upon it, or he had slipped beyond its reach. Still his ring’s brief energy reassured Linden, as if she had been given a sign. Some of her fears receded as she waited for daylight, and for the completion of Liand’s cairn, and for decisions that she could not make.

Seeming as reluctant as Linden, the sun finally rose above the constricted horizon of the hills. If she had looked westward, she might have glimpsed daylight on the dour cliff of Landsdrop earlier. But she had remained pressed against Covenant, unwilling to surrender any precious moment of contact with him, until she felt the sun shining directly on her. When he recovered from his fall, he would push her away.

With the sun’s rising, however, she became self-conscious. Stave had heard Covenant forbid her to touch him. In daylight, she could not ignore the former Master. With an effort, she forced herself to shift until she leaned on stone rather than on Covenant’s unwitting support.

The sun was pleasant on her cheek, a balm for the night’s coolness. Later, she knew, it would gather warmth until it seemed too hot for the season. But by then the heat would be the least of her problems.