Author's note : It's a slightly longer and more intense chapter with answers, betrayal, a bit of lemon (or lime ? Idk the border. Anyway, they've earned it), and reconciliations. Happy reading !
When Lyra, Will, and their dæmons passed through the window once again, they were surprised to find that a powerful storm had occurred in Montroyal, similar to the one they had encountered in New York. The ground was soaked with water, the air had barely cooled down, and the sky remained filled with threatening clouds. Lyra took two steps and then stopped, scanning the surroundings.
"We're not alone," whispered Pantalaimon, sniffing the air.
"Show yourselves!" Lyra ordered, her voice strong, fists clenched.
A pale halo of light slightly blinded them, and a figure with indistinct contours gracefully unfolded and folded its wings. An angel approached them slowly, enveloped in a soft glow, and appeared in her human form. She nodded in greeting.
"Xaphania," Lyra said in a stunned whisper.
Will also recognized her. How could he forget that seraphic apparition that had come to confirm the devastating news of their separation? He exhaled deeply through his nose, jaws clenched. He had moved closer to Lyra, their arms brushed against each other. Xaphania began to speak:
"The angel stationed here informed me that two humans wanted to cross and that the man had managed to intimidate him enough to release the passage. I immediately realized it was the two of you."
"You owe us an explanation, Xaphania," Will said in a dry voice.
His entire body trembled with anger. Between the events that had taken place among the Mulefa and the more recent revelations from Kaisa and Serafina, Xaphania's presence was burdensome to him. He clenched and unclenched his fists, exhaling deeply to calm his nerves. The angel had noticed that her presence was not well-received. Therefore, when she began to speak, her voice was as soft as a silk veil. Every word was measured and precise.
"Your questions are legitimate," she began.
"Of course they are!" the young man retorted coldly. "Speak."
Xaphania kept her translucent gaze fixed on him. She seemed to take a deep breath before speaking, still in a slow and composed voice:
"You know that, thanks to Lyra's act, thanks to both of you, the flow of Dust was reversed, contributing to the restoration of the state of the worlds. We explained to you that there could only be one open window. And you had accepted this tremendous sacrifice of never seeing each other again to release the dead."
"We know all that," Will dismissed with an irritated gesture.
"What we did not anticipate," Xaphania continued, without being cowed by his anger, "is that no matter the years, no matter the separation, no matter the different worlds, you would continue to think of each other, to love each other, to search for each other from the corners of your eyes or in your dreams. And this seemingly simple act of thinking about the loved one was enough to stabilize the flow of Dust. Your love generates a power that you do not realize."
Lyra's breathing had quickened. She couldn't determine whether she should be angry or moved.
"So yes, for seven years we remained silent. We observed. We left windows open at the cardinal points of the worlds, taking advantage of the attraction of the poles to allow Dust to flow in a perpetual and undisturbed current, which is crucial for living beings."
"Worlds?" Lyra asked.
"Yes. In every known world, we left these four windows open."
The young woman raised an eyebrow.
"Yours are the most important," Xaphania reported. "They are the foundations of what we are building. Because you are inhabitants of these worlds, but also because they are the rare connected worlds where beings endowed with consciousness and imagination live, and that is what Dust needs to survive."
Will let out a skeptical laugh.
"You're quite bitter towards your own world, Will Parry, but I assure you there are great, very great minds out there. We thought we were on the verge of losing everything because you had become so dark, Lyra. But that was without considering Pantalaimon, Mary Malone's discoveries, and Will's determination. We were afraid of your reunion, of course. We were completely unable to guess what would happen then."
A gust of warm wind swept through the garden. Dry leaves swirled around them, but everyone, humans, dæmons, and angel, remained impassive, hanging on to every word of the conversation.
"When you touch each other," Xaphania continued, "when your bodies make contact, it's as if the heavens ignite. We had never seen that before in humans made of flesh and blood."
"Isn't that a bit exaggerated?" Lyra commented.
But the angel shook her head gently.
"You have been and remain the central piece of an important event, Lyra, don't forget that."
"How could I forget..." Lyra grumbled, wrinkling her nose. "All of this is very grand, but we are human beings, as you yourself said. Therefore, we are mortal. What will happen when we die and turn into Dust again?"
"Someone else will take up the mantle. Undoubtedly, your child," Xaphania replied.
Will felt Lyra's body tense against his arm. The box of anger was still fiery, he didn't forget that.
"You used us..." she fumed, her voice trembling.
"And I am sorry, Lyra, sincerely sorry," Xaphania replied, taking a step toward her. But Lyra stepped back.
"I'm sorry you had to endure all this," the angel continued, with an expression of sorrow. "If we had known what would happen when you reunited, we would have acted differently."
Lyra vigorously shook her head, tears of rage starting to well up in her eyes.
"But you still used our pain... Don't tell me it was for the greater good, it won't pass. Not this time..."
Gently, Will placed his palm against her back, and she exhaled.
"You didn't just come to apologize, did you?" he asked.
"Indeed," Xaphania replied, turning her gaze back to the young man. "I came to meet you because we need you, Will, once again."
He raised his eyebrows.
"You're aware that the window of the North has been closed," she continued. "It's an act of rebellion by one of our own who contested the decision to keep the windows open. However, by doing so, he threatens the delicate and precious balance that had been established and that we seek to preserve. Will, we need..."
"No!" Will interrupted, anticipating Xaphania's words. "Oh hell no ! No, no, no!"
He turned abruptly, took a few steps forward, agitated, then turned around again and paced a few strides to face the angel, his gaze furious. Lyra watched them, astounded.
"I can't believe it!" he exclaimed. "You're not going to ask me that, are you?"
But Xaphania still uttered her dreaded sentence: "We need you to reopen the window in the North. We need the Subtle Knife."
Will looked at her, arms hanging limp in astonishment, terrified, outraged, his breath short and rapid. It was Lyra's turn to place her hand on him. She shared his anger, but he needed to calm down to remain coherent. Through the fabric of his tunic, she could feel every muscle of his tensed to its maximum. Within the touch of her palm, he closed his eyes and exhaled deeply before fixing his dark pupils on Xaphania. His gaze still burned with intensity, his voice maintained its tone, but his body no longer trembled. He let out a cold laugh.
"I don't know if you're aware, but the Knife is broken. You asked me to break it, remember?"
"We can try to forge it in our place", Xaphania attempted.
But Will's anger and resentment were stronger than anything else.
"You need me physically for that, you know it. And there's no way the Knife will be forged again, do you hear me?"
"I wouldn't come here begging if we had any other choice, but it's about preserving the balance of the worlds."
"No! It's your choice, your responsibility! Mine is to ensure that the Subtle Knife no longer causes harm or suffering. I refuse to shoulder that role again, it's no longer my problem. Don't count on me to fix what you have damaged. Figure it out yourselves."
Yet, deep down, he burned with the desire to have the whole Knife, to feel it pulsating in his hand, in his veins, to the depths of his soul. Xaphania appeared profoundly defeated.
"We have nothing left to do here," Will concluded coldly. "Come, Lyra, let's go."
Without giving the angel another glance, Will turned on his heels and briskly left the park. As Lyra prepared to follow him, Xaphania pleaded,
"I beg you, Lyra, help us..."
"You know it's not that simple", Lyra replied simply, without a smile.
She left the angel alone in the falling twilight and caught up with Will, who was walking rapidly. He had buried his hands in his pockets and muttered to himself. As she reached his side, Lyra grabbed his arm, and he stopped.
"Did you hear that?" he exclaimed loudly.
In the neighboring house, a resident, annoyed by the disturbance, opened his curtain and gave them a disapproving look. A beam of light briefly illuminated them before disappearing.
"I can't believe it!" Will continued, quieter but still carried away. "After everything that has happened, after everything they know?! They dare to ask me that?! I can't do it, you know that, don't you?"
"Hey, it's okay," Lyra replied calmly, "You reacted the right way."
Will looked into her eyes, finding understanding and compassion. He relaxed. She was on his side, no matter what. Lyra stood up, lifting her heels slightly off the ground, and planted a soothing kiss on his lips.
"Shall we go home?" she said, pointing to the sky. "Before we get caught in the rain."
But Will's gaze slipped over her shoulder, and he furrowed his brows once again. A tall, massive silhouette was approaching from the corner of the street.
"Miss Silvertongue?" called out the figure in a deep voice, accentuated by a sharp accent.
"What now?" Lyra grumbled, turning around.
She froze. A man had reached their side. Tall stature, broad shoulders connecting to his tanned face through a thick neck, noble gaze nestled in eyes that extended towards his temples, and jet-black hair tied in a low bun—Lyra recognized the features of a Skraeling man. His dæmon, a silver-feathered Arctic tern, perched on his shoulder.
"My name is Siméon Night-Wolf", said the man. "I believe Marcel Février mentioned me to you."
Lyra's eyes lit up. She pulled a small piece of paper from her bag, on which Marcel had elegantly and slantingly written a few names, including this one.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Miss Silvertongue," declared the named Siméon Night-Wolf. "I would have liked to have a conversation with you. Would you have some time to spare?"
"With pleasure," Lyra responded without hesitation, "But now?"
Siméon nodded.
"I don't wish to bother you or disrupt your plans, but I'm just passing through town. And it would be an honor and a joy to have a brief discussion with you."
Flattered by the man's excessive politeness, Lyra gladly accepted. Siméon Night-Wolf displayed a courteous smile and invited them to follow him. He was staying at the "Courthouse Hotel", and by welcoming them into his room, he could offer them a cup of tea. A light drizzle unpleasantly moistened their skins, and the prospect of a steaming cup was comforting. However, Will placed his hand on Lyra's arm.
"Do you think he's trustworthy?" he whispered.
"Of course! He's a contact of Marcel Février, he must be trustworthy!"
Will resigned himself to follow them, keeping his suspicions to himself. They passed through the small dark wooden door of the hotel and entered the reception hall. Behind the lacquered wooden counter, a weary-faced woman with a long cigarette in her lips raised her dark eyes towards them and greeted Siméon with a nod. Her lemur dæmon climbed onto the ledge to observe the newcomers with his large round eyes. Two small naphta lamps, placed at the ends of the counter, struggled to illuminate the place with their dim golden glow. The atmosphere was filled with the smell of dust and stale cigarette smoke. The group crossed the hall to climb a staircase, its steps covered with a thick red carpet that muffled the sound of their footsteps. Upon reaching the beginning of a long corridor, also covered in the same carpet, Will recoiled once again and stopped Lyra in her tracks.
"I really don't feel good about this, I have a bad feeling", he said.
"Are you judging him based on his appearance?" Lyra asked sternly.
"Not at all!" he stammered, bewildered that she would think that of him. "It's just that, by a strange coincidence, he happened to be right on the street we were crossing and that he's staying in this specific hotel. Isn't that strange?"
"I agree with Will," Pantalaimon chimed in. "There's something fishy going on."
Kirjava echoed these concerns. Lyra looked at the three of them and clicked her tongue before turning around to join Siméon Night-Wolf, who was waiting in front of an open door, which he closed once everyone had entered. The room was modest. A small bed adorned with a coverlet as red as the corridor, a worn wooden dresser, and a small washstand furnished it modestly. Siméon lit an naphta lamp placed on the dresser and nervously busied himself with preparing a kettle in a long silence that became awkward. Lyra observed this man, whose distinguished demeanor began to fade, replaced by barely noticeable unease. She gradually felt her trust waver. Yet, he was well noted on the list of trustworthy contacts that Février had given her. Why was she worried? She pulled herself together.
"So, how can we help you, Mr. Night-Wolf?" she inquired.
At the mention of the word "help", Siméon's face brightened, and he nodded vigorously as if struck by a sudden revelation.
"Help, yes, ah," he stammered. "You can help me."
He took a step forward and grabbed Lyra's arms with his large, powerful hands. She stared at him, panicked.
"I'm sorry, Miss Belacqua, I have no choice."
"H-how did you call me?!"
She never introduced herself as Belacqua. Only few people were aware of that name. Excepted of Oxford's people, Louise and Tomas knew it. Marcel Février did too, but he had given her his word. Siméon looked at her with wide, bulging eyes, and his grip on her arms started to become painful. Terrified, Pantalaimon hid behind Kirjava, who bristled and bared her teeth at Siméon's dæmon. Will intervened to free her but, with a swift motion, the Skraeling grabbed him by the throat, a wild gleam in his eyes. Too surprised to counteract the move, Will placed his hands on the man's strong forearm, but to no avail. The grip was firm and violent. Air was becoming scarce, and Will felt the blood rushing to his head. From the corner of his eye, he saw the two dæmons cowering and hissing under a chair, trying to escape the attacks of the Arctic tern.
"I'm sorry," Siméon repeated, his wide eyes now filling with tears.
There was a dull thud, and the man released his grip. Will brought his hands to his throat and coughed violently, leaning against the dresser for support. Beside him, Lyra clenched her fist and cursed. Siméon slumped against the wall, his hand against his bloody nose. She had used all her strength to strike him directly in the face, and now she faced him, fists clenched, pointing a redish finger at him threateningly. Will stared at her, impressed. Meanwhile, Pan and Kirjava had managed to subdue the Arctic tern by pinning its wings and head to the ground. The dæmon bird squealed as it watched her human writhing in pain.
"Who are you?" Lyra shouted, "What do you want?"
Siméon stared at her, his face twisted in pain. Large red drops fell from his nose, landing limply on the carpeted floor.
"Th-they have my cousin", he stammered. "They know about my friendship with Marcel. They also know that you've been seen with him and other members of the Starling Network. I had no choice!"
"They ? Who are "they"?"
Lyra took a step toward the Skraeling, who pressed himself against the wall, searching for a handkerchief or something else to stem the flow of blood from his nostrils.
"The Magisterium," he confessed with a humid sniffle. "They know you, who you are, and want to know your role in the Network. They know you're here. They'll be here any minute. I'm sorry. If I had another choice, I wouldn't have acted this way."
At those words, Will's blood boiled, and he grabbed Lyra's hand as she was approaching Siméon once again, fists still clenched with anger. He pulling her out of the room. They hurried down the stairs, but voices and footsteps could already be heard from below.
"They're coming up!" Kirjava panicked.
They turned around and quickly climbed to the next floor. Upon reaching a new corridor, they opened the first available door and squeezed into a cramped closet, wedged between cleaning supplies and fresh laundry. They listened intently, huddled together, silent and alert. Heavy footsteps echoed from the floor below as the agents arrived. It was impossible to know exactly how many there were. Lyra's fist throbbed with acidic jolts, and she bit her cheek. They waited for a few seconds, then Will whispered with a hoarse voice:
"Let's go. Quickly."
They slipped through the staircase as silent as shadows, almost gliding on the padded steps. Passing the floor they had just left, they glimpsed men entering Siméon's room. Voices erupted again, urging them to hasten their escape. They crossed the hall swiftly, catching the stunned gaze of the concierge. Her dæmon opened his mouth to scream, but the woman stopped it with a tap on the back.
The night welcomed them as they pushed open the hotel door. A heavy, warm rain fell on the road, chopping up the feeble light of the street lampposts and making the ground slippery. Lyra and Will ran without looking back, their dæmons by their sides. The echo of their footsteps tinted against the wet cobblestones. They arrived at the harbor as behind them, the sound of boots clicking on the ground, voices shouting orders, and dogs barking filled the air. Just a few meters more and the Havets Perle would be within their reach. Will pulled Lyra along for one final sprint. They ascended onto the deck and hurriedly made their way into the central building. . Leaning against opposite walls in the corridor, they took a moment to catch their breath.
"For heaven's sake, what's this day?" Lyra grumbled, pushing her wet hair away from her neck.
The ship was immersed in its usual reassuring calm. They could easily forget that they had just been attacked and pursued. The sailors had either gone ashore or were chatting in the common room, unaware to their arrival. Will used the hem of his tunic to dry his face and ruffled his hair to remove the water droplets of it. His throat burned. He risked a glance through the crack of the door but saw only an empty port streaked with rain.
"I think they're not around here", he said. "We're safe here."
He turned towards Lyra. She wiped her forehead with the back of her hand and flicked her blouse with her fingertips, still slightly breathless. She looked at him and raised her fingers to his neck, a concerned expression on her face.
"Are you alright?" she worriedly asked.
He took her fingers in his own and pulled her closer to him. Overcome by a sudden passion, he leaned in to kiss her lips. She let out a small gasp of surprise but surrendered to the unexpected embrace.
"Oh, you're so, so..." he whispered.
Words failed him. This sequence of events seemed as implausible as it was overwhelming. He started to laugh, a mix of relief and astonishment, and so did Lyra. He kissed her again and again, deeper, more passionately, but Lyra winced in pain as he accidentally grabbed her injured hand. He apologized profusely before guiding her to the infirmary. Upon arrival, he handed her a towel and invited her to sit down. Lyra wiped her damp face and arms before vigorously rubbing her hair. He washed his hands, grabbed some gauze and antiseptic, and put on his glasses before sitting down beside her. Lyra smiled as she watched him bustling about. She found him incredibly attractive like this, with his neatly placed glasses, his serious demeanor, and his doctor-like voice. But she winced when he started tending to her fingers.
"You really did a number on yourself. Can you move your fingers?" Will asked, examining her hand more closely.
Lyra stretched and flexed her fingers several times. For the second time since their reunion, they found themselves in the confines of this neat little room that smelled of thyme and mint. For the second time, Will was tending to her hand with delicate and gentle motions.
"Does it hurt?" he inquired.
"No, I'm fine. It throbs a little."
He turned around, his arms raised to reach for a jar of healing balm positioned on the top shelf. As he did, his tunic lifted, exposing a glimpse of his lower abdomen, where a barely visible birthmark nestled in the hollow of his hip. Lyra knew that mark well. A small, knowing smirk graced her lips as a tender warmth spread through her belly. He sat back down and extracted a bit of cream, applying it to her wounds.
"That wasn't exactly a great date..." he remarked.
"Indeed, but I'll give you a second chance."
They exchanged a knowing smile.
"I remembered that you knew how to fight," Will said as he massaged Lyra's fingers with the balm.
"Thankfully, I do know how to fight! You know, when I was a kid, we used to have real wars with other children in Oxford," she explained, proudly lifting her chin. "You had to know how to fight. Not to mention the Gyptians."
"The Gyptians? Come on... I thought they were friends?"
"They are, but not back then... We even stole a barge once..."
"Stole a barge?!"
"You still have things to learn about me," she replied with a mischievous smile.
He shook his head, smiling. He didn't even know why he was surprised.
"But tonight, it was pretty reckless of me," she admitted. "Luckily, that Siméon was taken aback. The Skraelings are known to be a powerful people."
In her back, she felt Pan's approval as he grumbled in his whiskers, which widened her smile. Will put the jar back behind him and took her hand again.
"I found it very courageous," he declared. "Do you think they were after you?"
"It's obvious..." she sighed. "They're always after me, I'm well aware of that. I told Serafina last time. I'm threatened wherever I go…"
"Maybe Mette's boat is really the safest place we have right now... " Will mused.
She agreed with this idea.
"So, you do remember what you said that night?" he added gently.
As she nodded once again, he tenderly squeezed her hands, gazing dreamily at her fingers.
"And... you do dare to hope for a peaceful life with me by your side?"
He locked his shimmering irises with hers. When he looked at her like that, she felt like melting into the ocean swirling beneath their feet. She sensed her cheeks flush.
"Of course," she whispered.
"It's a shared wish," he said softly, leaning his face closer to hers.
With a swift gesture, she took off his glasses and wrapped her arms around his neck, deepening their kiss. She leaned her body towards his, and he placed his hands on her waist, pulling her closer.
They halted their passionate embrace upon hearing approaching footsteps and turned their faces towards the doorframe where Hassan had appeared. His face was contorted in a painful grimace. He looked surprised to see Lyra there and gestured an apology before turning back.
"Hassan!" called out Will.
The captain's second-in-command immediately reappeared. His swallow dæmon hopped from one foot to another on his shoulder.
"Are the migraines returning?" the young man worriedly inquired.
Hassan nodded. He didn't speak, never spoke. He had a voice; his teammates sometimes heard him scream in his sleep. However, he hadn't uttered a single word to another human being since the age of six. Occasionally, his dæmon would speak on his behalf, but it was very rare. Nobody knew why he had chosen to remain silent, and Lyra found it incredibly sad. She stood up, giving the two men the necessary privacy, and left the room, informing Will that she would be in the kitchen. She really needed a cup of tea.
After tending to Hassan's needs, Will entered the kitchen. He paused silently to observe Lyra, who hadn't heard him approach. She had her back turned, hands resting on the countertop, with a local newspaper open between them, capturing her full attention. The small anbaric lamp beside her sharply outlined her gracile and noble silhouette. She couldn't deny that she sometimes resembled her mother, in the way she moved, the look in her eyes when challenged, when she stood tall in all her womanly power, as she did tonight. At times, she could appear intimidating, impressive, and alluring. Just like Mrs. Coulter. But that was something Will refrained from telling her. After all, a human being was the result of the intricate blend of two individuals. And while Lyra certainly embodied two distinct and brilliant personalities, she hadn't needed anyone to shape who she was: a unique person far more precious than what Will could admit within himself. The scent of jasmine from the tea she had prepared wafted through the room. A cup for him, a cup for her. Pantalaimon read alongside her, perched against her arm. She finished eating a plum, placing the pit in a small bowl where she had put the still-steaming tea infuser. She reached out to grab a kitchen towel, wiped her fingers, and then turned the pages of the newspaper without ever taking her eyes off the text. Will mentally captured this precise moment. It was in moments like these that many things became affirmed within him. He wanted more days and nights where he could catch her like this, immersed in her thoughts. He wanted more days and nights where he could hear her laughter, see her, wake up by her side, kiss her, listen to her. Kirjava followed him in and settled on the edge of an open porthole; Pan stretched before joining the cat, and Will closed the door behind him. "What a day..." he pondered. He approached quietly, encircled Lyra's waist, and rested his cheek against her head.
"What are you doing?" he asked.
"I'm getting informed, can't you see?" she replied.
He glanced at the open pages and added,
"Doesn't seem very exciting. Is it in French?"
"There's nothing boring about understanding the tensions between the timber merchants of Southern New France and those of New Denmark," she retorted. "And yes, I do understand some French. I told you, there are still things for you to learn about me."
Will smiled. He brushed aside Lyra's hair to uncover her neck and placed a kiss there. The gentle summer warmth still lingered on her skin. She shivered.
"And what are you doing?" she asked.
"I'm creating memories," he replied as he kissed her neck once again.
Lyra closed her eyes. Will slid his cool hands under her shirt. Slowly, one hand moved up to her chest while the other descended towards her navel. He felt her abdomen slightly contract beneath his fingers. At the edge of her waistband, he whispered with a warm voice : "Are you okay?"
"Mhm," she responded with a nod.
With an agile gesture, he unbuttoned her pants and plunged his hand between her thighs. Lyra closed her eyes and opened her mouth slightly. Her breathing quickened as his fingers fidgeted. Will's other hand had snuck under her bra to grab one of her breasts. Under his palm, he could feel Lyra's heart quicken its pace. He gently pressed his tall frame against hers and kissed her neck and the back of her ears. She arched her hips under his precise movements, pressing her hand against her mouth to stifle the rising moans, while her other hand clenched around the open journal in front of her. Will savored every moment with a small satisfied smile, his face buried in the mass of blonde hair. She seized that hand that was caressing her chest, sighing even deeply. Suddenly, Kirjava leaped in front of them and exclaimed, "Morten is coming! He just crossed the deck!"
Lyra widened her eyes.
"Shit!" she hissed, "Shit, shit, shit!"
With a hip thrust, she pushed Will away and quickly straightened her clothes. Then, she grabbed him by the hand and pulled him out of the kitchen, while he struggled to hold back his laughter. Morten was approaching, humming softly, slightly drunk, as they hurried upstairs. Lyra knew she would have to explain the presence of the two full cups, the crumpled newspaper, and the plum pit, but for now, she didn't care. Barely had she closed the bedroom door when Will rushed on her, determined to pick up where they had left off. With a quick hand movement, he had removed her blouse and passionately kissed her.
"Are we in a hurry?" she asked mischievously.
She slipped her hand into his pants, he groaned.
"Sorry, I think I missed this," he said.
Lyra smiled into a kiss. Her mouth still carried the sweet taste of plum. He placed his hands beneath her thighs to lift her and lay her down on the bed, where he proceeded to remove the rest of her clothing. His lips and hands rediscovered the shivering body of Lyra. She removed his tunic and placed her hands around his neck, kissing him with even more intensity.
"Do you feel ready?" he hesitated.
Lyra nodded vigorously, adding, "You're forgetting something."
"Of course not," he protested, sitting up.
He reached out for a small box placed on the bedside table. He took out a condom and, after removing the rest of his clothes, sat at the edge of the bed to put it on. With the tip of her finger, Lyra brushed against his back and straddled him. He looked at her intensely and placed his palms on her hips to guide her.
"Slowly," he murmured, their lips close. "There."
His hands set a slow and deliberate rhythm, contrasting with the fiery fervor simmering deep within them. Their breaths grew more intense. Lyra closed her eyes as he moved into her completely. Will pressed one of his palms against the arch of her back, never taking his eyes off her. She had placed her arms on his shoulders, burying her fingers in his ebony curls, bringing their faces closer together, their breaths mingling as the pace quickened. With a skillful and delicate move, Will tipped her onto the mattress, positioning himself above her and gripping her wrists above her head while continuing his kisses. With his free hand, he explored every inch of her quivering body. The rhythm of their entangled bodies showed no signs of faltering, and Will's movements grew stronger and deeper. They looked at one another, breathless, both transported and amazed by what was happening within them. It was new and incredibly intense. They could literally feel the electric current coursing between them as they moved faster. Serafina Pekkala's words echoed in Will's mind, and he felt deep within him every atom dedicating itself entirely to Lyra. How was it possible that such a devouring love could grip him without reducing him to ashes? He kissed her fervently before once again shifting, so that she was now on top of him. For this was how they loved each other best: their bodies pressed tightly together, moving in a dance, sighing in harmony, their two hearts beating as one. Will ran his hands around Lyra's face, down her waist, and onto her thighs. And she, she clung to his shoulders, lightly brushing her fingertips against his lips, locking her eyes into his, captivated by his gaze. She closed her eyelids, pressing her forehead against his, and kissed him with even greater force.
"Ah," she gasped between his lips, "Will..."
She tilted her head back, arching her body even more, letting out a resplendent moan. Her cheeks and neck took on a rosy hue.
"Stay with me a little longer," Will whispered, breathless. "I'm almost there."
Feeling a bit dizzy, she wrapped her legs around his hips as he leaned forward, carefully laying her on her back. He felt Lyra's warmth cascading through him like a blazing fire. She let out small, uncontrollable high moans, peppered his face with kisses and repeated "I love you" over and over until he surrendered his last defenses. His entire body tensed with the pleasure coursing through him. His fingers gripped the skin of her hips with force. He let out a deep groan before letting his body collapse against Lyra's. She gently traced her fingertips along his spine, moving up toward his shoulders, and he closed his eyes, feeling their two hearts beating wildly. He embraced her slender waist with his arms, rolling them to the side to allow both of them to catch their breath.
"Well, that was..." Lyra sighed, pushing her hair away from her cheeks in search of some coolness.
"Yeah..."
They remained in that position for a few long minutes, savoring the serenity on the verge of bliss. Will settled onto his back and let out a long exhale.
"I don't know what's happening to me. I feel like I'm filled with infinite energy and strength. Look at this!"
As he spoke, he flexed his biceps in a ridiculous manner, causing Lyra to giggle.
"That must be because the molasses still has an effect and we stayed in my world long enough," he pondered more seriously. "That's interesting."
"Kirjava told me that you would be full of energy after spending time in your world. But I didn't expect this."
Upon hearing the name of his dæmon, Will sat up but didn't see her.
"I've noticed that Pan and Kirjava disappear when we make love. Where do you think they go?" he asked, lying down again.
"I don't know, it's none of our business. They deserve some privacy too, especially if they love each other as much as we do."
She nestled against him, sighing with contentment. This energized version of Will surprised her, but she didn't mind it. He rested his chin atop her head, his breath gently brushing through her hair. He pensively traced his fingers along her soft and cool shoulder.
"Lyra?"
"Hmm?"
"What happened between Pan and you?"
She looked up at him with a questioning and surprised gaze.
"We've noticed that it's not always smooth sailing between you two, and you have regular arguments..."
"Is it always perfect between you and Kirjava, then?" she retorted, slightly offended.
"That's not what I'm saying. I'm sorry if my question bothers you. For Kirjava and me, it's different. It's still somewhat new, even after seven years. We still have a lot to learn about human-dæmon relationships."
"Now isn't really the time to discuss this..."
She wasn't entirely wrong.
"It's just that..." Will said, settling on his side with his head resting in his hand. "I can see that it hurts you."
He gently caressed her arm. Lyra lay on her back, knees bent, absentmindedly fidgeting with the khamsa necklace still hanging around her neck, her mouth slightly twisted. Deep inside, she held the memories of their incessant arguments, the relentless jabs they threw at each other, and the occasional disdainful glances. A lump formed in her throat. Was she going to cry again? Had she not exhausted her tear resources? She hated crying; it made her feel weak.
"It's just that..." she began, clearing her throat. "It's been complicated since our journey to the Land of the Dead... I think he's angry and disappointed. Because of me."
She sighed, admitting what she was about to say cost her more than she had anticipated.
"He says I've lost my imagination," she confessed. "And he's not entirely wrong..."
"Your imagination?" Will asked, surprised.
Lyra nodded sadly. "I've been working hard to use the alethiometer properly. And I've tried methods he doesn't approve of..."
"And you haven't even seen her a few months ago," the voice of the pine marten added, at their feet.
Both of them sat up, realizing that the silky heads of their dæmons had appeared at the foot of the bed. Pantalaimon and Kirjava climbed onto the mattress, and Lyra sat up to watch her dæmon approach.
"She wasn't herself anymore," Pan continued, addressing Will. "She was dark, withdrawn, severe. I didn't like that Lyra. So I left to find a solution. And I think we've found it, this solution."
As he spoke, he looked intensely at Will. His gaze shifted to Lyra, who listened attentively, her heart beating rapidly in her chest.
"I have to say that your imagination has definitely come back, Lyra," Pan said affectionately. "I see it every day, every evening, when you weave stories for the crewmates, when you face challenges with determination and, sometimes, a bit too much impulsiveness. Watching you like this fills me with joy and pride."
"So why do we keep arguing like this?" Lyra asked.
"I don't know, ego perhaps. For both of us."
Touché.
"You're not easy to follow every day," the pine marten continued, "Even for me. But I love you, that you can be sure of."
Pantalaimon moved closer and rubbed against her calf. She ran her hand through his russet fur with a tender smile, feeling whole, at last. The dæmon lifted his snout towards her and added, "But you can be quite loud when you get going. Don't be surprised if you receive some remarks tomorrow."
Lyra felt her cheeks flush.
"Pan!" she exclaimed, outraged.
Will burst into laughter. The pine marten shot Lyra a sparkling, challenging gaze and jumped onto her neck. Lyra laughed as her dæmon playfully nibbled at her skin. It was a melodic laughter, three little notes that rose to the ceiling of the room, bounced off the walls, and escaped through the porthole. Will watched them, a gentle, blistful warmth spreading through his body.
"You're an idiot," Lyra said, looking at her dæmon. "I love you."
In response, Pantalaimon once again buried his snout against her neck, enjoying a few peaceful moments. Then he released his embrace and leaped to join Kirjava. The two of them jumped off the bed, hiding in a spot only they knew. Lyra stretched out on her back, and Will positioned himself above her. He began showering her face with a multitude of tiny kisses amidst her laughter that continued on and on.
"I love making you loud," he whispered softly as she ran her fingers from his shoulders down to the small of his back.
"Then do it again," Lyra whispered back, "Let's set the heavens ablaze..."
He reached out to close the porthole this time, sealing them in their own little world.