Chapter Twenty-One
It is one of those rare mornings when I wake immediately full of the day’s joy, even though out of the window one cannot distinguish between the cold greys of the sky and the mountains. I have slept leant against him. I have slept with him inside me. Much of the blood has retreated now, but there is still some intent in that warrior prick.
I must let him go, however, although part of me wants to cling to this moment for all my days. Another part reminds me that it was rash to give him the henbane, and the less he has cause to dwell upon last night’s frenzy, the better. His memories will come in a blur, as mine did after taking the passion potion. He will feel confused—weak too from the Önd stolen from him. He will know he was in thrall to Venera, maybe recall some of h
