"Yet must we be discreet," Naia exclaimed. "You must come—I must see you—but we must keep this secret in our hearts. Did Lakkon dream that Naia had dared to break her spoken pledge—" She paused. A tremor shook her as she leaned against him with his arm about her waist.
"You must return to your room," he urged. "Fear not. Yet when you pray, ask of Zitu that he give me speed and knowledge in my work. And should you not see or hear from me for a time, be sure that all I do is for you, that you are ever in my thoughts."
"As you will be in mine." Once more she turned to face him. "Yet before I go in now, my lord, give me again your lips."
"Beloved!" Croft held her a final moment and saw her depart.
Himself he lingered by the pool. His soul was on fire. He had won! Naia of Aphur in her soul was his. The soft warmth of her lips still lingered upon his own. Aye, he had won—her surrender to himself. That final kiss showed how complete that surrender was. So complete was it, that she had over-stepped all the code of her nation and caste in order to give it expression, had placed herself where, should her act be learned, she would stand before her people disgraced.
Nor was his love less than hers. It was a great love, which had brought him to this time—so great, so all compelling, he felt now that even in his student days in India it had drawn him in a strange, subconscious fashion not then understood—so great that for it he had dared the unknown, to find the feminine complement of his spirit, whom tonight he had held within his arms.
No mere lure of the flesh was his divine passion, which had drawn him and fired him now to a resolution to work, work for it and it alone, until he had won not only Naia's love, but Naia as well. She had said the thing was stronger than herself. Croft knew it was stronger than himself as he sat beside the moonlit pool. It was one of those great loves, which have made history before this and will again. Hence tomorrow he would go back to Himyra, and there he would work and plan.
And, thought Croft, he must spy upon Cathur's prince, in the way only he could compass so far as he knew. Kyphallos must be in Scira now, unless he had gone back to Anthra. Kyphallos must be watched. There was that trip to Niera he had promised Kalamita to make. Would he tell her what had occurred in Himyra? And if so, what would Zollaria's Magnet of white flesh do? That she felt any emotion for Kyphallos other than as a pawn to her hand, Croft did not believe. He knew her type, and frankly he believed her an agent of her nation set to ensnare the heir of Cathur and further Zollaria's plans. He nodded his head and rose. He would find this Cathurian prince and see what he did, and where at present he was.
Quickly he went back to his own apartment and laid himself on the couch. Naia he fancied was lying so even now in that room where Azil lifted his carved white wings beside her mirror pool. He smiled. Some day he promised his heart, his empty arms, they should not lie apart, but together, on a moonlit Palosian night.