The Seeker

by Elizabeth Hunter

“We let him in,” Rhys murmured. “What were we thinking?”

  “He felt safe.” Meera took a deep breath. “That thing lived across the road from us, knowing who and what we were for decades. Taunting us right under our noses even though we couldn’t see him. Watching and waiting for a moment of weakness.”

  “They can’t feel safe,” Rhys said.

  “If they feel safe, then no one—not Irin or Grigori, and definitely not human—can feel safe. We have to change the rules. In a fair fight, any Irin warrior can stop any Grigori. We’ve played fair and we’ve mastered them.”

  “But we’re battling a hydra, chopping off heads that only regrow.”

  She nodded. “We have to aim for the heart.”

  “Aim for the Fallen.”

  “And have mercy on the sons.”

  It was a difficult thing to wrap his mind around, especially after waking from a nightmare. “Ask me tomorrow for mercy. Right now I need to remember you’re alive.”

  Rhys and Meera washed together in the bathhouse, which had only taken a little bit of fire damage, and hid in Meera’s room. After a short visit from his parents and hers—along with a call to Istanbul—he locked the door and took her to bed.

  The first time they made love was urgent and necessary. The second time was tender. The third sent them both into dreams.

  They walked hand in hand through a path in the fields. Rustling cane whispered around them and night birds sang overhead.

  “I saw you here before.”

  He turned to her. “Before?”

  “Before I knew you.”

  “How did you see me?”

  She kissed his knuckled. “I loved you then as I love you now. I just hadn’t met you yet.”

  At the end of the path lay a sea of memory that stretched into the distance as stars danced overhead. The stars touched the water and the water touched the stars.

  She walked up and touched her toes to the edge. The water danced before them, and the waves whispered secrets.

  “Do you swim?” she asked.

  “I can.”

  “Will you swim with me?”

  “Always.”

  She slipped off her shoes, but he held her back. “Why?”

  “Not tonight.”

  The whispers became louder; waves rose along the shore.

  He turned to the sea. “You are not her master.”

  The whispers grew quiet and the waves calmed.

  “Tonight we’ll walk,” he said. “You need to rest.”

  She took a cleansing breath. “I do need to rest.”

  “I know you.” He bent down and kissed her softly. “I’ve always known you.”

  “Did you?” A smile bloomed on her face. “That’s right. You did.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Sabine met Meera on the edge of the blackened cane fields.

  “How is it so muddy?” Meera asked.

  “I called the rain.” Sabine turned to her, speaking in English. “I remember how to do that now.”

  “Handy.”

  “For a farmer? Yes.”

  Meera stood next to her sister, charred fields before them and a ruined haven in the back.

  “Roch and I are mated,” Sabine said. “I imagine you probably guessed that. We didn’t tell anyone because… We didn’t know if it would make any difference.” The singer’s face was solemn. “I thought it had, but it turns out he’s just officially bound to a crazy woman now.”

  “It has made a difference.” Meera glanced at her from the corner of her eye. “I can see it. You will too when you’re not so upset. And Roch has always been bound to a crazy woman. Now it’s just official.”

  Sabine’s smile was sad. “I thought I was going to get better. I really did. And then I did this.”

  “You had a moment of madness and lost control in your grief.” Meera shrugged. “It happens. Just think of it as a jump on the harvest this year.”

  Sabine grimaced.

  Meera softened her voice. “You were trying to protect us. You’ll rebuild.”

  “I don’t know—”

  “I’m going back to Udaipur with Rhys.”

  Sabine’s jaw dropped. “What?”

  “We need to be there. I need to make this training available to mated pairs who want to learn. The Tomir have already secured Akune’s memory stone and are taking it to the treasury. Rhys is ready to be settled for a while, though I think we may go to Istanbul for a long visit soon.”

  Sabine blinked. “Your parents?”

  “My retinue comes with me.”

  Sabine’s eyes grew panicked. “And the haven?”

  “Is yours,” Meera said softly. “Yours and Roch’s. My parents agree with me. This land is tied to you and your blood. Your wards deterred an archangel for decades, even when you were unstable. You’re the best possible guardian for Havre Hélène.”

  “You’re leaving me in charge of the haven?” Sabine’s laugh was manic. “I’m still half-crazy!”

  Meera pursed her lips. “You’re a work in progress. Aren’t we all?”

  “Meera, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but—”

  “I trust you.” She put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “I trust you, Sabine. Roch trusts you. My parents trust you.” She leaned forward and kissed the singer’s cheek. “You need to trust yourself.”

  Sabine’s expression was still riddled with doubt.

  “And Ata has agreed to stay close,” Meera added softly. “She will not fade. At least not right away. Some of the Koconah Citlal will be moving north to rebuild the Atchafalaya mound with her. You’ll have another haven close by. A new place of learning. An elder able to guide you.”

  “Meera…” Sabine’s lip trembled. “I want to succeed. I want to be a guardian. I just… don’t know what you expect me to do.”

  “I expect you to rebuild. I expect you to be you. Bright and brilliant and protective and strong. And when the madness threatens to come and overwhelm you”—she gripped Sabine’s hand tightly—“I expect you to grab it with both hands, find a safe place, and dance.”

  Meera followed the sound of shouting men to the old guest house, partially renovated and now partially burned. Rhys stood on the roof, tossing down charred shingles to waiting scribes on the ground. His shirt was stripped off and sweat ran down his chest.

  His body was whole. The only wounds left in her mate were those on his psyche. And those, like any wound, would take time to heal.

  He was even starting to get a tan. Meera hadn’t thought that was possible.

  Rhys spotted her, whistled for a break, and climbed down the ladder. “Hello.” His smile was still held an edge of arrogance, but it was softened by the love in his eyes. “Did you talk to Sabine?”

  She nodded before he kissed her. “How much water have you drunk today?”

  “Enough.” He gave her bottom a friendly smack and nudged her toward a towering magnolia tree that shaded what was left of the back porch. “And they insisted on pouring that hideous tea down my throat.”

  “It’s cold and sweet and delicious.”

  “It’s cold tea.” He grimaced. “It ought to be illegal.”

  She handed him a bandana to wipe his forehead.

  “Tell me again”—he stretched out on the grass and put his head in her lap—“about the weather in Udaipur.”

  “Um… not as humid as here?” Most of the time. “And don’t forget the large, air-conditioned fortress. It’s been completely modernized.”

  He smiled and closed his eyes. “Right now that’s good enough.”

  They lay in the shade of the magnolia, listening to the hammering and labor of the scribes and singers repairing the guest house. In the distance, Sabine started her old gramophone and pointed the horn toward the workers.

  The breeze smelled of burned sugar, but it was soft and cool. The fire had burned the chaff away from the cane, but it had not destroyed everything. The ground was raw and exposed, but the roots remained. The cane
would grow back, healthier than it had ever been.

  “I love this place,” Rhys said. “Quite surprised by that, but I do. I want to come back.”

  “But you don’t want to stay.”

  He reached up and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. “Now is the time to let others build. You came to record a dying language only to revive it. Ata’s traditions were dying. Now they’re growing. You helped with that.”

  “And you came to learn martial magic, only to dread its use.”

  “I’ve always dreaded its use,” Rhys said. “But I understand its necessity.”

  “What do you do with a weapon too terrible to use?”

  “Use it on the terrible.” He drew her down for a kiss. “And then hope you can rebuild.”

  “One day, when the Fallen are gone, there will be peace.”

  “I believe that now,” Rhys said. “I can see it, thanks to you.”

  She smiled. “I’m glad.”

  “And thanks to me.” Vasu appeared next to them, stretching out on the grass like a lazy cat. “You’re not going to get rid of me, are you? How boring would that be?”

  Rhys closed his eyes. “If I don’t look at him, can I pretend he’s a figment of my imagination?”

  “Then you’d have a disturbing imagination,” Vasu said. “Did I hear that you’re returning to Udaipur?”

  “Yes, Vasu.”

  “Good, I’ll see you there.” And he disappeared.

  Rhys stared at her. “Please?”

  “No. And you have to stop throwing daggers at him. I don’t need holes in the walls.”

  “They’re stone walls, aren’t they? They can take a few holes. Gives them character.”

  “Try to restrain yourself.”

  He grumbled, “You like it when I’m unrestrained.”

  Meera laughed and Rhys pinched the back of her thigh. Then he rolled over and bit her leg while she yelped and scrambled away. They played in the grass like children, drawing disapproving glances and rolled eyes from the scribes and singers trying to work.

  Meera’s whole life had been bound by duty. She’d been born to it, nursed on it, and resigned to its call. She’d traveled to the other side of the world to escape its clutches, only to find her heart’s desire in the soul of a rebellious scholar.

  Rhys had remembered how to teach mischief.

  And Meera was more than happy to learn.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Five years later…

  Vasu showed up when Rhys was changing the diaper of his only son. Quick as a wink, a dagger escaped its sheath and flew through the room, lodging in a chink in the wall just as the angel darted away.

  “I’m telling her you did that.”

  “It makes the baby laugh,” Rhys said.

  Bodhi Anil, tiny scribe of Udaipur, did laugh. He grabbed his chubby feet and rolled to the side, watching the angel who’d taken the form of a bird and hopped up and down on the window ledge in Bodhi’s room. The bird seemed completely content to play the clown for the little round baby whose belly shook at the bird’s antics.

  And that, more than any strategic reasoning, was the reason Rhys put up with Vasu.

  “Why are you here, Vasu?”

  The bird transformed into a slim young man in his early teens. It was the most common disguise Vasu used in Udaipur. Rhys had been surprised to see the angel running among the gardens and walkways of the fortress with little to no notice from anyone other than Meera and himself.

  “I just wanted to visit the baby,” he murmured, leaning over Bodhi’s crib. “His dreams are beautiful.”

  The fear never left him. No matter how many times Vasu visited their household, Rhys felt the clutch of it in his throat. It was the instinct of a father, fierce in his love for his mate and his child. He knew Vasu was more powerful. No matter how many of the Fallen Rhys and Meera had slain, Vasu was more powerful than the others. And Vasu had aims none of them could predict. If he chose to harm Meera or Bodhi, it was out of Rhys’s control.

  It was a hard and humbling reality.

  And yet… Vasu didn’t. Instead, he’d appeared the night of the baby’s naming ceremony and stood over his cradle with the closest expression to tenderness Rhys had ever witnessed from the inhuman creature. There was something about the little boy that drew the angel, just like he was drawn to Matti and Geron in Istanbul.

  Rhys picked up his son and bounced him on his hip. The boy was eight months old and the star of Udaipur. The light of his grandparents’ lives and the favorite of every scribe and singer in the fortress.

  “He’s hungry,” Rhys said with an obligatory scowl. “I’m taking him to Meera. Come along if you want.”

  “Fine.” The young man followed Rhys from the room.

  All the way to Meera’s teaching quarters, Rhys did his best to avoid the curious scholars and warriors who populated the castle. Every single one of them would want to hold the baby. Everyone would offer to take him to Meera. If Rhys and Meera weren’t careful, their child would have been raised by everyone in the fortress except his parents.

  “I think I’m beginning to like you,” Vasu said. “You’re the only being on the planet who dislikes people as much as I do.”

  “I don’t dislike people.” He looked down at Bodhi. “I don’t dislike you, do I, little man? I like you and your mama the best.”

  “Meera and Bodhi don’t count.”

  Rhys glanced at Vasu. “I don’t dislike most people.”

  “You just don’t have any patience with their foolishness.”

  “If you’re referring to that emissary from Jerome’s staff, he had it coming. He interrupted her five times during an audience that he’d requested. If you’re not going to let the Sage of Udaipur speak, then why waste her time?”

  “Do you want me to kill him?”

  Rhys took a deep breath. And this is why my guard is never down. “No, Vasu, you cannot kill him. He had a political disagreement with Meera, he wasn’t threatening her.”

  “But he was still annoying.”

  “Yes. Annoying is not a threat.”

  “It’s a threat to my sanity.”

  Rhys wondered if it was a bad sign that he was beginning to agree with Vasu more than he disagreed. Bodhi reached for the angel, and Rhys reluctantly let him go.

  Vasu brightened immediately. “Hello, little wisdom.”

  The baby began babbling to the angel, who answered back with just as much sincerity as the child was exhibiting. Rhys was beginning to wonder if Vasu was playing along with Bodhi or honestly understood something his parents didn’t.

  “I know.”

  “Bah!”

  “I’m saying I agree with you, child.”

  “Guh ish pfffffft.”

  “That’s not part of our agreement. You’ll have to speak to your parents about that.”

  What agreement? Rhys shook his head. Having an infant had clearly been a strain on his sanity because he was starting to feel left out of a conversation between an angel and an eight-month-old. “I need more sleep,” he muttered.

  But as he turned the corner, he was reminded why he didn’t waste time with sleeping.

  His mate, the love and joy of his life, sat on a low chair under an arching fig tree with three young singers on mats before her. She was singing the weaving song Ata had taught her so many years before and instructing the young women in weaving while they discussed the instrumental magic being developed by kareshta in Southeast Asia.

  Meera looked up when she heard Bodhi’s laugh, and the smile that lit her face nearly stopped Rhys’s heart in his chest.

  Rhys took the baby from Vasu and walked to Meera’s side. “Sha ne’ev reshon.” He leaned over as if he were bussing her cheek, but instead he ducked down and pressed his mouth to her neck in a lingering kiss. “We missed you.”

  “I missed you too.” Her pulse fluttered against his lips. “Sisters, would you excuse us?”

  The young singers giggled and picked up
their books, leaving Rhys and Meera alone with Bodhi.

  And Vasu.

  “Depart, heavenly creature.” Rhys pulled a large cushion to his wife’s feet and lounged against it with the baby in his lap. “I want privacy with my mate.”

  “Fine, but I’m taking Bodhi with me.”

  Meera’s eyes didn’t leave Rhys’s. “Unless you’re going to feed the ravenous little man, I wouldn’t suggest it.”

  Vasu grumbled and disappeared.

  “It’s like having an infant and a teenager at the same time,” he said.

  “I talked to Ava today. I’m not looking forward to the teen years.”

  “The twins are only nine.”

  “They’re precocious.”

  Rhys frowned and kissed the mop of sable hair that covered his son’s head. “Our child will never be as unruly as the twins.”

  Her eyebrows went up. “Yes, because his father was such a mild-mannered and calm child.”

  “I have no idea what you are talking about. I was an angel.” And we all know how much trouble they can cause. As if Bodhi were reading his father’s thoughts, the little boy let loose a peal of laughter and reached for his mother’s breasts. “Yes, I suppose he does take after me a bit.”

  “Give me my boy.” Meera reached for the baby, her face alight with joy. “Hello, my darling. Have you been a good baby today?”

  She’d been an unsure mother at the beginning, reluctant to make any mistakes or missteps. She’d never been around children and didn’t know their quirks and moods. She wanted to do everything perfectly and was often very hard on herself.

  Luckily, Rhys was as accomplished at soothing the mother as he was the child. Over the early months of Bodhi’s life, Meera’s insecurity in her new role faded away, and she became a delighted and easy parent. She brushed away the offer of nurses and nannies, insisting that she and Rhys were more than capable of caring for their son with a little help from Patiala and Maarut.

  Like so many other things in Udaipur, it was a change and not always a welcome one.

  But under Meera’s leadership, many of the more formal aspects of life in the fortress had been quietly retired. Though a deep vein of tradition still flowed through the fortress and the library, new ways of life were blooming.