After the water had been poured around, Coll said, “Your Grace, is there something you want? Something that is more than a transitory desire, but flows from your bones?”
To have a drink, thought Rhuun at once. And then, to see her again. He didn't know which was more pathetic.
“Ah, the non-answer.” Coll nodded. “I, as one might expect, am something of an expert. When one may not speak, one must turn to other forms of expression. One day I'll tell you about the speech without speaking we used in the Raasth, in place of our voices. But for now, I will tell you what I want. Why I went gladly to the Mages and gave up my voice. It wasn't because of the power of the word, although that has proven useful. It is because I wish to serve Eriis. That is what kept me from the Crosswinds, and that is what brought me to you.”
“And you think bringing the humans back will serve us?” Rhuun thought of them, of her, and wondered.
“Yes, Your Grace. You see, I've been thinking about dirt.” Zaii’s look of confusion was echoed on his own face. “When I asked you what you saw out there, you said sand. Nothing else. That's all we will ever be, until finally we are nothing at all. Eriis isn't quite dying, but it does not thrive. It does not grow. It does not change.”
“Change.” Rhuun thought about the Ocean, her cold caress, and how they talked about change. “So, we've got the weather, the humans, dirt and change.” He waited.
“But that is how it must happen.” Zaii had an unusual look about him. He was nearly animated. “The humans will come back if we make it cool enough. You and Miss Aelle made fine ambassadors, or so the story goes. The humans will come if you call them. They will come, and we will trade with them as we used to. But instead of silk and wood—”
“Dirt,” said Coll. “They will give us dirt. And then we can begin to change.”
Chapter Thirty
Mistra
“Demons?” Rane laughed loudly enough to turn heads up and down the long, polished bar. “Well, when we were younger she was a bit of a demon, I'll give you that!” He tossed a fistful of bills on the bar, enough to keep his audience lubricated. “But as they say, consider the source, eh?” He picked up his beer. “Billah's hanging around a bunch with no numbers after their names, get me?”
“But she was gone a long time, Ray.” His companion helped himself to another beer. “And Billah says—”
“Billah played rough and got hurt.” Rane's look darkened. “And if he's man enough to face me, we can talk about it then.” He put on a smile. “Lel's a rover, is all. She went south for a while, got mixed up in something . . . well, it was political. She was down there in the islands getting cozy with some prince or another, and then there was talk of trouble. You know they'll let anyone who can gather a mob run things for them, there's no proper rule of law. It got hot and she came home. She had to leave in a bit of a hurry.” He swiped the beer from his friend. “Why're you so all up in her business anyway? You've already got a Second on a string. Is Margy getting too dull for you?”
The young man flushed and waved at the barman. “Just get us another round, he's going to drink all of mine anyway.”
“Thanks, Peat. That's a good man. Old Lel, I think she’s home to stay, at least for a while. Guess I'd better get ready to fend off Billah at the front door night and noon.” He laughed again. “He's the scariest thing she ever brought into the house. Excepting the spiders, I guess.”
“Well, to hear Billah tell it—”
“Right, demon hunters and that lot. He's running with…let's just call them 'an element.' I hear his father's cut him off. He'll be sleeping down in Fool's Hill, he keeps this up.”
He drank deeply and took in the faces of the young men around him. Mostly shrugs and nods. His story, after all, was far easier to swallow than a desert world of flying demons. For once, he thought, their father couldn't help but be pleased at what he'd done for the family. He continued. “It was Althee that introduced them, Lel and that southern fella. You know that girl travels in high circles. Lel's mad as hell at her for getting them together, she won't even talk to her, and Al's her oldest friend.” He paused for effect. “Maybe I ought to look her up, console her. You know I love a girl with a great big bank account.” The laughter, as expected. He made his farewells and headed towards the street. From the corner of his eye he noted a veiled figure rise from a dark corner. The figure followed him out the door.
He lingered in the shadow of an alley halfway down the block from the bar and lit a cigarette. Yes, it was good to be back in the squalid, lovely, gossipy city. The clean air of the mountainside farms had nearly killed him with good health. Maybe he really would call on Althee. He listened to the traffic with wonder—no background chatter, the dogs and birds and air itself weren't clamoring for his attention. I am not mad, he thought. I'm not. And despite their years of bickering, fighting, and flat out warfare, he knew who to thank—his ridiculous sister and her ghost boyfriend, or whatever he was. It couldn't be a coincidence that her getting involved with that other world came at the same time the voices went away. She was somehow responsible. He wondered if she knew.
A woman stepped from the gaslamp-lit street into his shadowed alley. “Got one for me?” She threw her dark brown veil back and accepted a cigarette.
“How was the evening's performance?” he asked.
“Perfect.” Lelet took a deep drag on the smoke and smiled. “I won't tell Al what you said about her.”
“So then you're going to see her?”
Lelet looked away. “Leave it. Let's go where no one knows us. You have cab fare? I'm a little thin.”
They threw the stub ends in the street and walked back onto the light and noise of the boulevard. “I know a place in Upper Garden, can't promise no one knows me, but you should be okay.”
“Has it got a bar?” she asked.
“That it does.” He had a place in mind, and a person, too. To his own surprise, he'd enjoyed the 'detectiving' and the 'legwork' to get to the bottom of what Billah was spreading around. Through his 'looking into' Billah's dalliance with demon hunting, he’d found something called The Inner Order, and then the man who led it; a man who considered himself an expert on the other world. The man had been gathering rumors and reports for years, though he referred to it as his 'hobby.'
Prepared for a half-mad cultist, Rane had to admit the man was charming, clever, even exhibiting a self-deprecating wit. “They don't follow me,” he’d said. “I just have the nicest house.”
But Billah acted like the sun and moons followed this man around town. An old family, well established. No number, but Rane wasn't a snob. Maybe he could put the rumors to rest and get his sister settled all at once. He nodded to himself. A good match, a good man, and Lelet with a smile on her face. Their father would approve. He paused to watch a girl lead her little dog past them. The dog had nothing to say. He found he sometimes missed canine conversations. You could always trust a dog. “Whatever you want, Lel.” A cab stopped for them. The horse kept its own counsel. “Tonight it's on me.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Eriis
“Ilaan. Ilaan? Are you awake?”
Ilaan rolled onto his back and looked up at the slowly moving ceiling, if you could call it that. It was really just another level of tent. Above him, all around him, he knew people laughed and joined and ate and raised their children. He felt as if he were merely a pair of eyes, unconnected to any of them.
“I’m awake, Leef. What is it?”
“Mother Jaa would like to speak with you.”
He sighed. He wanted to go back to sleep, perhaps find a dream to fall into - or, better still, nothing at all. But the old lady was persistent, visiting with him daily, trying to put his feet back on the path of life.
“Ilaan?”
He realized he hadn’t answered. He sat up and smoothed his rumpled tunic. “Send her in, Leef. By all means.”
Leef led Jaa into Ilaan’s small, dark room. There were piles of cushions and a low table
shoved into the corner. The nightstones barely shed a glow, not that it would make a difference to her. Still, he felt awkward sitting and talking in a dark room. It seemed morbid. That fit his mood, but he supposed he didn’t want Leef to trip on his way out. He knew the boy would wait in the corridor for his mistress for as long as it took. He raised the light and Leef shot him a grateful glance as he settled Jaa on a fat hassock. Then he left them, letting the curtain that served as a door fall back into place.
“How does the day find you?” she asked.
He slowly rose to his feet and poured her water, remembering to make it cool. As usual, she came equipped with her own white mug, which was rumored to have come from Mistra. It was cracked and looked like it would leak, but she’d been using it for many years. She sipped three times and held it out. After a moment, he took it and drank, and returned it to her hands.
“The day finds me much as yesterday and the day before.” The day found him exactly as all the days during the last month and eighteen days since he’d seen his Niico murdered. He wasn’t sure how long it had been between the act and his witnessing the crime being committed, and that weighed on him. It felt important, very important that he somehow find out what that space of time was, because it was a span of days when he had no right to smile, and he had.
“The days are passing,” she observed. What did she mean by that? Was she just making conversation? He wished she would leave. “And there are things left undone.”
Oh. This again. Na Aari Vais; The Rite of Silk and Bone. “I won’t do it.”
She cocked her head, her milky eyes trained on the wall above his head. “Someone must. Niico’s parents have long left the path of life. He had no kin other than yourself. If not you, who will grant him rest?”
“How?” he snapped. “With no…without him? What will I dress? Where will I leave it? What should I do, wrap a bundle of rags around a stone and leave them on a hillside?”
She sighed. “You know the ritual is for the living, not the dead. And yet it cannot be said the dead take nothing away from it. What you lack in flesh, you may provide in spirit.”
His eyes filled with tears. “I have no spirit.”
“Your loss was grievous,” she said, “but you are not the only one who has had loss. Perhaps it is time—”
“I think you should leave.” He regretted his words, which were not only rude, but untrue. He didn’t want her to leave, despite what he’d thought earlier. She was right. It was time to put his feet back on the path of life, because the allure of the quiet and the dark was growing greater all the time. If he knew for sure Niico waited for him there, it would be no choice at all. But he didn’t know. “Forgive me, Mother. I know I am only here at your pleasure.”
She gave a small smile. “Is that what you think?”
“What . . . If not you, then…”
“Don’t fear that, if left to myself, I would order you to sleep out on the sand. You are free to stay here as long as you wish. As long as is necessary. But it’s not only myself who wishes you kept safe and given time. It was the last thing he said to me, before he left.”
“No.” Ilaan stood and turned to face the wall, as if he were a child. As if it would make it less true. “You can’t make me change what I feel, after what he did.” He could see it clearly, all the things he’d done, or hadn’t done, or done wrong; following Rhuun through The Door without a word to Niico. Niico, left behind to fight an opponent he couldn’t hope to defeat. Because the prince crooked his finger, and off he ran. He felt his carefully cultivated thin veneer of calm flake away, leaving him shaking with rage and grief.
“He begged me to watch over you. He said I should teach you how to put the pain away.”
He turned to face her. “I don’t know what that means.”
“I’ll tell you, another time. For now, I’ll leave you to rest. There is work coming, and you’ll need your strength.”
“I don’t know what that means, either.” Had she always been so cryptic, or was he becoming soft in his wits? “What kind of work?”
“The kind you like, or used to. Was a time you soaked up learning like water into sand.” She called for Leef, who darted to her side, cane in hand. “You take your time, but not too much more of it. I’ll call on you again, perhaps tomorrow.”
After she’d gone, he sat on the edge of the pile of quilts that served as his bed. He thought about sleep, and it called for him. But the work of learning, what had she meant by that? Did she mean to teach him something? Something about putting pain away, whatever that meant. His old friend was an expert in pain, that was certain. It seemed that Rhuun was just as good at delivering it as receiving it. And then to turn around and beg for his care? Rhuun depended on him, not the other way around.
“I don’t need you,” he said aloud. “You or your pain.”
He laid back down and turned his face to the sighing, shifting wall.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Mistra
Lelet opened one eye. There was something soft on her head: a pillow.
“In a bed. That's good. A bed is better than a couch. Or under, or behind a couch.” She opened the other eye and pushing the pillow away, carefully rolled onto her side. She was alone, the bed was large, and the sheets felt expensive. So, more good news. The room was large, yet felt cozy and warm. Tasteful. Tones of ivory, toast, and charcoal and touches of grass green. The room said, 'A man lives here, and he's not ashamed to have decent—if somewhat conventional—taste.'
Lelet drew long, even breaths and struggled to remember how she’d wound up in this comfortable bed, in this fine room. Rane; the two of them had gone to a place in Upper Garden he said he liked. What next?
The ‘place’ turned out to be much finer than she'd expected Rane to frequent; all old wood, gilt, and crystal, with a mirror as long as the room itself behind the gleaming white marble bar, reflecting the elegantly dressed men and women drinking and chatting. Rane—her new ally, her friend, it appeared—led her through the crowd to a spot up front and waited to make his order.
Moth was standing next to them.
She’d felt her heart stop and her veins fill with ice. But the man turned and of course it was someone else. His hair was shorter than Moth's, curlier and not as dark and it was caught in a tail. The man was tall. That was all. Their eyes had met in the mirror and he looked at her with the same intensity she'd just felt. It only lasted a second, and then his dark eyes flicked to her brother. He clapped Rane on the shoulder; they knew each other. She had swallowed with some difficulty and took a breath.
“Rane,” she said, “aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?”
Rane had, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember the man’s name, only that it was long and fancy, and his friend joined them for a drink, which turned into a lot of drinks. She remembered standing at the bar with this new man's arm around her waist, and how it was such a relief to have someone to lean against.
She sat up—carefully—and yawned. Well, it appeared they’d gotten along, she and…whoever he was. Good-looking someone. The windows were open, and the taupe sheers parted in the gentle breeze to reveal a sizeable garden. The morning was definitely looking up despite the taste in her mouth and the thump at her temples. Rory? Audy? She struggled to recall anything other than a handsome face and long, dark hair. Then it was all Moth, and she had to pause and make him go away. The calm, lovely face and soothing voice of the queen took his place. He is so fond of you.
The door swung open, and Auri (Auri short for Aurelian!) backed in with a tray, swinging the door shut with his foot. He wore a heavy bitter-chocolate silk dressing gown. It didn't appear to be her family's fabric, but it, like the rest of his things, was clearly expensive.
“I figured you'd be hungry. It's past breakfast.” He placed the tray next to her and sat alongside, pouring both of them coffee. “There's some powder for your head, if you'd like.”
“Thank you,” she answered, “Not a ba
d idea.” She made a little plate of toast and jam and some strawberries, even though her stomach was waging war on her midsection. One didn't get served breakfast in bed on a silver tray by a good-looking, obviously wealthy man every morning. Eating and drinking gave her something to do while she pieced the previous evening together.
She remembered him telling Rane he'd look after her. Then it was a jumble of kissing in a cab, and running her hands along his long, smooth back. He had a normal amount of hair on his chest and down below, and obviously no jewelry at all anywhere--which she found at first startling and then hilarious, although of course she couldn't tell him why.
“Oh lord,” she said, setting her coffee down. “I think I laughed at a bad time.”
He smiled, but it looked a little pained. “You mentioned I was missing something. I was wondering about that.”
“Too much sparkling wine,” she said quickly. “It goes to my head and makes everything funny, especially things that are lovely and very nice, and not funny at all. And I say things that don’t mean anything. Sometimes.” She looked around the room. “I don't see my . . .”
“I took the liberty of having your dress freshened up. I hate the smell of smoke in clothes, don't you?”
“You're being entirely too kind.” She ran her hands through her hair. “I probably reek of smoke, I am sorry.”
He looked puzzled. “Don't you remember? We went for a swim . . . well, it was quite late.” Her expression gave her away, because he laughed and waved his hand. “I must watch over the glass in your hand from now on, young lady.”
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