by Rachel Ford
“Of course, High Priest.”
“It’s providential, then,” F’rok offered mildly, “that her time here was not more pleasant, else she might be more inclined to stay. And your work would be that much harder, High Priest.”
Akura’s jaw slackened.
“We certainly wouldn’t want that,” F’riya added.
Frank’s surprise at their impudence seemed outmatched only by the priest’s, but he recovered himself quickly. Closing his gaping mouth, he cleared his throat. Then, he said, “Well, thank you again, High Priest. I will convey your words to my parents. Is there anything further we may do for you? Would you like a meal? Perhaps a glass of wine?”
Akura looked as if he’d sooner accept an invitation from scorpions. Still, he managed a passably civil, “I will pass. Thank you, F’er ark inkaya. I take my leave now.”
“Safe travels to you.”
“And may the gods bless your House as you deserve,” the other man sniffed.
The acrimonious edge to the words didn’t escape my ears. Nor, for that matter, did they seem to miss Frank’s. He smiled benignly. “And yours.”
Akura passed a final glance over us all, and then left without another word. I breathed a sigh of relief as the sounds of the front door closing reached us. I heard a few more sounds around me, though from whom I didn’t know.
“What a charming man,” Maggie offered wryly.
“Isn’t he?” Frank said. “And just think: we could have had him presiding over our wedding.”
“It’s a good thing this is a fake engagement,” she nudged him. “Because that alone would be reason to leave you.”
He smiled. “I wouldn’t even blame you.”
We stayed at the Inkaya estate that day, wiling away the hours in each other’s company. Too much time had elapsed to allow much more.
We didn’t go on tour the next day, either. That was the day of the funeral, and Frank’s House was expected to be there. That included the matriarch and patriarch of House Inkaya, of course, but also Frank and Maggie, and all the guests under their roof.
Frank warned us to brace for a long day. He wasn’t exaggerating.
We arrived at temple shortly after the eleventh hour. The building was massive, designed in the same style as the finer residences we’d seen. The glimmer of gold did something to ease the hard angles of its architecture. Inlays of jewels over the windows and doors, above the altar and along the ceiling ribs added a sparkle that genuinely surprised me.
The effect was not lessened by the presence of armored marble figures scowling out of niches in the wall. It was strange and incongruous, but it fit the overall flavor of the building remarkably well: a blend of elegance and militarism, of harshness and beauty.
If Kudarian culture could be summed up in a single building, I supposed it would be a temple like this one.
The ceremony ran for hours, so I had a very good opportunity to take in my surroundings. The service itself was familiar in some ways. Friends and family spoke solemn words. The High Priest delivered a beautiful eulogy, highlighting the accomplishments of the mother, the community leader, and the civil servant that Nefi arn nikya had been.
There were unfamiliar elements, too. A choir of sober-faced Kudarians sang hymns. But they were wordless songs, and seemed to run for extended periods of time – fifteen or twenty minutes apiece. Or perhaps my untrained ear simply could not differentiate between the end of one song and the beginning. Without words, I couldn’t always be sure.
They were beautiful, though: long, sonorous compositions that echoed off the arched ceilings and reverberated through the packed temple. It struck me as odd, at first, to hear no lyrics. But the timbre of the voices, the chords of the melodies, struck a nerve deep in my soul. It was entrancing, almost, and I lost myself for a long time to the music, to the rise and fall of those voices.
Then it ended, and we were back to familiar territory. Akura delivered a set of prayers, and then one of the lesser priests followed with another set. Here, too, the elements of the service stretched interminably long.
The hours rolled by. I had to excuse myself twice for bathroom runs – a move that seemed to scandalize my Kudarian neighbors, if the askew glances and grim glowers were anything to go by. I didn’t pay it much mind, deciding that they’d be a lot more scandalized if I wet myself on the pews.
Finally, though, it wrapped up. At least, I thought it wrapped up. Akura offered a last, long-winded farewell to the departed, and the mourners began to file out.
But it was not as simple as that. We formed a line, one after the other, to pay our respects to the family. R’ia and Dre led our group, and I tagged along dutifully.
I’d had the good fortune to be seated a few spots down from F’vir, but here my luck ran out. “Beautiful service, wasn’t it?” he whispered. He was standing unnecessarily close.
“Yes,” I said, inching forward.
He followed. “Funerals always make you think. About how short life is, you know?”
I murmured out the barest of responses, hoping he’d – finally – take the hint.
He didn’t. “Hey, by the way, I heard F’er talking about taking a trip to one of the provinces. Are you and Magdalene going with him?”
“Not sure. But F’vir?”
“Yeah?”
I shot him an annoyed glance over my shoulder. “You’re standing on my heels.”
He laughed. “Sorry about that. Me and my clumsy feet.”
“F’vir,” a voice hissed from the front of the party. We both turned to see R’ia glaring back at us.
“Sorry, auntie,” he murmured. “I stepped on Katherine’s feet. Just apologizing.”
She scrutinized my face, then his. “Perhaps you’d be less likely to trip on her if you gave her some space.” With a final imperious shake of the head, she turned.
This, at last, did the trick. F’vir said no more, and as the line advanced he allowed a bit of distance between us.
We reached the Nikyas some ten minutes later.
The widower, Kri, seemed a ghost of the man I’d met a few days earlier. His eyes had sunk into dark gray circles. There was a vulnerability, a brokenness to him that I could not attribute to any one feature or change. It was there, plain as day, though.
The emptiness in Kri’s eyes, the catch in his throat as he said again and again to those who stopped to pay their condolences, “Thank you. Blessings to you as well,” damned near broke my heart. I didn’t know the man from Adam, and he’d been less than friendly when we’d met. But this was the love of his life; and he’d just lost her.
In the moment, selfish as it was, all I could think of was Maggie, and how much I wanted to wrap her in my arms. All I could think of was how short life was, and how unpredictable. I couldn’t imagine, if our places had been reversed, how I would cope. So, when I passed that grieving stranger, I spoke with the fullest sincerity as I said, “I’m so very sorry for your loss, Kri.”
He thanked me in the same mechanical fashion he’d thanked everyone so far, and I moved down the line. Kia’s eyes were red, but she kept her chin up and returned my sympathies with an unwavering voice. “Thank you, Katherine. Blessings to you.”
Kor was the last in the line, and he reached a hand to take mine in imitation of a handshake. He was one of the first Kudarians to do so since my arrival here, and oddly enough I felt a little sadder for it. “I’m very sorry, Kor. Your mother must have been a great woman.”
“Thank you, Katherine,” he said. “She was. I still can’t believe she’s dead. I know it’s wrong to say. But none of us can.”
“I can only imagine how difficult it must be.” I could. I’d been a child when my father died. I’d processed it in the way children often do, in bits and pieces, not quite realizing the permanence of the change. But as an adult, understanding the finality of death, with no time to anticipate or prepare for it? I was fortunate that I could only imagine.
He nodded, and in a moment released
my hand. “Thank you for coming. I know you didn’t know her. But it honors us that you would honor her after so brief an acquaintance.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
High Priest Akura arrived at the Inkaya estate shortly after we returned home, to finish the last steps of the ritual. Frank’s parents dealt with him, and I snuck away to F’rok’s library. Akura left shortly after sundown, and I joined the Inkayas for a somber meal together.
Despite the dining room being free, we took our meal in one of the breakfast rooms. No one was particularly talkative. Even F’vir seemed chastened, although that was probably more due to R’ia’s words than the funeral spirit.
Frank mentioned our trip again, and we agreed that we’d discuss it the next morning. Then, I headed to my room and changed. Maggie’s knock sounded a few minutes later, hushed and quick.
I opened the door, and she slipped in. “Hey,” she said. “How’re you doing?”
I shrugged. “Fine. You know, long day.”
She surveyed my features with soft eyes. “You know you’re a terrible liar, right?”
A smile tugged at the corners of my lips. “It’s just…it sucked seeing that family so devastated earlier. I mean, I don’t even know them. But they were so, so hurt.”
She pulled me to her now. “Oh Kay. My sweet, sweet Kay.”
I nestled into her arms, resting my head against her shoulder and wrapping my own arms around her back. Somehow, absurd as it was, I felt like crying, and holding onto her helped. I didn’t speak because I didn’t trust my voice to do so.
“It was a hell of a long day,” she murmured in a minute.
I nodded against her shoulder.
“I’ve wanted to hold you all day, babe.”
“Me too,” I said, and my voice was thick with emotion.
She pulled back now, holding me at arm’s length to look me over again. I glanced aside. I didn’t want to explain why I was on the verge of blubbering like an imbecile. I didn’t want to tell her that I hadn’t quite been able to shake the image of Kri ark nikya, and the devastation in his eyes at losing the love of his life.
She, though, seemed determined to drag it out of me. “Kay, what’s wrong?”
“It was just…a hard day, that’s all.”
“Was it F’vir? I heard R’ia say something to him.”
“No,” I shook my head. He hadn’t helped, of course, but my mood had nothing to do with him.
“You sure? If he’s giving you crap, I’ll-”
I reached out a hand to her arm, hoping to quell the fire building in her eyes. I loved her all the more for her willingness to stand up for me, but I didn’t need rescuing today. All I needed was her. I smiled. “I know, babe. But you don’t have to worry. I think he got the message. Finally. He didn’t even talk to me at dinner tonight.”
She nodded slowly. “Alright.” Then, she wrapped her arms around the back of my neck and smiled at me. “Listen, I think we should go with Frank tomorrow. It’ll be less pretending around his family. And…” She leaned in to kiss me. “It’ll give us a chance to spend more time together.”
My smile broadened. “I like the sound of that.”
“Good. And to hell with this day trip thing. I’m tired of waiting for a chance to sneak into your room. Let’s spend a few nights. We’ll get a room at a hotel somewhere, and we won’t have to creep around anymore.”
I nodded. “Even better.”
I laid in Maggie’s arms talking for hours. Somehow, we’d stumbled on the topic of my childhood, and once I’d started, I hadn’t really stopped. Now and again, she’d flex her hand or shift her shoulder. “I must be putting your arm to sleep,” I said once, and she grinned.
“It’s fine.”
“You sure?” I shifted up to look at her, and flushed to see the tenderness in her gaze. I knew her well enough to know that she was lying about the discomfort, that she was putting my need for companionship in the moment above her own need for blood flow to her digits. “We should probably get some sleep anyway.”
“Not until I hear more about this pet iguana. Did your mom end up letting you get it?”
I shook my head, settling back into her arms – although in a different spot than before, for her poor shoulder’s sake. “No,” I said. “She didn’t. But she said she’d think about a puppy…”
I woke the next morning still snuggled in her embrace. Sometime during my narration, I’d slipped into sleep. I think it was after the third or fourth family dog we’d had over the years, but I might have made it to the pet cats already.
She was still sleeping, and I smiled at the sight. I smiled at the memory of the night before, and wondered if any of what I’d told her had actually interested her, or if she’d just listened for my sake. I’d probably bored the hell out of her. And yet she’d listened as if it was the most interesting thing in the world to hear me dig through memories I hadn’t recalled in years, to recount the pets I’d had and the trouble my brother and I had gotten into and the vacations my mom had taken us on. She didn’t stop me when I repeated stories I’d told her in the past – and there were a few of them. She’d just let me talk, and she’d listened to every word. It was exactly what I needed.
Oh Maggie. Sharing my family stories with her seemed in a way to make her a part of them. Because you’re my family now. I brushed aside a cluster of curls that had fallen over her cheek. “I love you, Maggie.”
She stirred. “Huh?”
I leaned closer to kiss her brow. “Nothing, babe. Sleep.”
She did, for a while longer. Then, though, she woke, and we both rose and started getting ready. She’d left some toiletries in my bathroom, and we swapped places at the sink and shower with familiar ease. We’d worked out our morning routines months ago on the Black Flag, and they adapted well enough to the larger surroundings.
“Hey,” I said, pausing from brushing my damp locks. “I hope I didn’t drive you crazy last night. With all the stories, I mean.”
She smiled at me. “I loved every one of them,” she said. And, gazing into her eyes, I believed her.
“Even the time we almost drowned in the wave pool?”
“Well, I didn’t love that one. I liked hearing about it though. And now I know to keep an eye on Jake if I ever meet him.”
I laughed. Jake was my brother, and it had been his panic that had pulled us both down until a lifeguard spotted us. “Well, in his defense, he was only eight.”
She grinned. “I suppose I can forgive him.”
I smiled at her. “Maggie?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
She smiled too, and there was a tenderness in her gaze that made my heart tremble. “I love you too, Kay.”
We stood there for a moment in silence, and every fiber of my being wished we didn’t have to go downstairs and be sociable. I wanted to spend the day hand-in-hand with her, going where we wanted, doing what we wanted – or just staying in our room as long as we wanted.
She seemed to sense my thoughts, because she said, “I know I have tunnel vision, when it comes to the work and the ship, and I lose track of time – and you, sometimes. But when we’re done here, babe, let’s go somewhere. I don’t even care where. Just so long as it’s just me and you.”
I nodded. “That sounds like a great idea, Mags.”
“Good. We’ll get the crew back together – I’ll figure out a way to get David back.”
I laughed. “You’re determined not to lose him, huh?”
She nodded. “Yeah. We’ll get the whole group back together, we’ll do some runs. And we’ll schedule another four weeks off a few months down the road. Give everyone a chance to plan their time.”
“Now that’s the Magdalene I know.” She threw a quizzical glance my way, and I shrugged. “The only way I’ll get you off that ship is if we put it in a damned schedule, isn’t it?”
She grinned. “What can I say? I’m a true romantic.”
The clock chimed, and we both
groaned. “Let me kiss you before you go,” I said, “just in case there’s any more day-long Kudarian death rituals we don’t know about that are going to keep me from you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Maggie had deemed that a good idea, and I’d kissed her in the bathroom. Then she’d got the last of her things and went to leave, stopping to kiss me in the bedroom. “Just in case,” she said.
And as I opened the door, and she stepped out, I whispered, “Once more?”
She nodded. “You never know what the day might have in store.” She wrapped one arm around me, cupping the back of my head in her hand, and drew me to her in a long, slow kiss. The other hand traced its way down my back.
I melted into her, letting her arms guide me. Like it always did, her raw strength left me more than a little weak. “Oh Mags,” I moaned. “I wish we didn’t have to go anywhere.”
She moved from my mouth to my neck, peppering it in hot kisses. “Me too, baby. Me too.”
“Let’s definitely get that hotel room tonight,” I whispered.
“And this time,” she shot back with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, “the trips down memory lane are going to have to wait.”
I grinned sheepishly. Tending to my melancholy mood the night before had preempted any of Maggie’s more amorous endeavors. “Deal.”
She moved her lips toward mine again, but turned suddenly. “What was that?”
“What was what?” I glanced up and down the hall. It was empty.
“That noise. Didn’t you hear it?”
I shook my head, and she frowned. “Hm.” For a minute, she stared down the hall, a crease yet marring her brow. Then, she shrugged. “I guess it was nothing.” Still, she slipped her arms off me. “I should go, though, before anyone does see us.”
“I know,” I agreed. “Unfortunately.”
“Until tonight, then.”
I grinned at her. “Until tonight.”
I finished dressing and styling my hair quickly, my mind full of the day – and night – ahead. I was whistling when I descended the stairs, and managed to check my enthusiasm before entering the green breakfast room. Too much cheer was as unseemly as too little.
