There was one sheet of magical paper left and a bit of wax. It was enough for one more letter.

She knew who the recipient had to be. The trouble was, she was having an inordinate amount of difficulty figuring out what to say. There was so much to tell him, yet every time she put quill to paper, the words evaporated from her mind like water on the desert sands.

One page, one letter. No room for mistakes, crossed out words, or poorly phrased sentiments. One page and one page only.

No resources to start over again. And no time. It had to be now; it had to be right. And so Yasminna was standing at the open window of her appointed room in the Conclave's tower, remembering Ibrahil, remembering their last night together, the savage argument, the viciously intimate interlude after. She'd crept away in the small hours of the night, unable to bring herself to say goodbye.

Maybe some of it was cowardice; most of it was fatigue. He didn't understand why she had to go, why she didn't request a reassignment with him to Khal-tur. She was under orders not to tell him or anyone else where she was going and why. In the ten days between their reassignment and departure they'd argued at least once every day, if not twice. Feeling combat weary and so sad she could hardly see, she sank herself into Yahim Atafadhi and held her breath until she felt the ship warping away from the dock.

As if on the fragrance of the roses from the gardens, the letter's beginning blossomed in her mind.

She looked at the sheet upon the desk. One page only.

Yasminna sat down and began to write.

Dearest Ibrahil,

It is only because I know this letter will go to you directly, without incident, that I can bear to write it. Even so, the magical resources gifted me do not allow me to tell you anything except that which you need to know. I cannot and will not tell you where I am, nor any detail of what has become of me. I use the last of his precious ink and paper to tell you what is in my heart.

I can guess from the nature of your new duty station that you are in constant danger. Yes, "danger is what we do," but these stakes are larger than either of us could have imagined, that last night together in Char. There is no one better than you to carry out the tasks you've been assigned -- I do not know what they are with any certainty, but I know you -- and I pray nightly for your success.

Even so, the mission sometimes requires blood be shed. It is possible that we may never again lay eyes upon each other in this life. I bitterly repent my angry words during our last days together and would ask your forgiveness in person were it possible. You have mine even though I know in your pride you would not ask. I understand what compelled you to argue so forcefully for me to remain at your side; now more than ever, perhaps, I understand. It is among my deeper sorrows that I simply could not reciprocate.

My affection for you as a friend and appreciation for you as a lover remain undimmed; your place in my heart is assured forever. It just cannot be the place you wanted. I am sorry, Ibrahil -- I would not hurt you for the world and all in it, but that is the truth I have finally come to understand.

Please forgive me. Pray for me. And if we meet again in the life after this, I hope love will overcome anger and pain so that we may find what peace we may together.

Fondly,

Yasmin