The sun had long since lowered itself past the vast, flat horizon of the Onyx Ocean as I made my way down to the beach. My legs had grown stronger during my time in the cliff city, from trudging up and down the steeply winding curves of the roads and pathways. Younger and more athletic people than I took the many shortcuts—which included ropes, slides and various tunnels. I preferred to play it safe and take the long way. Besides, it let me take one last walk through the city. The “palace”—a glorified term for King Rayfe and Queen Andromeda’s home, which also contained the library—perched near the top of the white cliff. Thus it took some time to wend all the way down to the beach.
I hadn’t been in Annfwn long enough for the Tala to become accustomed to the sight of me. I didn’t stand out nearly like Queen Amelia had, with her red-gold hair and extraordinary beauty, nor like Captain Harlan had, before they all left Annfwn to storm Ordnung. Of course, the Dasnarian mercenary stood out in any crowd, with his sheer muscled size. The Tala, though, were nearly uniformly dark-haired and golden-skinned, with eyes ranging through shades of blue and gray. So, my usually unremarkable brown hair and eyes, along with the light, freckled complexion that never quite tanned, continued to elicit interest from denizens of Annfwn.
It had been fun to be exotic, if only for a temporary excursion.
The Tala greeted me as I passed, no longer giving me that studied indifference they took on with other foreign visitors, and I replied reasonably well in their language. They constructed their phrasing very differently, using pitch to denote meaning as much as pronunciation, making it particularly difficult to master. Fortunately I would have Zynda to practice with in the future.
“There she is, our guest of honor and possessor of my lonely heart!” Zyr swept me into an impromptu dance, taking us in dizzying circles. “I was about to fly up and carry you down over my back.”
I laughed, letting his infectious playfulness dispel my sense of foreboding. Unlike Zynda, he did not speak any of the Common Tongue of the Twelve Kingdoms and had been an enthusiastic—if overly flirtatious—tutor in helping me through my attempts at conversation in the liquid Tala language. I could never be sure how to process his wilder declarations. He delighted in teasing me, drawing me into riddles that turned out to be merely jokes.
“Don’t go, Dafne,” he crooned in my ear, stilling his mad circling. “Stay and be my lover. You can have all the scrolls you like. I’ll even make you new ones.”
Still laughing, I untangled myself from him. He’d been swimming, probably helping to catch supper, wearing only thin cotton pants, and he smelled of salt and warm skin. Like all Tala men, he wore his hair long, wildly unkempt, and he shared Zynda’s deep blue eyes, though he stood much shorter and somewhat stockier.
“That’s not how the scrolls work, Zyr!”
“Then teach me. Whatever it takes to win your heart.”
“I have to go back to Ordnung. The High Queen needs me.”
He clasped his hands over his bare chest and made a lovesick face. “I need you.”
“The moment I’m gone, you’ll find half a dozen pretty shapeshifter girls to distract you.”
“Probably.” Zyr flashed a grin. “But they won’t be my serious mossback librarian.” He used the Common Tongue word—had to, as the Tala had no parallel term—impressing me. “If you won’t stay, then you must dance with me.”
“We just did.”
“More. So I can store them up, to take out and remember later.”
“All right, then.”
Evening fell soft and gentle over the beach. Moranu’s moon, waxing toward full, rose from behind the high cliff, which glowed with candle and torch light from thousands of windows and open doorways. With no need to shield from inclement weather and practically no fear of physical attack, the Tala dwellings stood open to the night air. If the loss of the magic barrier began to affect the weather in Annfwn, the Tala would have many changes to make. For the time being, however, paradise persisted.
The fresh crab seemed to melt on my tongue and I became a little drunk as every person who embraced and kissed me farewell seemed to have a fresh goblet to press into my hand. Music flowed as freely as the ambrosial wine and I danced with Zyr until my feet were sore and only a few windows remained lit in the cliff city.
“I should go,” I told him. “We’ll be up early to ride out.”
“Ah, don’t say so.” He pressed a kiss to my cheek, one of hundreds my friends had showered upon me that evening, the Tala so easy with their affections.
“I must. Duty calls, not dancing.”
“Well, perhaps these will last you until you can dance with another.”
“I doubt there will be much of that in my future.”
“That’s a terrible thing to believe, pretty Dafne.”
“I’ll be advising Ursula in her role as High Queen, not drinking wine on the beach with handsome young shapeshifters.”
He tossed back his hair, smiling his delight. “I knew you found me handsome! Come share my bed tonight. A good-bye present.”
I was drunk enough to be amused instead of taken aback. Nothing like wine, dancing, and balmy nights to make the daunting sound possible. Vaguely tempting, but not enough to overcome long habit. “For me or for you?” I teased, putting him off.
Kissing my cheek again, lingering over it, he murmured in my ear. “For both of us. Something to share.”
It would have been nice to be able to say yes, to be that woman. But I never had been, and if the pattern held true, I never would be.
“I’m afraid dances are all we can share, Zyr. But I’ll always remember this night.”
“Is there another, waiting for you back in your cold and harsh land? He will never know. It would be our secret. A special memory, just for us.”
So very Tala with their morality as fluid as their language and record-keeping. “No, there isn’t anyone. Never has been.” More drunk than I thought, to have admitted that. Also, confiding in someone you’ll never see again is somehow easier.
He sobered, a rare expression for him. “What holds you back?”
Not an easy question to answer. Goddesses knew I’d posed it to myself enough times. But I liked the way he’d asked it and I’d apparently had wine enough to give it a try. “I think I started out waiting for the right person, the right timing. I always expected the moment would arrive and everything would come together and I’d know. Then time kept passing and suddenly it seemed I’d waited too long. Somehow I missed my moment. And now I’m sort of... suspended, eternally waiting for this thing that won’t ever happen.”
Zyr listened intently, brows drawn in concentration. I’d likely butchered the language, going too fast and slurring the pitches in my long explanation. I offered a feeble laugh. “Sorry you asked?”
“No.” He shook his head to confirm it. “Maybe you didn’t miss the moment and you’re simply waiting for it to arrive still.”
I didn’t think so, but I smiled at his relentless optimism. “Maybe so. But this isn’t it.”
“Only you can know, though I’m sorely disappointed not to be the one you’ve been waiting to find. Some people share themselves easily, like the bushes that produce clusters of berries, plenty for all to have and enjoy.” He flashed a grin at that. “A few are like the kalpa tree, which bears a single fruit after many years, and is all the more precious for that. It can’t be easy to wander the world searching for that other self.”
Something about his words stuck in my heart and I gazed back, none of the words I sought coming to my tongue.
“I might not be the one, but we can share this much.” He threaded long fingers into my hair, brushing it back from my temples and cupping my face. Rapt, I held still as he kissed me, tasting of wine and firelight, the warmth of the tranquil sea. Lovely. Poignant.
And like a song not written for me.
I sighed against his mouth, in part for the sweetness of the kiss and in part for the disappointment that it didn’t move me enough. With good humor, Zyr smiled and planted a final kiss on my forehead. “It’s not me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, pretty librarian. I’ll have my kiss with the kalpa tree to remember, the gift of the flavor of something rare.”
“And dances.” I reminded him, relieved that he didn’t press and also seemed not to mind that I refused him.
“Yes. Good fortune in your wandering and seeking.”
“There won’t be much of that. Just the journey back to Ordnung where I’ll stay.” Back to dwell over the bones of my family, for the rest of my days. The living dead.
“More waiting.”
It sounded bad, put that way, over the background of my glum thoughts. “I’m sure I’ll be far too busy to think about it much.”
“Think about it,” he advised. “Maybe you need to do less waiting and more wandering.”
“I’ll give it thought.”
“Good.” He pulled me into a few twirling steps. “Remember. No one can take away the dances you’ve already had.”
His words gave me a shiver, the sense of an omen looming, much like that intuition from earlier. Given that Salena’s blood sometimes came with the gift of prophecy, I tucked away his words, along with Zynda’s. Knowledge is power, especially for one such as myself, whatever the source. It could come in useful someday.