Roman could have listened to Iris for hours. When he noticed the darkness fading, he held to her tighter, as if his will could stop time. But sunrise was imminent, and they would have no choice but to let go as the light spilled into his bedroom.
It wasn’t daybreak that drove him from the bed but the sounds of the servants on the floor below, moving furniture.
“Are there early risers in your family?” Iris asked as she took note of the predawn noise.
“Yes, but my father keeps to his study.” Roman frowned. “We should probably go. I need to get you back through the garden before anyone notices. But first … I have something for you.”
He forced himself up from the blankets, kneeling beside his desk. He removed the loose floorboard, the place where he had once hidden childhood treasures as well as Iris’s many letters, and he brought out her wedding band and the map he had drawn.
“It kept me good company,” Roman said, sliding the ring onto Iris’s finger. “But I much prefer it on you.”
Iris studied it, the silver winking in the morning light. “Are you sure you don’t need it?”
“I’m certain. And this is a very poorly drawn map.” He set it into her hands next, watching her brow furrow as she sought to make sense of it.
“A map of…？”
“A ley line in Oath.”
Iris’s eyes widened. She listened as Roman explained to her what he had seen, the doors that might be enchanted should they be turned with a key.
“Kitt,” she breathed, tracing his drawing with her finger. “This is brilliant.”
“I hoped you would say that.”
“Would it be too much trouble to ask for other ley lines, should you come across them?”
Roman shook his head. “I have access to the war table. I’ll see what I can do.”
Iris gazed up at him, her eyes shining. For a moment, he almost went to her, almost eased her back down to the warm tangle of the blankets, but a thud from the floor below brought him back to his senses.
There will be another time, he told himself as they rushed to don their clothes. This is not the end.
And yet, in some strange way, it felt like it was as Roman opened the window. He took Iris’s hand, easing her over the sill.
He followed her across the slant of roof and down the trellis, and he took her back the way they had come. The light strengthened by the second, making the dew glitter on the grass and the flowers lift their heads and the trees look stark as the shadow melted.
When they reached the oak and the arbor of brambles, Roman hesitated, tightening his hold on Iris’s hand.
“I’ll see you soon,” she whispered.
He nodded but drew her close, kissing her open-mouthed and ravenous, his tongue sliding along hers, until he forced himself to break away. He stepped back, but his gaze remained on her.
“Be safe, Iris,” he said. “I’ll write to you first, when I’ve returned to my station.”
“I’ll try to be patient,” she replied.
That provoked a small smile from him. “I never scolded you for that, by the way. As you asked me to do in person.”
Iris gave him a wicked grin. “Next time, then? Oh, and you were right, Kitt.”
“About what, Winnow?”
She waited to answer until she had almost vanished among the brambles, her voice carrying through the vines. “Your bed fits the two of us perfectly.”
* * *
He had to hurry back, coughing into his sleeve. Uneasy, Roman climbed the trellis, unable to take a full breath until he was safe in his room again, the window closed behind him.
He only had a few more minutes, and he straightened his room. He made the bed, smoothing all traces of him and Iris from the blankets, but his hand froze when he saw the small green book resting on the rug.
Iris’s bird volume.
Roman picked it up, leafing through the old pages. He almost put it on the shelf with his other books, but he stopped himself at the last minute. This was such a tiny tome. Something he could easily carry with him. A tangible reminder of her.
He slipped it into his pocket.
He was opening his wardrobe door to find his jumpsuit when he felt the house shake. It was distinct enough to make him pause, a shudder crawling down his spine.
Roman walked from his room, listening to the sounds that echoed through the corridors. There were distant male voices, more shifting furniture, the sound of boots on hardwood floors.
He hurried down the hallway, stiff with trepidation.
His ankles popped as he descended the stairs, leaving the sleepy shadows of the upper story for the brightly lit ground floor, and he froze when he was five steps from the bottom, staring into the parlor.