Unlike other recent meetings, which had taken place in her bedroom, the two of them stared at each other over the vast oak expanse of Iolanthe’s desk, in the office of the Colonial Governor. It was a room designed to impress and intimidate. The ceiling was more than twenty feet high and the entire south wall was made up of large windows that looked out over the now expansive city. The opposite wall was filled with two large world maps. One featured Brechalon, the rest of Sumir, and the western hemisphere, while the other featured Birmisia, the entirety of Mallon, and the east. She leaned back in the leather-clad chair and pressed her fingertips together. His chair was within arms reach of the globe, so large that it took two people to turn it on its axis.
“Anything that concerns you is of concern to me,” he said.
Saba took a deep breath and slowly let it out. He stood slowly up.
“Nothing ends until I say it does,” said Iolanthe.
“You just did.” He turned and started the long walk to the door. The trip across the deep red carpet seemed like a journey of a fortnight, like a journey that would never end. He expected at any moment to be stopped with a word or to be called back, but he wasn’t. He put his hand on the knob, turned it, and a second later was in the outer office, next to Mrs. Wardlaw’s desk.
And he knew at that moment that he would never be with Iolanthe again—never be in her bed again. He had loved her as long as he could remember. In fact, his earliest memory was of loving her. But he would never have her again. He would never touch her and feel her purr into his neck. He would never taste her lips again.
“What’s that, Chief?” asked Mrs. Wardlaw from behind a file folder.