Because everything must be done without question.
“Meera Bai, you will be called. Abha is gone. Meera is your new name.”
“Yes, Auntie.”
“Anamitra is my name. Meera Bai is yours. Names are important, so we must use them.”
“Yes, Anamitra.”
“You have been chosen as my heir. Do you understand what that means? Your life is no longer your own. You belong to all the daughters of heaven.”
“Yes, Auntie.”
“I am not Auntie.”
“Yes, Anamitra.”
Meera drove slowly down the dirt road leading to the second largest home on the property. It had once belonged to the matriarch of the family, but that human was long dead and the rambling home had been turned into rooms for unmated singers.
When the plantation had been taken over nearly one hundred years before, it had been near ruin and the shacks that had been the slave quarters were crumbling and rotting.
The singers who first came had burned the remnants of the cottages, singing laments and prayers of healing for the human souls who had suffered, while digging deep to find the roots of family, strength, and survival they had sowed in the land.
The ruins became places for meditation and teaching, with gardens growing around them. The plantation that had once been a place of horrible pain became a farm where the vulnerable could find refuge and survivors could grow. New cottages were built for mated singers and the scribes who had fled with them from the Rending. Everyone worked together.
It was a self-sustained ecosystem now guarded by Patiala and Maarut, her own parents, who had taken over from the previous guardian and her mate.
When Meera had told her parents she wanted to leave the great library at Udaipur after Anamitra’s death, they had thought she was joking. She was not.
“Anamitra had no life outside this place. Her world was this compound.”
“Your world is here as well. This is a center of learning. A safe place where singers can seek wisdom and healing. You know what happened when Anamitra left.”
“I refuse to be bound by rules set in stone before I was born. If I carry this burden, I will decide how and where I carry it.”
“The world needs Anamitra’s heir.”
“And they will have me. Eventually. But I have lived over two hundred years confined to this place. There are other wise singers in the Irin world. They can survive without me for a few years.”
Meera had moved without asking her parents—her first act of rebellion but not her last—and she’d chosen a place that had fascinated her for personal and academic reasons. As a child, she’d been enthralled by the legends and stories of the powerful singers across the sea. She’d listened to the songs that told about great battles, vast landscapes, prosperity, and centuries of peace.
When the opportunity had arisen to break free from the boundaries of her childhood, she grabbed it.
She parked the car behind the main house where her parents made their home. Her father oversaw the farm and organization of the compound. Her mother oversaw the security of the haven and communication with other guardians around the world.
In the history of unbreakable bonds, theirs was one of the most ironclad, all the more amazing to Meera because their mating had been strictly arranged by their families.
“Meera!” Patiala waved from the back porch and jogged down the steps. “I didn’t know you’d be here so early.” She hugged her daughter in a tight embrace. “Nanette is making lunch for us right now.”
“That sounds amazing.”
Patiala flashed a smile. “It’s so good to see you.”
“It’s only been three weeks.”
She was short, like Meera, but there was nothing soft about her. Her skin was darker than her daughter’s, tanned from a love of the outdoors, and her loose cotton pants and shirt hid the lean muscles of a world-class archer. Meera’s father might have looked more forbidding, but her mother was the force in the family.
Anamitra’s niece had been trained early as an archivist, like all the singers in their family were, but it had become clear early on that Patiala took after her warrior father. It was only fitting that her mate came from the same clan of Tomir warriors pledged to guard the fortress in Udaipur.
Patiala had found a ready and welcoming home among them and astonished everyone when her child had been the one to exhibit the extraordinary magic necessary for Anamitra’s heir.
“Your father is in the fields,” Patiala said. “I think he was expecting you later as well.”
“I wanted to beat the traffic.”
Patiala laid her head on Meera’s shoulder. “And how is my joy this morning? Your shoulders look heavy.”
“They are.” Meera glanced at her mother. “Maybe you can explain how a very persistent scribe who sees far more than he should has managed to find me all the way from Istanbul.”
Patiala lifted her head. “Well, he arrived much more quickly than I’d anticipated.”
“How could you tell him where I was?” Meera rubbed her temples, wishing Nanette’s excellent gumbo and fresh trout could rid her of the headache that had started the minute she’d brought up Rhys of Glast. “You told him my name!”
“You can’t remain completely anonymous,” Patiala said. “I refuse to give you an assumed name when requesting advice from allies. We didn’t specify which Meera you are, and clearly Orsala and Sari didn’t tell him. There are lots of Meeras in the world. He has no way of knowing which one.”
“Do not underestimate this man. When you told me he wanted to meet, I thought I was going to meet with a normal scholar who’d have a few questions and then be on his way when I didn’t want to have dinner with him. This one is entirely too persistent. And too perceptive.”
Maarut frowned. “You said you needed help. That you were certain Atawakabiche was living but that you needed help to find her. This man is a scholar of very good reputation, and he is trustworthy. And he’s a warrior who fought in the Battle of Vienna. What is wrong with him?”
“When I said I needed help, I thought you’d send Roch to help me,” Meera said, pointing at the fair-skinned man with sandy-blond hair sitting next to her father. “He’s the one who’s most familiar with the bayous.”
“Roch can’t leave the haven for that long,” Patiala said. “Meera, you can’t possibly think that’s an option. What about this Zep that you’ve spoken of?”
She shook her head. “I don’t want Zep knowing any more about me than he already does. He’s a good soldier, and he’d report on me to his watcher without a second thought. The scribes in New Orleans don’t know what my role is, and I don’t want them to know. Plus I don’t need Zep getting ideas because I confided in him. And he would. Roch wouldn’t get ideas because he’s already in love with Sabine.”
“That I am,” Roch said with a slight smile. “But you also know there’s no way I can leave her here alone. She’d go off the rails if I disappeared.”
Logically, Meera knew Roch was right, but it still annoyed her that the scribe was tied to the haven by a singer who wasn’t even his mate.
Not that she wouldn’t be if she was in her right mind. Roch was devoted to Sabine as deeply as Maarut was devoted to Patiala, but the singer’s mind had been broken during the Rending, and all attempts at healing had failed.
“Roch, I would like you to ask around about increased Grigori activity. Rhys and Zep ran into a Grigori that led them to believe Bozidar might be making moves south.”
“I can do that,” Roch said. “I’ll talk to some of the loners up the river. See what they have to say.”
“So Rhys of Glast has already given you information about Fallen activity,” Patiala said. “I consider that a positive sign. Don’t you, Maarut?”
“Very positive.”
Patiala said, “He sounds like a very bright young man.”
Meera felt a headache brewing. “That has nothing to do with Atawakabiche or—”
“He will be an excellent collaborator.” Patiala nodded decisively. “I’ve spoken to Sari about this. And Orsala. She has great respect for the young man. Not only is he highly learned and trustworthy, he uses the same kind of… machines you do. Computers and things.”
Meera shook her head. “Computers and things?”
“I’m just saying he probably wouldn’t think it was an abomination to record Irina magic,” Patiala said. “Some might.”
“You mean like you do?”
“Anamitra’s legacy cannot be preserved on gigabytes!” Patiala waved her hand in a shooing gesture. “Or whatever it is you use to record them.”
Her mother might have looked the same age as Meera, but they were generations apart regarding modern technology. Meera still had to help her mother use email. “Mata, it’s not… Never mind.” She turned to her father. “You haven’t even met this man, but you’re comfortable with him pestering me?”
Maarut narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like any scribe pestering you. I’d rather we were back in Udaipur where we know what the dangers are.”
“Father, please,” Meera said. “We’re not doing this again.”
Her father flared his nostrils. “Yes, Meera Bai.”
“Don’t do that.” She was still uncomfortable with the fact that, technically, her parents were under her authority now that Anamitra was gone.
She couldn’t even have an old-fashioned argument with them anymore. In the end, it was their duty to submit to her wishes. She’d used that power to her advantage when it came time to move to the United States, but it still felt wrong and unnatural.
“I’ll consider this Rhys,” she said, relenting, “but I still want to have some time to get to know him. And Father, if you had time to visit the city and meet him, that would set me at ease.”
Her father’s expression softened. “I’d be happy to do that.”
She quirked her mouth into a smile. “I know you’re missing my pullout couch.”
“I’ll be sleeping on the porch if that couch is my only option,” Maarut said. “Wooden boards are more comfortable than metal bars.”
Roch and Patiala started laughing, but Meera caught the satisfied glance that passed between her parents.
What are you up to?
“I don’t like it.”
Meera glanced over to see Vasu standing near the window in her room, staring out at the oak trees in the moonlight.
“Don’t barge in on me, Vasu.” Meera was reading in bed. “What if I were getting dressed?”
“I saw you born. I saw you take your first steps. I have seen your death.” Vasu turned and cocked his head to the side, examining her. “But it embarrasses you to think I might see you without clothes?”
“Yes. You don’t have rights to me or my body. Don’t assume them just because you are an angel.”
“And don’t assume I would take them.” He slumped into the corner chaise. “All my lovers came willingly to me. Not that you will ever be my lover. You are too important for that.”
Meera frowned. “You have such a twisted sense of sexual relationships.”
“And you don’t? Your first lover was chosen by your great-aunt to educate you in magical sexual practices. The humans you’ve chosen since—”
“I’m not discussing this with you.” It struck Meera that Vasu knew more about her than any living being. Which was slightly depressing. Then again, she didn’t have normal friends. She didn’t have normal relationships. Not even her parents treated her as they would treat a typical daughter.
“The only slightly normal relationships I have,” she mused, “are with people who don’t know who I am. And… you.”
“I know. You’re very lucky.” He lifted a lock of his hair and started braiding it. “I don’t like it.”
“Don’t like what?”
“You. Here. Why did you leave the fortress?”
Meera took a moment to think before she responded. “I think it’s because the only normal relationships I have are with people who don’t know who I am and you.”
“You can’t have normal relationships. You’re the heir of Anamitra. You will always be different.”
“I can try.”
“You need a mate.” He continued braiding. “Anamitra was much happier once her parents chose a mate for her.”
Meera knew Vasu was right. A mate would be her one true confidant, the person who would be wholly and completely her equal no matter what role she played in the Irin world.
And she knew that all she had to do was snap her fingers and her parents would choose a suitable scribe for her, as Anamitra’s had chosen for her. They would mate. Their magic would bond. Their love would grow. She would probably be supremely happy.
She didn’t want it.
“I want…” She set her book to the side. “I don’t know what I want.”
“That much is obvious.” Vasu looked up. “The son of Glast visits you.”
“Who? Rhys?” She frowned. “You know Rhys of Glast?”
Vasu looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
“Try truthfully?”
“I know of him, but I would not call us friends. He’s tried to kill me a number of times.”
Meera’s eyes went wide. “What?”
“He is always cross when I appear unannounced near Jaron’s daughter.”
“I have no idea what that means. Who is Jaron’s daughter?”
“His watcher’s mate.”
Meera pressed her palms to her eyes. “Vasu. Just… stop. You’re not making any sense.”
“I don’t know why not.” He rose from the chair and crawled next to her in the four-poster bed. “The son of Glast belongs to the Istanbul house where Jaron’s daughter is mated to the watcher. I told Jaron I would watch over her, and I do not break promises to friends.”
“So you visit her.”
“Obviously.”
“And Rhys tried to kill you for that?”
“When I appear, he throws daggers at me.” Vasu shrugged. “He never hits me. I think he enjoys being cross with me.”
“Yes, I can actually see that.” Her irritation fled. She usually couldn’t stay mad at Vasu for long. “So you know Rhys of Glast. Do you think I should trust him?”
Vasu pursed his lips as he thought. “He is very loyal to his friends and far more intelligent than most warriors. He should be a sage, but he is like you.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’s avoiding his responsibilities.”
“I’m not…” Meera sighed. “Okay, I am avoiding responsibilities, but only for a short time.”
“He thinks the same.” Vasu turned a thousand-yard stare toward her. “But like you, his future will not be what he expects.”
“Will you stop speaking in riddles?”
“No,” he said simply. “If I shared my true thoughts, you would go mad. Riddles and stories are the only way to convey truth to those locked in human minds.”
She ignored the insult. Vasu was Vasu. “But you think I can trust Rhys?”
“Perhaps.”
“Vasu!”
“You have to decide for yourself.” His corporeal form started to dissolve. “It’s not my job to solve your puzzles for you.”
Chapter Five
Rhys was sipping tea and waiting for breakfast in the courtyard of the hotel where Meera had taken him his first day in New Orleans. He had returned several times in the week since he’d been in the city. He liked the cool solitude of the courtyard and the tall, trickling fountain.
He didn’t hear her enter the courtyard. He only saw her when she pulled back a wrought iron chair.
How did she keep sneaking up on him? And sneaking away? It had to be some kind of magic. His situational awareness was too keen for any other explanation.
Blasted woman.
“Do you mind if I join you?” She sat down before he could answer.
“Am I going to be able to stop you?�
� He set down the newspaper he’d been reading.
She was wearing a bright green sundress that morning and her hair was knotted on top of her head. A few errant curls fell to shoulders that looked like they’d had a few days of sun since the last time he’d seen her.
Where have you been?
What have you been doing?
Who have you been doing it with?
Asking any of those questions would be impertinent and frankly too revealing of how much he’d been thinking about her. “Good morning, Meera.”
“I’m glad you came back here.” Meera waved over a server. “They don’t get as much business as some of the more obvious restaurants.” She ordered coffee and pastry.
“I like it here.” Rhys sipped his tea. “The kitchen is fast and the servers remain aloof.”
“You like aloof servers?”
“Yes. This city is relentlessly friendly. It’s exhausting.”
Meera threw her head back and laughed. “Relentlessly friendly. Yes, that describes New Orleans quite well. I wouldn’t call it exhausting though.”
“That’s your prerogative.” He itched to tuck the fallen curls back into the knot she wore. As if that would contain her. “You’ve been gone for a few days.”
“Yes, at the haven.”
“Your parents’ haven.”
She smiled softly. “It doesn’t belong to them. They only came here a few years ago.”
“From where?”
Meera said, “Did you order breakfast? I think you’re too thin. You must eat more. Surely I’m not the first person who’s told you this. Isn’t your mother alive? What about your sisters in Istanbul?”
He didn’t give in to the subject change. “Why are you so cagey about who you are? I’ve told you my identity. I’ve been completely open with you, and yet you continue to evade any questions about who you are and what your qualifications might be. How am I supposed to trust you?”
“You’re asking for my help,” Meera said. “I’m not asking for yours, remember? I never called for you, so why is it my responsibility to make you trust me?”
The Seeker Page 6
