There had to be a way to convince her she belonged and to use her magic, before it was too late to save his people.
He titled her chin up to see her comely features fully in the moonlight. Her nose was red and there were tears on her cheeks.
"Battle-witches do not cry," he said.
"I'm a tree-witch," she replied stubbornly.
"Now a tree-witch is not real."
"You-"
"Quiet." For once, she heeded the note of warning in his tone. He considered her, aroused by the softness of her skin and her direct gaze. "Naia."
"Yes. Better than witch. Why don't you use names here?" she asked.
"If a sorcerer or witch knows a man's name, he can put a curse on the man," he replied, revealing half the truth about the custom. The other half he did not think her ready for, not after she had unknowingly given her name to him. The custom was not as binding on a witch or sorcerer, but he took no chances by revealing the truth.
"Oh. So no one here knows your name?" she asked.
"They do not."
"You have no family or friends?"
"Family, no. This notion of friends is not our way. I am the knight, the lord, the master to every man and woman in my kingdom."
She nodded, though she appeared bewildered as well. He almost asked what her world was like if not ruled by knights but stopped himself, not wanting to strengthen her connection to a place that did not exist any longer. His own confusion ran deep; he had not known other worlds existed before her.
"Can I be a knight?" she asked, calming.
He laughed. "You cannot hold a sword. How would you be a knight?"
She sighed. "I don't understand why there's so much death."
"Battle is for a purpose. Each death must be necessary. If it is not, it is cruel."
"I think killing anyone is cruel."
Each life taken, each kingdom conquered - he regretted none of it, because there was a much greater evil he fought. "You do not fully understand my purpose," he said.
"There can be no reason great enough for what I saw. And yet, I understand why you did it. I don't know what to think about it."
With some regret, he realized he might not have the aid of the battle-witch in his final days of battle. He would still fight until the very last breath in his body, with or without her help.
Her trembling had ceased, but the shimmer of vulnerability remained. It was unusually appealing, the unguarded way she looked at him with her heart in her eyes and her plump lips parted.