Fear was a shadow, whispering lies and chaining her to the past. It had made her keep the world at arm’s length, suppressing her passions and allowing only snippets of feelings instead of a whole rainbow of emotions. Just as she accepted that she needed to be free of fear in more ways than one, as well as the feeling of her success and the process of wielding, she felt a gentle leaf appear in the palm of her hand. She looked down, and there on her hand lay a clover, surrounded by a green mist.
“I did it!” she squealed.
Isla spun around and wrapped her arms around Andrew. He nearly toppled backward but laughed at her exuberance. Shocked that she was the one to initiate the contact, she quickly stepped back, her cheeks aflame. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”
Looking delighted, Andrew’s smile widened. “Never apologize for throwing yourself into my arms.”
Her cheeks deepened in color as she narrowed her eyes at him, caught somewhere between embarrassment and amusement.
“I’m here for anything you need, Isla.”
His tone was humorous, but his eyes held something deeper. As they spent time together, she felt they were moving closer to something special. But she was still scared, despite how far she’d come. She cleared her throat.
“I suppose that means you’re prepared to take responsibility for supervising my next experiment?” she asked.
“Experiment?” He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching.
With a playful smirk, she focused her energy, feeling the subtle pulse of earth beneath her fingertips. A perfectly round mud pie appeared in her hand, and she lobbed it straight at Andrew, who barely had time to dodge—though not before a small splatter landed on his shoulder.
“Very scientific,” he muttered, wiping the mud off his jacket with mock indignation, his eyes twinkling. “I’ll have to note that in your experimental report.”
Smiling, she tipped her chin toward the target.
Over the next hour she felt a smug satisfaction that George had in fact been right—earth did pack a punch. Although she felt drained, she could feel her mind and body getting used to using her gifts for longer stretches of time.
She also knew that she had been wrong. A certain professor wasn’t intolerable as she had once thought, not in the least.
Chapter Twenty-Four
How are you feeling, Isla? You’ve used a great deal of energy today—that was quite the successful session.” Edmund’s deep voice rumbled as the group exited the training arena.
“I’m right as rain, Edmund. Thank you for asking. Though I wouldn’t mind eating a slice of cake.”
Andrew laughed, which seemed to please Isla. He should have felt insecure with Edmund also being an eligible bachelor—the impressive specimen of a man that he was. However, Andrew took great comfort in the memory of Isla briefly throwing her arms around him on the archery range. She had let her guard down even more. Yes, she’d let him hold her hand in recent days, and she hadn’t scolded him earlier for how close he had gotten to her during their archery session—the softness of her skin against his face still lingered—but she had initiated contact again, and for that fleeting moment, holding her that closely had felt like coming home.
They left the path to the hidden range behind, George bidding them farewell as he locked up. The winding path led them back toward the main building, its gothic towers piercing the dusky sky.
“Still no news on the visiting Oxford professor? Do you think he’s okay?” Juliette asked.
“I hope so, though I am worried. My men haven’t heard a thing,” Edmund replied, looking grim.
The group left the grassy path and walked through a patch of skeletal trees. Their branches were almost bare, the last stubborn leaves clinging like tattered banners in the wind, whispering of the season’s end. The encroaching dark cast ominous-looking shadows, and Andrew noticed Isla close the gap a little, moving closer to him as they walked.
His mind tumbled backward through the years to another life when she had sought comfort from him. The memory lingered in the water’s molecules that surrounded them, landing in a quiet country home bathed in the warm glow of late afternoon. Isla was there—old now, her hair silver, her skin lined with the years they had spent together. He sat at her side, holding her trembling hand in his, fingers entwined as they had been for decades. The garden outside their window bloomed with late-summer roses, the same variety she had loved planting when they’d first wed. He watched her take shallow breaths, each one a fragile thread tying her to the world.
She was fading, and he knew it. The bed they had shared for decades had become her final place of rest. He remembered how her eyes—though clouded by age—still held that same spark, the same earthbound strength that had first undone him centuries ago. Pressing his forehead to hers, he silently begged for just one more dawn together. The weight of losing her, even for a time, crashed over him. The world could strip them of youth, of health, of time itself, but not of this: the unbearable, breathtaking truth that to love her was both his greatest gift and his deepest grief.
The inevitability of loss pressed down on him—the agony of having loved someone for a lifetime and knowing the world would be dim without her. Yet even in the shadow of that despair, he felt the unshakable truth that their love had enduredtime itself. He would see her again, in another life. They were Fated, but this moment—the depth of her presence, her heartbeat, the subtle sighs and soft warmth of her skin—was heartbreakingly precious.
“Are you okay, Andrew?” Her voice was soft, bringing him fully back to the present, quiet enough that the others couldn’t hear. He wanted to tell her his memories, to have no secrets, but was she ready?
He noticed his breathing had become ragged, the pain of that night resurfacing. He looked at her—wrinkles and laughter lines gone, her skin smooth and glowing in the dimming light. The end of each life always carried the same agony: the fear that he would rise alone, never to find her again—or that she would be hurting, and he wouldn’t be there to help. Or worse still—that this would be the life when she didn’t want him.
“Andrew?” she whispered again, concern and confusion crossing her face. He could feel the echo of past losses lingering in his mind as he watched her now, full of life. He wouldn’t waste another moment not pursuing the woman he loved more than life itself. Without her, life was bleak.
“Just lost in a memory,” he said softly, meeting her gaze, the gravity of it still lingering in his mind.
She studied him closely, unsure what to do with this serious side of him. He could almost see the indecision flicker across her face—whether to step back and leave him to his thoughts, or to step forward and offer comfort. For all that Isla had built her shields high to keep others at bay, she was not a cruel woman. Quite the opposite. She could see he was hurting.
