She wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned in, pressing her cheek to his while he collected himself.
A moment was all it took for Elzar to hug her back, tucking his head against hers. “Avar,” he said. Avar opened up completely to the Force and thought, Elzar.
“I’ve struggled with it, too. Thought it was dangerous, selfish, something to be carved out. That’s a common interpretation of what we’re taught. But that’s also too easy of an answer. That love is attachment, that it’s selfish, possessive. It isn’t. I was wrong.”
The look she gave him was like that sea he found inside himself, the Force, deep and endless and impossible to fully comprehend.
You could drown in it.
Before Avar could concur, her gaze swung to the door. Elzar.
She felt him suddenly. Nearby. Headed her way.
A lightness filled her up like carbonation, expanding in her heart. The doors to the covered patio were flung open, the real wood thumping hard against the marble wall.
“In the six weeks she’d been back from Nihil-occupied territory, she hadn’t grown used to the layers of appropriate Jedi attire again. She embraced the Temple uniform for what it symbolized, though: being a part of a whole, a melody in a great symphony.
Her hand was cool in his, and Elzar thought of how she’d kissed him in a room full of people on Naboo.
He swallowed.
“Good morning,” Avar said.
“I’ve been up for hours,” he teased. Then he squeezed her fingers. “I just told Master Yoda I won’t take the seat.”
“How?”
“Avar glanced at Belin, who seemed to have shrunk back into his chair. His eyes were wild. He was patting himself all over, as if checking he was still real, still whole. “The Force,” she said, as if the two words encapsulated everything he could ever need to know.”
Avar slowly slid her hands around him, pressing her palms flat against his back so that she could be fully against him. Her temple touched his cheek. The metal of her new diadem a line of cool relief between them.
Elzar took another breath and reached for Avar. Her song reached back, and they connected.
Elzar.
He felt his name in her voice and replied, Avar.
Hearts together through the Force.
Avar waited. Though she had silenced her comlink to replies, the song of the system told her that no Vectors had altered course toward the rapidly accelerating Third Horizon. They had all decided to stay. The Jedi were with her.
“Let’s begin,” she said.
Only, during the last year, the song had become faint and discordant. Muffled and broken. As though she could hear it still playing in the distance, but could no longer discern the different notes, could no longer feel its grace.
“That’s love. That’s the purest form of light. How can a sliver of it here between us be wrong?”
A tremor of something shook Elzar. He didn’t look away.
She got even closer, so all she could see were the galaxies in his eyes.
“Assault? Marshal Kriss, must I remind you that the council has recommended caution? And must I remind you, Stellan, that time is running out. The Nihile have a weapon that can turn our people to dust. Lourna Dee is the key to that weapon.”
She turned her face and kissed him, deeply and lazily. Elzar’s arms tightened around her. He kissed her back, tentatively enough she knew he was still overthinking it. It made her smile into his lips.
“Are you laughing at me?” he murmured.
“A little bit.”
Elzar and Avar hadn’t had to be torn apart. They’d been reasonable. Responsible. They’d known what they were doing and what the limitations had to be.
So Elzar had believed. But even though he had grown up and gained perspective, it appeared he couldn’t move on.
She had their voices in her mind, their hooked, slimy fingers down her throat, violating every boundary they could. Avar choked on it, her free hand clawing up her neck, her mouth gaping. She had to get it out. Block it from—
“Avar!” Elzar yelled.
Avar would have looked away, except the next instant, Cair flung himself at Xylan, and the Graf caught him with a soft oof. They were sweet, filling her with gladness, relief, and yearning—until she realized her feelings weren’t coming from only her own heart. The pull was clear.
“I should know better than to say this,” Admiral Kronara said, “but I believe the worst might be over.”
You should know better than to say that, Avar thought. The Force was still singing in her mind, and right in the middle of it, still, a huge, blank spot.
Once, she’d refused him. Elzar had always been the one asking. Avar thought it wasn’t their duty, it wasn’t who they’d chosen to be, so she had to refuse. But if she’d learned anything about the Force in the past years, living and cosmic, it was that the Force reached.