Twenty-Five: Sublimation

Thick black smoke rose into the air from the direction of the temple. Cree had been purchasing breakfast in the market when the breeze from the Anamnesis carried the scent of smoke eastward. People were gathering to speculate on what could be burning, and able-bodied men had begun to hurry toward the district known as the Garden, an arc of flowering vine-covered streets fanning out from Ludtaht Alya, in which the temple courtesans had once flourished.

Cree dropped her basket of fruit and bread and ran with them, heedless of the danger of being recognized. The temple was on fire, and Ume was at the temple.

She fought her way through the crowds gathered in the square and tried to get close as the billowing smoke rose unmistakably from the golden domes. Where the Garden gave way to the open lawn before the temple, a row of guardsmen barred entrance to the grounds.

“I want to help,” said Cree as one of the guards stopped her. “Don’t you need a bucket brigade?”

“The fire is under control, sir. Everyone needs to stand back.” Behind him in the courtyard, a group of red-robed solicitors stood solemnly conferring amongst themselves. Among them, dressed in a similar garment, was a courtesan, a wide cream sash tied in a bow about her waist. She turned, and Cree drew in a sharp breath at the sight of the beaded veil below her eyes. It was Ume, as she’d looked years ago, as though she’d never left here.

After a moment of frantic waving, she caught Ume’s eye. Ume slipped away from the solicitors and hurried toward her, but the same guard who’d barred Cree entrance stepped back and blocked her egress.

“Prelate Nesre has ordered us to keep an eye on you, Maiden Sky.”

“Prelate Nesre is dead,” said Ume, managing to sound heartbroken. Tears were even streaming from her eyes, kohl smudged about them—or perhaps soot from the fire. “Let me pass, sir, that I may mourn with my friends.” When he hesitated, she gave him a smile beneath the sheer fabric of the veil that managed to be both sad and seductive. “Your kindness to me will be remembered when I return to the Garden after the period of mourning.”

The guard nodded, under the spell of the alluring Maiden Sky, and stared after her with frank appreciation as she moved demurely over the petal-strewn walk to join Cree. Cree offered her arm, and Ume took it with a gentle inclination of her head. It was as if the years since the Expurgation had been swept away and they were who’d they once been: a temple courtesan and her patron strolling in the Garden.

They walked quietly through the square and, at Ume’s subtle direction, to the pub at the edge of the Garden, The Salver & Chalice, where Ume had once done much of her business negotiations. Most of its patrons were in the square, jostling to see what had happened, and Ume and Cree slipped unnoticed into Ume’s old booth in the back. As though not a day had passed, the publican nodded to Ume and closed her curtain.

Cree clutched her hand across the table. “Meeralyá, Ume,” she swore under her breath, though such an oath was more dangerous here than anywhere else. “Thank truth you’re all right. What happened?”

Ume was still weeping, which seemed peculiar if Nesre were really dead. “I almost freed the child,” she said, her voice tremulous with emotion. “I stole Nesre’s key in the night while he was sleeping.” Cree swallowed, not wanting to think of what might have happened before he’d slept. “I almost had the child, but he caught me. And now—” Ume choked back a sob. “And now the child is dead.”

“Oh, Ume’la.” Cree leaned over the table and stroked Ume’s cheek through the veil. “It’s not your fault. You tried.”

Ume broke down, and Cree came around the table to sit beside her and hold her while she sobbed. “I saw him,” Ume gasped when her crying slowed and she tried to catch her breath. “I think it was a boy, anyway. He was beautiful. Cree, he was Alya’s.” Ume sat up, wiping at her eyes. “Nesre used Alya’s seed to make him.”

Cree’s insides all seemed to be squeezed into a painfully tight ball at once, her gut seized with a dizzying nausea and her heart beating against her rib cage as if it were being strangled. “Alya’s seed?”

“Yes.” Ume sniffled, using a corner of the veil to dab at her eyes. “The bastard—cut pieces—off the Meer and saved them.” She shuddered. “He preserved the seed and used it to impregnate some poor girl.”

Cree had begun to shake, unable to control it as a terrible understanding swept over her.

“Cree?” Ume paused in wiping at her tears, her warm amber eyes alarmed. “What is it? Are you all right?”

Cree gripped the edge of the table to try to steady herself. “I—Ume, I never told you—I didn’t want you to—I just thought it was best if you didn’t—ai, meeralyá.”

“You’re scaring me. I don’t understand. Cree!” Ume grabbed both of her arms.

Cree closed her eyes. “The baby,” she whispered. “The baby wasn’t yours.”

Pearl waited on the stool where Shiva left him, leery of her, but obedient. His eyes lit up when he saw she’d returned with Ra. Shiva grudgingly conjured hot water and a porcelain tub for a bath and let Ra fuss over him.

The boy clung to Ra as she persuaded him to get into the water, as if he’d never had a bath. From the looks of him, perhaps he hadn’t. Shiva frowned when Ra convinced him to remove the dirty shift and revealed his mutilated body. There were scars as well upon his back, well faded as if they’d been inflicted many years past, though the boy had seen less than a dozen. Breaking the prelate’s neck had been too kind.

But Pearl’s impossible existence was infuriating. “I don’t understand how he could have been born without my knowing it.” Shiva shook her head. “You say he’s lived these years in the temple, and yet I felt nothing.”

“I think it was the cage,” said Ra. “It was made of some peculiar mirrored glass that kept the flow of Meeric energy within. I was unable to project my will outside of it.”

“Mirrors.” She let out a harsh laugh but didn’t explain. “And he shattered it from here.” Shiva appraised him. She found children unpleasant, and male children particularly so, but she couldn’t deny the Meeric blood was strong in him and manifested in ways she couldn’t remember having seen before. Shiva sighed. At least he was quiet.

As he relaxed finally into the steaming tub, Ra unbraided the boy’s hair and washed it until it shone. When it was clean, it was an impressive pearlescent shade of platinum and hung nearly to his knees. He was MeerAlya’s child; there was no mistaking it. Ra dressed him in a traditional kaftan, using Alya’s shades of silver and gold embroidered in an exquisite blue topaz silk, until Shiva pointed out the impracticality of traveling with a child who looked so obviously Meeric.

“Traveling?” Ra looked surprised at the idea.

“Surely you didn’t think I was going to keep him here.” Shiva didn’t know whether to laugh or strike her.

Ra shook her head, pondering. “No. I mean, yes, I had before, but of course not now. Of course. Forgive me MeerShiva.” Ra re-clothed him in a simple flax tunic and pants, and Shiva wrapped the kaftan in paper to keep for him for later. No use letting good conjuring go to waste.

“I suppose he could come with me to Haethfalt,” Ra mused as she braided his hair.

“Haethfalt?” Shiva grimaced with distaste. “Whatever for?”

Ra smiled. “I like the weather.”

Jak had refused to leave. Though it hadn’t yet broken into the temple, chaos reigned in the square. Temple Ra had been built among the people, its broad steps inviting the public before their Meer in the center of its commerce. Only the fear of Ra, and the Temple Guard, four ranks deep, had stayed them until now.

Jak and Ahr fought nearly as heatedly as the crowd outside until Jak let him think he’d won. Promising to leave with Geffn under cover of the escort, Jak stormed off to gather the bags assembled for the trip with Ra.

When Ahr headed off into the temple, Jak dropped the gear. “If you want to go, Geffn, I understand. But I’m not leaving without Ra, and I don’t feel right leaving Ahr and Merit to face this on their own. Ahr’s a stubborn fool.”

Geffn smirked. “Oh, Ahr’s a stubborn fool.”

“Shut up, Geff. I mean it. If you want to go—”

“And what am I supposed to be doing? Hiking all the way back to Haethfalt on my own? No, I’m staying with you. I don’t know what in sooth we’re going to do, but here we are.”

Jak gave him a little smile, surprised after how willingly he’d abandoned them when they’d been detained. “So, who’s a stubborn fool?”

Ahr returned to the atrium buckling on a cuirass, and paused when he saw Jak. “What are you still doing here?”

“Never mind me, what are you doing?”

“I’m joining the Guard—temporarily. There aren’t enough men out there to keep these madmen out.” He turned a sword belt at his hip toward the front.

“You’re going out there with a sword? Do you even know how to use one?”

“It’s more of a dagger. For thrusting. I think I know how to thrust.” Ahr reddened as Jak raised an eyebrow. “Time’s wasting, Jak. You need to get going.”

“As you said, Ahr, there aren’t enough men. Sending two to escort Geffn and me out of the city doesn’t seem very smart.”

“Ai, meerrá!” Ahr threw his hands in the air in defeat. “Fine, Jak. I’m done arguing with you.”

“Don’t feel bad,” said Geffn. “That’s what everyone says eventually.”

By nightfall, it was no longer a riot but a battle, the standoff between the Temple Guard under Merit’s command and those who’d joined the cause of the dissenters disintegrating into organized chaos. Casualties began to accrue on both sides, and each citizen that went down before the pressing crowd prompted more shouts of anger against Merit.

Once again, coordinated calls for him to relinquish authority began, and a seemingly spontaneous spokesman emerged, leaping onto the pedestal of a nearby column. “We are without rule!” the man cried. “Let us establish Prelate Nesre of In’La as the protector of Rhyman!”

The loudest voices echoed this cry, sending Nesre’s name throughout the crowd until they were shouting it back as if they’d invented the idea themselves. There was no mistaking it; this was a planned coup. And like the templars before them, the solicitors of both soths were in league with one another, feeding the anger of the people in order to get them to do the bulk of the dirty work for them.

Ahr stood on the step before Merit, his dagger in front of him, shoulder to shoulder with the men of the Guard. The throng swelled and receded in a rhythm like a tide—and it seemed to be heading toward high. He was beginning to doubt his conviction that this was where he ought to be. What if he simply got in the way? It was true he’d never held a sword; he’d never held a dagger either. He was also beginning to doubt whether Merit should make this stand. Whether by the solicitors’ machinations or not, the people were against him.

“Nesre! Nesre! Nes-RE!”

The chant began in the front and worked its way toward the back. Ahr stole a glance behind him at Merit. He’d never seen such a look of fierce determination in his eyes. Ra had bidden him to rule Rhyman, and he meant to do it.

“What do Rhymani want with the prelate of In’La?” Merit shouted. “Are we to be subjugated by a lesser soth? In’La has coveted the jewel that is Rhyman for centuries!”

A murmur of dissent ran through the crowd, and Ahr saw the disguised solicitors making their move. They couldn’t afford to let the crowd be swayed.

“Out with the Meerist!” The cry rang out, and the carefully planted agents of the coup surged the crowd ahead of them forward, until they poured onto the steps once more in a frenzy.

Ahr had never killed anyone before, at least not with his own hand, but when a man came toward him with a knife and eyes full of rage, he thrust the dagger. It was surprisingly easy.

No longer defending Merit or the temple, or even his fellow Guardsmen, but his single spot upon the steps, he forgot anyone else was around him. They came, and he thrust, grappling with them when they didn’t die as easily as the first, but no longer thinking of anything but defending his spot. It was his, and no one would pass. He was so intent on this singular defense that he didn’t notice what was going on behind him.

The rioters had broken into the atrium. No more interested in fighting than fleeing, Jak had compromised with Ahr and retreated to the upstairs bedroom where the window overlooked the main courtyard, and stayed out of the way. When the mob surged, Jak knew it would only be a matter of time. The sounds of the conflict soon burst into the temple’s interior instead of coming only from without. Like it or not, the fight had come to Jak.

Geffn came out of his room as Jak ran for the stairs. “Jak, wait! What are you going to do?”

“Something, Geff. Anything. I don’t relish being flung from the windows as Meerist sympathizers.” Jak didn’t wait to see what Geffn was going to do about it. Servants and guards were defending the atrium, and Jak grabbed up the first thing that could be used as a weapon, swinging a heavy, three-tiered candlestick at a bearded man heading for the stairs. It connected with his head, and he hit the ground, looking as surprised as Jak felt.

Jak continued to defend the arch between the atrium and the stairs whenever someone got through the Guard’s defenses. Just why they were trying for the stairs, Jak had no idea. Probably to loot. But none of them were going to get past Jak. Thinking about it later, Jak concluded that perhaps it hadn’t been the most strategic defense, but it felt good to do something after days of tension. Most of the marauders were unarmed—which was probably how they’d gotten through, not deemed an immediate threat while the others fought off the more dangerous attackers—and against those who were, Jak used the candlestick as a blocking baton.

From this vantage point, Jak could see Merit’s sword flashing in the torchlight as he deflected the blows from his opponent, but Ahr was nowhere to be seen. Merit took a glancing blow to his sword arm, and his opponent began to get the upper hand. The cloaked swordsman drew him farther into the crowd and Jak could see Merit’s mistake only through the advantage of distance. Several others closed in behind him.

“UtMerit!” Jak shouted in the Rhymanic tongue, but he was too far away.

At last, Jak saw Ahr. He sprang from the lower steps toward Merit as one of the swordsmen went in for the kill, knocking the man off his feet. They both went down, and Jak screamed Ahr’s name as another sword plunged down toward him. When the sword sank home, Jak could see nothing more, but Ahr had bought Merit time to realize his mistake. Recovering his position, Merit swung his sword and cleared out the men around him.

One of the looters took the opportunity to dive past, and Jak turned back and chased him up the few steps he’d breached. Geffn met the man coming down, striking him on the side of the head with an iron poker and knocking him over the balustrade.

“Geff,” gasped Jak. “Ahr—I have to—”

“Go,” said Geffn gruffly, obviously as stunned to have struck a man senseless as Jak had been. “I’ve got this.”

Jak turned and raced toward the temple steps.

Ahr wrested his dagger from the breast of the man he’d taken down, rolling to dodge another jab from the sword that had momentarily pinned him. He cursed himself for not buckling the cuirass tighter. The sword had managed to penetrate between the straps on his left side, nicking a rib. He tried to get out of the tangle of bodies to defend himself, but dodging and disentangling were difficult to do simultaneously.

His assailant jabbed again, and Ahr scrambled back, but his boot was trapped under the fallen man’s leg. He blocked with his arm, hoping the sword wouldn’t take it off, but as the thrust came, the swordsman faltered and stumbled, tumbling down the steps beside him.

Ahr looked up to see Jak standing over him, pupils dilated widely in the steel eyes, holding a brass candelabrum.

“Behind you,” he said, and Jak turned and struck another attacker square in the face with it. Jak reached down and pulled Ahr to his feet, and the two of them stood shoulder to shoulder, fending off further assaults from Merit’s flank.

Ahr glanced at Jak’s weapon. “Did you just knock a man unconscious with a candelabrum?”

Jak grunted, shoving an oncoming fighter back with the base of the candlestick and ramming it into his chest. “Yes.”

Ahr grinned. “I am so attracted to you right now.”

Merit had knocked his opponent’s sword out of his hand, and he jumped out of the melee onto the wall at the side of the steps, dragging the man with him. “Hear me, Rhymani!” he bellowed. “This man is a solicitor of our court! He is here in disguise because he is in collusion with the court of In’La to seize control of our soth!”

Angry murmuring rippled out from the ones close enough to hear him.

“You ask why I alone am left in the Court of Rhyman? It is because the solicitors of Rhyman have conspired against their own citizens! They are traitors to Rhyman!” He thrust the solicitor in front of him. “Do you deny it, Solicitor Zaharas?”

Zaharas shouted in defiance. “Rhyman is better off under the protection of the prelate of In’La than in the hands of a Meerist!”

“Wrong answer,” said Merit, and tossed him into the crowd to let them deal with him. It might have been kinder to run him through.

In the ensuing uproar, it seemed for the first time the tide was turning in Merit’s favor, but many were still shouting Nesre’s name. The physical conflict had abated for the moment, and Ahr looked out across the square toward the river, confused by the pinkish sheen on the water until he realized it was the glow of dawn. As he watched the activity on the dock, a runner came from one of the In’Lan steamboats. The boy made his way to the square, shoving through the angry crowd. He was certainly earning his coin.

“Message for Lord Minister Merit of Rhyman!” he cried amid the shouting. Gradually, the crowd parted and allowed him through. “Lord Minister Merit?” he said as he came closer, his eyes searching the men on the steps.

Merit waved him over. “I’m the Lord Minister. What is your message, boy?”

The runner handed him a rolled-up piece of parchment, and Merit gave him his coins before untying the string and unrolling it. The crowd grew hushed as he read to himself.

Merit looked up. “There has been a tragic fire at the Court of In’La,” he announced. “Prelate Nesre perished in the flame.”

For a moment, shocked stillness followed, people looking about at the others around them as if wondering what to do, and then someone broke the silence. “How do we know this message came from In’La? The Minister could have staged this!”

“It bears the seal of the secondary officer of the court,” said Merit, and he passed it forward to those closest to him to verify it.

They passed the word on through the crowd, and the murmuring began again, but it was a confused jumble as people talked amongst themselves.

Merit rapped the point of his sword against the marble with a loud clang. “Is there anyone here willing to continue to press for Soth In’La’s protection?” He waited in the silence. “Because if someone does, I suggest the people put it to a vote.” Merit cleaned his sword on his coat and sheathed it. “Go home and go to bed. There has been enough violence here tonight.”

A few isolated pockets of protestors took up the shout again, trying to rile their neighbors, but the crowd began to thin, and in a moment, it was clear their cause was lost.

Jak looked at Ahr as people began to clear out. “What just happened? What was the message?”

“The prelate of In’La is dead. Temple Alya burned.” Neither of them spoke of what this might mean for Ra. “You shouldn’t have come out here without armor,” he complained as he and Jak headed up the steps.

Jak looked at the gash in Ahr’s side as he unbuckled the cuirass. “Yes, I see it worked out so well for you.” Ahr winced as Jak stopped inside the atrium to pull up his shirt and examine the wound. After a moment, Jak’s mouth lifted in a crooked smile, though Jak didn’t look up at him. “So you liked my weapon.”

Ahr burst out laughing and then pressed his hand to his side with a groan.

Jak fell into bed after the sun was well up over Rhyman. There had been no time to think of Ra’s disappearance since the chaos had broken out. She must have started the fire at Temple Alya, but had she perished in it? She’d told Ahr she thought it would take losing her life to take the prelate down. Worry yanked Jak from the brink of sleep a dozen times before sheer exhaustion won.

Waking to pale, bluish light beyond the open window, Jak was uncertain whether it was the pallor of dusk or another dawn until remembering the sun rose over the Anamnesis. It was low now on the other side of the temple.

Jak wandered down to find something to eat, amazed at how quickly the staff had once again cleared out all evidence of the violence. Merit sat at the table with his head in his hands. He looked up at Jak’s entrance, his creased forehead and look of morbid preoccupation erased as if they’d never been, replaced by an amiable smile.

“Vetta, Jak. Menédatsausch tené reza.”

Jak nodded, feeling awkward at the language barrier. Before the silence became too uncomfortable, a servant delivered some news to Merit, and he rose and went out, looking puzzled and slightly annoyed. Jak poured a cup of tea from the pot, and then paused as a joyous exclamation carried from the atrium. “Meneut!” It was the address Merit used for Ra: my liege.

Jak abandoned the tea. At the entrance to the temple, Merit was kneeling on one knee before a cloaked figure. The hood fell back and Ra’s dark braid swung forward as she touched him on the shoulder and spoke softly to him. Jak took a step forward and then stopped, conflicting emotions warring with one another. Ra looked in Jak’s direction as Merit rose. Her smile erased any hesitation.

Jak ran to her, pulling her slight body into a tight embrace. “Dammit, Ra. You have to stop doing that!”

“I’m sorry.” Ra kissed Jak’s cheek almost chastely, but there was warmth in her eyes. “It was unexpected. I had to get Pearl.”

“Pearl?” Jak let go and noticed for the first time the child standing behind her.

“It’s all right, Pearl. They’re our friends.” Ra nudged back the child’s hood, revealing wide, frightened eyes of crystal blue in a face that looked as though it had never seen sunlight. “He came to me in a vision.” The boy clung to her hand, trying to hide behind her. “He is the son of MeerAlya of Soth In’La.” Pearl looked up at her as if hearing these words for the first time as she repeated it in Deltan for Merit.

“MeerAlya?” Merit shook his head in wonder. “Kehma?” Ra gave a small shake of her head as if there was something she didn’t want to say in front of the boy. Merit’s brow knit with concern, but he gave Pearl a formal bow. “Ischvetseh, Pearl. Maisch Merit.”

Ra bent down to Pearl. “And this is mene midtlif, Jak.” She blended the languages, but Pearl seemed to understand them both.

Jak smiled and held out a hand. “Hello, Pearl.”

The boy backed away, and Ra spoke quietly with him for a moment. She gave Jak an apologetic smile. “He’s not comfortable with touch from strangers. Pearl doesn’t mean to be rude.”

Jak tucked the hand in a pocket. “That’s all right.”

Ra persuaded Pearl to remove his cloak, and a length of white-blonde hair, braided like Ra’s, fell down his back. A servant appeared out of nowhere to take the cloaks as Ra peeled out of hers as well.

She spoke quietly to the servant, but Pearl grabbed her hand again and shook his head. Ra lifted his chin with a gentle hand. “No one will hurt you here.” The blue eyes blinked at her, sharing some silent communication. It was unnerving how they seemed to understand one another so thoroughly, regardless of language.

“I’ll take him to get something to eat.” Ahr had appeared quietly on the stairs, and he came down to meet them, giving Pearl a hesitant smile. Jak had never seen an expression quite like it on his face before.

Pearl made a soft, gasping sound, and it was a moment before Jak realized he’d said Ahr’s name.

Jak looked at Ahr. “Do you know him?” He shook his head, looking just as puzzled.

“Pearl has drawn us,” Ra said to Ahr. “He sees the continuous stream of Meeric history, and he draws it.”

Ahr’s ears went pink. Pearl seemed awestruck by him, however, and went to him without prompting. Ahr recovered his composure and took the boy’s hand, leading him to the dining nook.

“It’s cold in here.” Ra rubbed her palms together. “Can we sit by the fire?” Merit looked blank at the foreign tongue, but Ra proceeded to the receiving room on the other side of the atrium and left them to follow.

Jak frowned from the doorway as Ra sat cross-legged on the carpet before the hearth. “Do you even have any idea what’s been happening here?”

“Oh yes.” She held her hands to the fire, and Jak couldn’t help but feel a bit alarmed after what had occurred at In’La. “Pearl has been drawing for me. Merit’s done very well, don’t you think?”

Merit sat across from her in the leather chair beside the fire, looking from Jak to Ra. She merely smiled at him. She spoke in Mole, explaining to Jak how Pearl had brought her into his vision and what Nesre had done to him.

“Pearl is very special,” she said. “He may be the only Meer of his kind there has ever been.”

“But it took cruelty to make him.” Jak choked back horror at what Ra had explained.

“Yet he survives, and with the heart of a pearl.”

“Pearl—it’s the same in Deltan?”

Ra smiled. “Yes, I guess it is. I hadn’t thought about it. I suppose Mole has borrowed many Deltan words and forgotten it.” She switched to her own tongue then, speaking with Merit for several minutes while Jak wandered about the room looking at the odd shapes of the Deltan letters on the spines of books shelved along the walls.

“And so I thought we could take him home with us,” Ra continued suddenly as if she’d never stopped speaking Mole.

Jak turned. “To Haethfalt?” Despite surprise at the suggestion of bringing Pearl, it was a relief to hear she was still planning to go. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Ra’s face fell. “But why not?”

“Can you imagine him there? You were strange enough to them, if you want the truth. And there are still Meerhunters in Mole Downs.”

Ra nodded slowly, reluctantly. “But it’s not safe for him here either.” She spoke to Merit again for a moment and then sighed. “You’re right, of course, Merit.” She seemed unaware she was no longer speaking Deltan. “Merit says they can hide a child here more easily than they could hide me. They’ll have to cut his hair.” She looked sad at that.

“It’s beautiful hair,” Jak admitted. “But do you think it matters to him?”

“Matters?” She fingered her own braid as if pondering it. “It’s the symbol of the Meeric creative power, but I suppose it holds no power of its own. I’ve just never known of any Meer to cut it.” Ra sighed again, looking through the arch in the direction of the dining nook. “But he trusts me. He doesn’t know anyone here.”

Even as she spoke, Ahr’s laughter carried across the atrium, an uncommon sound of late.

Jak smiled. “I think he’ll be just fine here.”

Pearl seemed perfectly at home in Ludtaht Ra with Ahr beside him, and Ahr was clearly fond of him already. Ra recognized the expression in his eyes when he looked at Pearl. He saw what she did: a way to heal from the loss of RaNa. Pearl continued to communicate in pictures, not all from the Meeric flow, but as an expression of his thoughts, and presented some as gifts to each of them. He drew with astounding skill. He shyly presented a portrait he’d drawn of Jak wielding a three-tiered candelabrum as a weapon. Jak and Ahr both laughed at the sight of it. As fond as she was of Pearl herself, Ra conceded he would indeed be fine at Ludtaht Ra.

There was nothing left now but to say good-bye to him. And to Merit. They’d lingered nearly a week, and though the unrest had settled into an uneasy peace and Merit had begun to take to his new role with confidence, it was only tempting fate for Ra to stay in Rhyman any longer. Ra had promised Jak, and it was time to go home. The highland moors of Haethfalt were waiting for them.

They would leave by the servants’ portal to avoid attention. Merit stood before it when Ra was at last ready to depart, shoulders stiff and head facing forward, dressed in the ceremonial costume of the Meer’s attendant. As Ra approached, he struck his chest with his fist in salute, eyes straight ahead. Ra put down the satchel she was holding and answered his salute with both fists crossed over her own chest, then breached the sacred space between them. She took his face in her hands and kissed him on the mouth and forehead, and then wrapped her hand about his still-saluting fist and bowed to him on one knee.

“My liege.” He tried to pull her up from the ground, but she held fast.

“No, Merit,” she said. “You are the lord of Rhyman now.”

“Please, meneut.” His voice was pained, and she allowed him to draw her to her feet.

Ra wrapped her arms around him then and pressed his cheek to hers. “Mené midt, you have never failed me,” she said softly, and Merit shook with the threat of tears. She released him and bent down to Pearl, who stood beside him looking a bit forlorn. She cupped Pearl’s chin and smiled at him, sharing an image with him of how proud she was of all he’d done. A red tear slid down Pearl’s cheek, and she stopped it with a kiss before covering her head with her hood and taking up her satchel once more, descending by the servants’ steps. Ahr hadn’t come to see them off.

Jak shook Merit’s hand in a friendly clasp and rumpled Pearl’s shorn hair, earning a shy smile, and Geffn thanked Merit in awkward Deltan. Pearl seemed to frighten him, and Geffn only gave him a quick smile and turned away.

Jak pushed away the sting of Ahr’s absence. They’d said their good-byes once already. He’d promised to come when he could, and things felt right between them finally. The rift in their friendship had healed. Jak would see him again. For now, it was enough that Ra was coming home.

Moving with a strength and confidence she hadn’t possessed since Haethfalt, Ra looked back over her shoulder and smiled, and it was more than enough. Jak grew warm at the memory of her unexpected touch on the night before she’d slipped away to In’La. There hadn’t been another opportunity for them to be alone, but there would be time now to explore what was between them at their leisure. They’d weathered the worst they might face together. Ra’s name was in the moundhold, and Geffn and Jak had spoken privately. Geffn had given his blessing, and it meant more than Jak could express. Despite everything, he was Jak’s oldest and dearest friend, and it would have hurt to lose him or to cause him further pain.

Ra hung back and took Jak’s hand as they reached the bank of the river that would lead them to the Filial and home—the Anamnesis: the river of remembering. Ra had plumbed the depths of her own dark river of memory, restoring all she’d hidden away from her own mind and dredging up the pain she’d tried to forget. What she’d recovered was worse than anything Jak had feared or imagined, more terrible than anyone ought to be able to endure, even a Meer. She’d suffered something cataclysmic in the remembering of it, yet she was whole. There was nothing else that waited unknown in the darkness to separate them. There were no longer any secrets between them.

There was nothing more to fear from remembering.

Ahr watched from an upstairs window as the travelers departed, his heart too full of warring emotions to bear a personal good-bye. It was a tremendous relief to know Ra was gone, and he breathed out as if breathing her away, the tension and pain of her presence draining out of him as though he’d held that breath forever. There was no longer any debt between them, she’d said, and Ahr believed it. Ra had spoken.

But Jak was gone with her, the only soul with whom he’d ever truly communed. He’d promised to return to Haethfalt once Merit’s rule was secure, but he couldn’t face that now. Was there a way he could coexist with Ra in the place that had been his refuge? Could he bear to see Jak with her? His heart ached at the thought. He pushed away the cruel voice in his head that wondered whether it was on Jak’s account or Ra’s that his heart hurt so. It didn’t matter. They were gone and he was here with Merit. It was as it should be. It was the only way it could be.

And there was Pearl. He smiled, despite himself.

As Jak and Ra receded with Geffn into the distance, he went downstairs at last. Merit still stood on the steps, his stance stiff and formal, his fist tight against his breast in salute as the figures disappeared into the rushes along the river’s edge. Ahr took Pearl’s hand and rested his other on Merit’s shoulder. There was no need to commune with words. He waited with Merit until they were long out of sight and then turned him gently toward the temple. Pearl edged up against Ahr into the hollow of his arm as if he’d always belonged there.

“I love him as I love you,” said Merit, desolate.

“I know,” said Ahr, not correcting his slip, and led him in.