by NS Dolkart
His room didn’t need much in the way of arranging. Hunter made his bed every morning and only came back to the room at night, so the biggest decision he had to make was where to put Psander’s scroll. It had been sitting in his room for years, waiting for the day when Phaedra would return and he could ask her if she loved him.
First he moved it from the little table to the bed. Then he decided that it looked strange there and put it back. He rolled it neatly, then wondered if he should unroll it again and arrange it as if he’d been reading it recently. On second thought, that was ridiculous. He left it as it was.
It was just slightly off-center. Should he turn it so its sides aligned with the table’s edges? He couldn’t help it – it would bother him otherwise. All right, now that was done. He lay down and counted to a hundred.
Phaedra and Psander would be talking for hours, wouldn’t they? Why couldn’t he have said he’d meet her in the courtyard, and found a private place to talk after that? Then he wouldn’t be trapped here, with nothing to do but obsess about what to ask her, what to tell her. What had changed in her life since he last saw her? No life could remain in stasis – even his had changed. Did she still care for him? Had she missed him at all?
He had missed her every day, and worried that he was wasting his time. Maybe he ought to have given in and married one of the village women, had children, had a life. They were wonderful people, there was nothing wrong with them. If he had ever given up on Phaedra, he could have moved on.
Why was he having these thoughts again now, when she was finally here? Soon he’d know for sure whether he had wasted his time, and then one way or another his life would change.
Why couldn’t Psander be more succinct, so that he and Phaedra could get this over with?
No, that was a ridiculous thought. Psander and Phaedra were working on saving the world – let them take their time. It was just so hard to imagine the world actually ending, so easy to let his own life take on more importance than it deserved.
Anyway, as long as it might take, he was glad nonetheless that he hadn’t asked Phaedra to meet him in the courtyard. He didn’t want all his friends and neighbors to see him like this. He’d be just as useless down there as he was here, except then he’d have to talk to people. This was much better.
He tried to relax his tensing muscles and sink into the bed, but it was no good. His heart beat fast and he imagined he heard footsteps in the hall. He tried counting his breaths, but lost count somewhere after fifty-seven.
There was a knock on the door.
Hunter leapt to his feet, calling “Come in!” probably too loudly. He hurried to the door and there she was, smiling apologetically at him.
“We’re done for now,” she said. “Thanks for waiting.”
He stood back and let her into the room. She glanced at the bare walls and the bed, taking it all in but saying nothing.
“Any progress?”
“If you could call it that. I understand the problem now, at least, and it’s good for both of us to have each other to discuss it with, but we don’t have any solution yet. But if the elves can help us, and maybe the castles too, we ought to be able to figure out something. I’m going to have to sleep on it.”
“You didn’t sleep all night?”
Phaedra shook her head. “It is night back in our world. It was twilight when I left and dawn when I got here; the worlds have gotten even further out of alignment since last time I was here.”
Oh, right. Hunter had completely forgotten about the misalignment they had noticed those many years ago. Now he felt like an idiot.
“But I can sleep later,” Phaedra said. “How are you? It’s been so long, everything must be different.”
He recognized trepidation in her voice, recognized his own feelings mirrored back at him. She was afraid to find out how much his life had changed. How could he tell her that he’d waited for her, that for eleven years he had dreamt of seeing her again and convincing her to be his? Hunter had never felt so vulnerable.
“A lot of things have changed,” he said. “I haven’t.”
“Oh.”
“I’m older now,” Hunter said, afraid to let that silence stand. “I’ve learned to farm and to hunt, and trained our people well enough to fight off the elves if we had to, I think. Tritika is faster than I am now, or close to it. And we’ve had harvests and shortages and a few scares sometimes, but… I don’t know what to say. It’s not the same as when you left, but it’s not that different. The community’s gotten stronger.”
Phaedra nodded politely. “Atella was saying she has children…?”
“Oh yes, she does. She married Tarphon – I don’t think you’d remember him.”
“No. But you?”
Hunter spread his hands. “You didn’t marry,” Phaedra said quietly. “Your room is as bare as ever.”
“I only sleep here,” Hunter said. “I spend my days outside, mostly. We all farm together and eat together – there’s no one to buy or sell to, so everything’s shared.”
“You’re changing the subject.”
“I’m nervous.”
There, he’d said it. Phaedra smiled at him and apologized. “I didn’t mean to interrogate you.”
“No, that’s all right.”
“I’ve learned a lot since I left,” Phaedra said. “I’ve been all over the world, practically. I travelled to Essisha, and to the eastern archipelago. Their religions are fascinating, Hunter. Did you know they don’t do sacrifices? At all? And their kingdoms are vast, cities upon cities all under the same rulers, and they season their food with this incredible plant called sperek, which I can’t even describe.”
She went on happily for a good many minutes, telling him story after story of what she’d seen. When he asked about her staff, she told him about Criton’s death and Bandu’s journey to bring him back, about how the Dragon Touched had made peace with Ardis and built their own city in the north, and how Bandu was now married to another woman named Vella. There was so much for Phaedra to tell him about that he almost abandoned his plan for their conversation and put it off until the next day. He leaned against the bed and listened gladly, loving the animation in her face and reveling in the sound of her voice. But when she told him how she and the Atunaean navy had defeated Mura, the story ended with her return to this world and she came to a natural stop.
“I have to ask you a question,” Hunter said, almost casually at first, but then his courage failed him and he could go no further. He struggled to say the next words and came up short, and the longer it took him, the greater the weight of his silence became. Phaedra watched him with big eyes as he tried to speak, the gravity of his unspoken words so immense that he could practically see their shadow on her face.
“Yes?” she said at last.
“I have to–” he stuttered. “I– do you still love me? Really love me?”
She sighed. “I do, Hunter. I really do. I missed you so much. But it can’t–”
“But what if it could?” he asked. “What if you could marry me and never worry about children or having to give up magic, or anything? Would you marry me?”
“In a heartbeat, but–”
“Are you sure?”
She didn’t speak for a moment, her expression suddenly suspicious. How he had missed her face, her perfect deep brown skin and those high cheekbones; the way her eyes shone with intelligence and conviction. He wanted her to be telling the truth, because if she was…
“Why are you asking me this?”
His eyes flicked to the scroll on the table. He knew she had caught the gesture.
“What…?”
“I know it was stupid,” he said. “Of course you did it already ages ago, but I went through Psander’s library to find something for your ankle. Not now, years ago. Yes, I know. Of course you looked already. But I thought maybe if I could find a way to fix it…”
Her eyes widened as she looked at him. Was it shock or fear, or something else? Did she
already know what was inside that scroll?
“I didn’t find anything for your foot,” he said, “but I found this.”
Her head turned, but she took no steps closer to the table. “What is that, Hunter? Are you…?”
He wanted to show her, he wanted her to see, but he too was paralyzed. “Psander doesn't know I found that,” he said. “I haven’t told her. But I think she could do it.”
Finally Phaedra moved. “Is it…?” she breathed, approaching the table and gingerly lifting the scroll. Her eyes passed over the words, the illustrations. “It is. But you can’t, Hunter.”
“I can.”
She looked back at him, her eyes glistening. Her voice was almost a whisper. “I don’t think you’ve thought this through.”
“I’ve had this with me since two weeks after you left,” Hunter told her. “I’ve thought it through.”
She was starting to cry now, to really cry. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.
“I thought you’d be married,” she whimpered. “I could have come two years ago, but it had already been so long… I was afraid to see you with a wife and children, happy without me. Or married but still wanting me, that would have been worse. I wasn’t ready…”
“Eleven years is a long time,” Hunter said, and was once again keenly aware of the imbalance between her intelligence and his. It was such a stupid thing to say – of course eleven years was a long time. He went on anyway. “I’ve waited a long time to find out if this would be worth it. I want to marry you, Phaedra. If you’d take me, this would be a small price to pay. But if something has changed, or if you were maybe just being polite…”
“I wasn’t being polite!” Phaedra cried. “How can you even think that? I’ve loved you for years, Hunter, since the first time we came here together, or maybe even before. Just because I wasn’t forward like Bandu doesn’t mean I didn’t care for you!”
“You’d have me if I did this?”
Phaedra went quiet. “I think… I think we should wait, and talk about this again tomorrow. And maybe wait another week or two, so we’re sure. We haven’t seen each other in years, Hunter, and it wouldn’t be right to rush this. You’re talking about mutilating yourself. And you’ve always wanted children, I know you have.”
“I’ve always wanted you.”
“Sleep on it,” she commanded. “Or I’ll sleep on it. Good heavens, it’s practically noon out there! I have to sleep, Hunter. We’ll talk about it again later. All right?”
“All right,” Hunter said, and when she made her way to the door, he had to cough to get his next words out. The door was already closing when he stammered, “I love you.”
A few seconds went by. She hadn’t heard him. Then the door opened again and Phaedra said, “I love you too, Hunter. I just have to sleep.”
And then she was gone.
Hunter lay down and hugged the scroll to himself, for all that it really was noon already and his stomach was rumbling. Phaedra loved him.
13
Narky
Narky did not request an audience with King Mageris; instead he sent a messenger asking that the king come to him. He had learned to do this from Ptera years ago. The way she had put it, there were things a high priest had to do to keep people from believing that their king owned their God, and not the other way around. Narky gave her all the credit for the strength of their church in Ardis. The Graceful Servant had matched him to Ptera because she thought he needed her influence to succeed; now, years later, he could see that she had been right. There were so many ways that seventeen year-old Narky could have failed, had he not had Ptera there to guide him.
He had needed every bit of her guidance with Mageris and his father. The monarchy and the Ardisian Church of Ravennis, born together, lived in constant tension. In their own ways, each could credibly threaten the other with annihilation – yet neither had a good plan for the aftermath, so they maintained a public façade of mutual respect and cooperation while their leaders loathed and feared each other.
Narky was playing a game of dice with his son, waiting to hear whether the king was coming or not, when Father Erebid rushed in, saying that the man himself was outside the temple. Narky swore under his breath and rose to follow, but Ptera put out a hand to stop him.
“Grace,” she said, “help Father Erebid get ready for tonight’s service. Narky, you should change that robe before you see the king. I’ll tell him you’ll meet him in the main chamber.”
Narky strode to the vestry to do as she said, wondering what was wrong with the robe he wore. When he had changed, he took a moment to inspect the old robe. He then saw the greasy smudge high on his left sleeve, where his good right eye couldn’t see it. He sighed and said a prayer of thanks to Ravennis as he made his way to the main chamber.
Mageris and his retinue were already there when Narky arrived. The king had come in full pomp, escorted by eight royal guards and carrying the most potent and pointed symbol of his kingship: his father’s gold-tipped spear. This was the spear that had killed High Priest Melikon, priest of Magor and Narky’s predecessor as head cleric of Ardis. Mageris’ father had impaled him in this very place, before Narky had converted the Temple of Magor for Ravennis’ use. The gold leaf that now adorned the weapon, snaking down from its point in a slowly widening helix, did not obscure Narky’s memory of blood and horror. Mageris was good at keeping him off-balance.
The king turned from Ptera as Narky entered. “You requested my presence,” he stated, leaving out the customary ‘Your Eminence’. “Here I am.”
“Yeah,” Narky said, “thanks for being quick about it.” He knew his casual demeanor always infuriated Mageris. “I wanted to tell you about my plans for dealing with Sephas. He’s been safe from us, hiding in Atuna, but he’s made a real mistake this time. He’s written something that’s blasphemous against Ravennis and God Most High, and I think we can get Atuna to hand him over.”
The king looked plainly uninterested. “Oh? How?”
“I’ll have to talk to Criton about it, but I think he’ll be willing to raise an army to join ours. Atuna won’t risk a war against both our cities just to protect a troublemaker from Anardis.”
Mageris pursed his lips sourly. “Your campaign against Pelthas wasn’t enough; now you want to pick fights with Atuna. Explain to me why I should support this recklessness. Why should Ardis join forces with the Dragon Touched, who killed our people and stole our land, against a city that has done nothing to harm us?”
“Our Gods are allies,” Narky pointed out. “And anyway, Atuna doesn’t care about Sephas. They’d rather have our trade than a war.”
“If we are to have a war,” Mageris said ominously, “it will not be against Atuna.”
Narky blinked at him, unsure of what to say. Did the king really mean to wage war against the Dragon Touched, or was he just trying to get under Narky’s skin?
And anyway, why should the king bring up Pelthas, when his father had fully supported that campaign? It had made sense, after the loss of the north, to expand Ardis’ influence into southern Hagardis, solidifying Anardis’ status as a vassal state and Ravennis-Elkinar as the sole God of the realm. The priests of Pelthas had been their enemies from the start, the first to shelter Sephas in his apostasy and the first allies to accept his premise. They had wanted to keep the southerners away from Ravennis and the south separate from Ardis – there had been plenty of reasons for Magerion to support the campaign against them. Besides, the murderer-king had as little love for the God of Justice as Narky the murderer-priest did.
“It’s possible,” Ptera said, “that Atuna will give us Sephas without an army at their gates, if we and the Dragon Touched both send very polite emissaries asking them to.”
Mageris turned to her more thoughtfully than scornfully, which Narky took as encouragement.
“I can bring that up with Criton,” Narky said. “Send your guard with me, and we’ll leave today.”
“Provide your own guard,” Mage
ris answered. “If your friend the Dragon Touched king is willing to send an emissary to Atuna, I will do the same.”
Narky couldn’t help but smile as the king and his guard swept out, marching back toward the palace. He had hoped he could rely on Mageris’ contempt to override his suspicion. Narky preferred to meet Criton alone, and he was sure that had he suggested such a thing the king would have insisted on sending a bodyguard along to spy on him. As it was, he was free to go as he pleased.
When the king and his men were gone, Narky turned back to Ptera. “Ready to go to Salemica?”
“No. Grace and I should stay here, Narky, otherwise it’ll look like our family is trying to leave the city before some disaster strikes. You know everyone’s nervous now, after that skyquake. They’re going to see signs everywhere.”
Narky sighed. “You’re right. And I don’t think I want to see Criton’s family anyway – maybe I’ll send for him to meet me in Arca.”
Arca was a village roughly the same distance from both Ardis and Salemica. It was as close as the rival cities had to neutral territory, too far east to have been involved on either side of the war but near enough to the action for its people to be grateful that the war had ended. The village had hosted official delegations from Ardis and Salemica several times throughout the peace, and its people were very proud of their status as neutral ground.
Narky sent for Criton to meet him there, and left Ardis two days later. He left alone, without so much as a priestly retainer. Company did not really suit him – only his family did. Ptera was right that taking her and Grace with him would have caused mass panic, but he still hated being away from them: they were his anchors, the supports that kept him grounded. When he was away from them, there was nobody to pull him out of his thoughts and fears.
Of those, he had plenty. Narky’s Pa had died out of his sight, and separation always made him feel certain that the experience would repeat itself somehow, whether through Narky’s death or his wife and child’s. Narky couldn’t even imagine living without them at this point, and the thought of them losing him was just as bad. Grace deserved so much better than to be fatherless, and Ptera deserved to keep her second husband.
