by R. K. Hart
‘I considered sailing into Yoss River Port when we realised he was ill, but decided against it. I thought him strong enough to fight it, and we heard …’ she trailed off, and took a steady breath. ‘We heard a rumour not a month ago that a gifted healer had been found in that town with her throat cut. I did not want to risk him.’ She glanced at Lida. ‘I did not want to risk either of you. I wish now that I had, and I hope you both forgive me.’ She cleared her throat. ‘Go back to him, Sivasdotter. Call for us, when it is time. No one should be alone when Eianna comes for them.’
Lida nodded wordlessly, and cast Kaia one last, long glance.
She was cold and soaked through, so she stripped off, carelessly dropping her wet clothes on the floor and pulling on the first thing she pulled from her pack - a long-sleeved, steel-grey tunic. She climbed into bed with Lorcan and wrapped her arms around him as tightly as she dared. He continued his hard-won, ragged breathing. Lida tried so hard to stay awake, picking out his features in the moonlight, running her eyes over his nose and lips and lashes, reaching up to gently twine a soft black curl around her fingers, but she was so exhausted that she slipped into sleep before she could rally to fight it.
She knew that she might find him waiting for her, but knowing didn’t lessen the shock of seeing him there, standing carefully amongst the Belle’s dreamlines in the white place. Lida’s heart ached as he frowned, trying to work out where he was.
He didn’t notice her at first. She watched him silently, trying to burn the image into her mind: here, he was healthy. Here, he could breathe. Here, there was no pain, and his lips were the colour they should be, not an ominous, deathly blue.
When he finally looked up, his face relaxed into a smile. ‘Ma ais-la,’ he said. ‘Ou som nou?’
She hesitated. ‘I call it the white place,’ she said eventually. ‘I don’t know if it has a proper name.’
‘Quo e-ces?’
Lida smiled. ‘They’re dreamlines. They are how I reach people. Mostly.’
Lorcan shook his head. ‘It is so peaceful.’
‘Yes.’ Lida looked around. ‘I love it. I think.’
The rules of waking life did not apply in the white place: Lida did not often walk, but rather floated gently, which meant she could not touch dreamlines accidentally and end up somewhere she did not wish to be. Lorcan caught on quickly, drawing up his legs to cross them, sitting straight-backed in mid-air. He looked so much as he had in Tiernan’s teaching room at the Illarum, determinedly ignoring Lida with a book on his lap and a coffee in hand, that she began to shake. She blinked hard to keep back tears.
‘Is this a dream?’
‘I don’t think so, Lor,’ she whispered.
He nodded, and Lida knew in that moment that she could not do what her mother had done. She could not send Lorcan from the white place and back to his body, as Siva had done to Aaron, forcing him to heal and live. She understood why Siva had done it - Aaron had been a child, and a child Siva loved - but Lida could not bring herself to do the same. She could not force Lorcan’s hand. His body was failing, fighting for the air it needed; he was in pain, and it was not her place to send him back to that.
‘I can see two paths,’ he said finally.
Lida closed her eyes.
‘Which do I take?’
Her heart broke into pieces and tracked down her cheeks. She tried to smile through her tears. ‘I cannot tell you which.’
He studied her face. ‘It is my choice.’
‘Yes. It’s your choice.’ She reached out to take his hand, and held it between both of hers. ‘The promise you gave me,’ she choked, the words sticking in her throat. ‘You never told me what it meant.’
He did not answer immediately. ‘It is a surrender,’ he said at last. ‘It means that everything I am belongs to you, for as long as you wish to keep it.’
‘Oh,’ she said, and her voice was very small. She bit the inside of her cheek. ‘How do I accept it?’
He went very still. ‘Do you mean you wish to?’
She shifted her weight. ‘Yes. I … Yes, I wish to accept it.’
She wasn’t expecting him to laugh. ‘Gods above, Alida. You choose to tell me now?’
She glared at him. ‘Do you want me to, or not?’
He took his hand back and ran it through his hair. ‘Yes. Of course.’
‘How?’
‘You would gift a promise in return.’
‘Then be quiet,’ she told him, and she closed her eyes and began to draw.
It was difficult to draw in the white place. It was like moving too far from where her body lay: something invisible and silent fought her every inch of the way. In the waking world, or in the dreamscape, illae came easily to her, as natural as breathing; in the white place, she battled to pull it in, digging her nails into her palms, feeling herself rapidly tire. She held her mind rigidly on the image she needed, one she had seen a hundred times, dwelling on every detail, every intricate and imperfect shape, every delicate shade of colour. She could have chosen something simpler, but she knew that this was right. Determinedly, she kept drawing, pushing herself to the limit until she created what she wanted. She sighed in relief when she felt their weight in her hand, and she opened her eyes. With a slight bow, she offered them to him.
Lorcan’s face didn’t change, but he took them from her. They were Erbidan wild roses, twins to the ones that grew beside the doorway of the shop in the Kingstown forum, their slender stems tied with an emerald-green ribbon. He positioned his hands carefully, avoiding the tiny thorns, and traced the white petals lightly with the tip of a finger.
His eyes were very dark when he looked up, reaching to touch her cheek. She leaned into the touch, feeling tears well and fall, and then she gathered every ounce of willpower she had and stepped back. She thought it was the hardest thing she’d ever done.
‘You cannot stay here forever,’ she said. ‘But I will find you again, whichever choice you make.’
With that, she fled the white place, leaving him to choose. She didn’t know where to go and she couldn’t stop to let herself think, so she drove herself into the black where dreams do not exist, and for a time, her mind was still, and there was peace.
Part Four
Chapter Twenty-Six: Waiting
Lida had known for some time that she was awake, but she pretended not to be.
She refused to acknowledge the sun behind her closed eyes and concentrated on what she could hear, imagining that she was simply dreaming of the sea as it lapped against the tarred wood of the ship, imagining the groans and creaks of the Belle as it crested swell under the watchful eye of the sky. She lay very still, listening to the wind catching in the sails and whistling under the cabin door. She listened so hard she could hear her heart beating erratically and her breath brushing the back of her hand, curled into a fist near her face.
It took her a while to realise that she could not hear anything else.
She stretched her fingers out tentatively, afraid of what they might find. When they found nothing at all, she realised the bed was empty but for her, and very cold.
Grief hit her directly in the stomach, and she curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her knees as if it might help to ease the pain. She kept her eyes closed, wishing she could sleep forever. She realised that she had started to draw, and she pulled more and more power to herself until she loosed it, just as she had during her wild prayer to Eianna, in a wave of anguish and longing and regret.
A moment later, she heard the cabin door thrown open and a rush of footsteps across the floor. Hands stroked her face and her hair and she heard a voice that she thought couldn’t possibly be real saying over and over: ‘Oh, gods, Lida. Oh, thank the gods.’
She opened her eyes and sat up so suddenly that her head spun and she almost toppled off the narrow bed. Lorcan was staring at her, his brow creased with concern. He was pale and he’d lost weight and his hair was dull and she didn’t care because it was Lorcan, and althoug
h his lips weren’t their normal colour, they were not blue.
Before she knew what was happening, her arms were around his neck and he pulled her from the bed and onto his lap. Lida buried her face in his shoulder and sent a silent thank you to Kaia and Eianna, just in case they were listening.
‘I thought you’d died,’ she whispered.
He smiled into her hair. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I just needed to wash. I smelled atrocious, Lida. I do not know how you stayed in the same room.’
She pulled back to look at him. ‘How do you feel?’ she demanded.
He coughed. ‘I can breathe. My body still hurts, but I will live.’ He took her chin and tilted her face up gently, frowning at her. ‘How do you feel?’
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you got better so quickly. I thought it would take much longer.’
‘Lida,’ he said carefully, letting go of her, his eyes anxious, ‘you have been asleep for four days.’
A shiver passed through her. ‘What?’
He took a curl between his fingers and began to twirl it nervously. ‘I woke at midday, the night after I saw you in the white. You were still asleep, but we thought that you needed it. Jessa said you did not sleep, really, while I was ill.’ He frowned at her. ‘You slept through that day and that night, and we did not worry.
‘But the next day you still did not wake, and so I thought perhaps you had illae-sickness, but that you would wake soon. We left you still, though Eve sat with you through the night.
‘On the third day, Isla started to worry that you would thirst to death before you woke. She and Jessa sat you up and dripped water and honey into your mouth each hour. Eve and I did it during the dark. I tried to reach you, again and again, but I could not feel you, Lida. You were gone.
‘We did the same yesterday. I am so glad you woke today.’ A flicker of shame passed across his face.
Lida thought she knew why. ‘You were going to illae-command me, if I didn’t,’ she said flatly.
He met her eyes. ‘I was going to try. I do not think it would have worked. Wherever you were, you were too far away.’
She stared back at him. From this close, she could see that his eyes weren’t as uniformly dark as they appeared from a distance; rather, there were flecks of lighter brown around the iris, and tiny strikes of a shade that was almost red. She tried to decide whether she was angry or not, but in the end, she gave up and lay her head on his chest, listening to him breathe. The sound was clear and even and strong.
He kissed her head. ‘You did mean it, Lida?’ he said, somewhat anxiously. ‘It was not just to make me come back?’
‘I meant it,’ she said.
He didn’t answer, but his arms tightened around her. They sat quietly, content; neither was willing to break the spell that had settled over them, bringing with it a moment of peace, bright and steady as the dawn.
Lida’s stomach ended it, choosing to remind her - loudly - that she had not eaten for four days.
Lorcan chuckled and pulled her to her feet. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘You need feeding.’
When they emerged on deck, blinking in the morning sun, Isla gave Lida a sharp nod of greeting from where she stood under the mainsail. Jessa was more expressive, catching her up in a rough hug as she hurried by to her next task.
The only food left was oats, and Lida devoured three bowls. The cook refused to give her more, saying she’d only bring it back up and to visit again in an hour if she was still hungry. Lida grumbled, but perked up when they were offered mugs of freshly-brewed coffee, black but laced with sugar. They took it outside to sit in the sunshine at the back of the helm, where Eve was standing, occasionally guiding the Belle through the waves. Eve looked like a First now, her black nightgown replaced with a white shirt and tan leggings, her feet covered in boots laced to the knee. She nodded when they walked past, and then ignored them. Lida eyed the woman cautiously, not entirely sure what to make of her.
She folded down to lean against the rail, feeling weak and rather dizzy, but not, mercifully, seasick.
‘They call it knowing the waves,’ Lorcan said, nodding to Eve. ‘When someone overcomes seasickness, I mean. They think it means you know the sea.’
‘I think I just forgot about it,’ Lida said, sipping her coffee, though she liked the idea. The rail at the helm was entirely of worked metal, so she peered down at the sea, Lorcan’s shoulder warm against hers. She blinked as she stared at the restless blue, realising that she loved watching it. She wondered why Siva had chosen to live inland, at l’Cour du Kali and then Kingstown, when she knew the waves were there, waiting for her, when she could have spent her days with the sea air against her skin and in her hair and with her eyes full of the ocean.
‘Do you know the story of how the Myrae came to be?’ Lorcan asked suddenly, his lips very close to her ear.
She squirmed. ‘No?’ she said, turning her mug around restlessly.
He hid a smile and tilted his head back, looking up at the sky.
‘Eianna’s daughter, Amivere, was the most beautiful woman in all of Eilan, with flawless skin and curling auburn hair and eyes that glowed emerald. To look at her was to want her, and she had a flock of suitors, each willing to give up everything they had on the chance she might grace their bed.
‘She denied every one of them, Princes and Princesses, lords and ladies, having eyes for only one: the star man, Curan, Eianna’s law-maker. Curan insisted that he was too old for Amivere, that she should find a lover her own age; she refused to listen and pined for him, praying to the stars every night that he might relent and let her love him.
‘As she wanted Curan, so the earth-born Fiou wanted her. He had two star parents, and was very powerful; he was handsome, too, with hair and eyes as black as night and skin like snow. He was a favourite of Eianna’s, who did everything she could to recommend Fiou to her daughter. Fiou courted Amivere relentlessly, showering her with gifts of jewellery and scent and silks and precious books, everything her heart might desire. Except, of course, Curan.
‘Amivere denied him, courteously at first, and then with more scorn the harder he tried to win her. He became so incensed at the disdain that he resolved to have her any way he could.
‘He sent her a note upon which he had forged Curan’s signature. It told Amivere that his feelings had changed, and that he would meet her that night in the Black Forest, so that she might have what she had so long desired. He would leave her signs to point the way, and a picnic supper where she was to wait. He cautioned that he might be late, and to start the supper without him.’
Lida glanced up, not sure she wanted to hear the end of the story. Lorcan pushed his hair from his eyes; the thick black curls fell forward again immediately.
‘Amivere dressed with care and stole away from her attendants to the forest. She followed the signs - ribbons in her favourite colour, tied to the branches of trees - and came upon a glade, where candles glowed and blankets and pillows were waiting, scattered across the soft grass. A basket of food sat to one side, filled with all her favourites, a bottle of wine nestled next to the bread. Amivere sank down upon the pillows, her heart full of thoughts of Curan, and she poured herself a glass.
‘Fiou had planned it, of course, and had spiked the wine with sleeping herbs. Before she knew what was happening, Amivere fell back upon the blankets, unconscious.’
Lorcan’s voice went cold. ‘Fiou raped her while she slept and left her there, to wake in the morning alone and cold, a smear of blood across one thigh. Amivere realised what had happened and what had been forced from her and she went into a terrible rage, drawing power until she burned like fire. She walked back through the wood to her mother’s palace, gathering illae to her with every step, and she sought and found the man she thought had raped her and she burned him alive with a single thought.’
‘Curan,’ Lida whispered, horrified.
Lorcan nodded. ‘Curan. She took his life, and when his body was nothing but ashes before her, she brok
e down and wept. That is how her mother found her, and Amivere confessed to what she had done.
‘Curan was an old friend of Eianna’s, and the goddess flew into a terrible rage. By killing him without trial, Amivere had broken the laws that Eianna had so carefully laid down when her mother’s people arrived in Eilan, laws that had kept the peace and allowed them to thrive, laws that she had written and reshaped with Curan’s help. And so Eianna banished Amivere, declaring that she could never again set foot on Eilin soil.’
‘How could she do that?’ Lida demanded indignantly, sitting up straight. ‘Her daughter had been attacked!’
‘According to law, Amivere’s punishment was banishment or death,’ Eve interjected flatly. Lida looked at her in surprise; she had not realised that the First was listening. ‘Eianna chose banishment over execution, so that she might still see her daughter and watch her grow. Amivere was just sixteen, when Fiou’s lust for power changed her life.’ Eve shifted her shoulders and stared back out to sea, as if she’d never spoken.
Lorcan took up the story once more. ‘Amivere gathered her attendants and took one of her mother’s ships to the Isle of the Gods, the birthplace of Lir. The women founded a settlement there and thrived, building ships of their own design so that they might trade with Eilan and further. And in her new homeland, Amivere gave birth to a daughter.
‘It was then she realised her mistake, for Curan had skin as brown as hers, and a crown of golden hair. And Amivere’s daughter was as pale as ice, with eyes and hair of onyx. Amivere sent her daughter to Eilan, in the care of her most trusted advisor, who presented her to Eianna, accusing Fiou of the crime for which Amivere had taken his life.
‘And so it was that Fiou became the first man to be executed for rape, and to this day it is the crime that carries the harshest punishment across the four lands.’
Lida shivered, curling back into Lorcan’s side. There had only been one trial for rape in Eilan during her lifetime; Cathan had refused to tell her and Maya what had happened to the man at the end of it.
