The calls for Syl Hellais to be made President began almost as soon as she set foot on her homeworld of Illyr for only the second time in her life. Krake was under arrest, and the Military authorities were anxious to restore the normal functioning of Illyri society as soon as possible. The Diplomat voices that might have dissented against such an elevation for Syl Hellais had almost all been silenced, for few had survived her wrath, and those infested by the Others were now all dead, annihilated along with the parasites inside their own heads.
Yet there were some, even among the Military, who feared her too, and whispered quietly of the threat posed by one so young and powerful, even as more devious minds wondered how her abilities might be harnessed and used to serve a new Illyri Conquest. What, Syl thought, might they have said had they known that it was she who had been responsible for the deaths of so many? It was assumed that those Illyri who had been carrying Others in their heads had died because the Others inside them had died, a consequence of Syl’s annihilation of the Beast, but that was not the case. They had died because Syl had willed it. The Military knew that she had destroyed Corps ships, and their crews along with them, but that could be glossed over as a necessary act to bring a brutal conflict to an end. But if they learned that she had, in her rage and grief, targeted all those who had colluded with the Others and ultimately contributed to the death of Ani Cienda, they might not be so understanding. Syl did not fear those who were already plotting. She was more extraordinary than any of them could ever guess, and could snuff out any threat before it was even spoken aloud.
She was just tired of death.
But Syl did not wish to be President, and the more they pressed her, the more she resisted. She found herself repeatedly drawn back to the Marque, where she would spend hours sitting by Ani’s tomb, speaking with the ghost of her friend. Sometimes Meia would come to her, or Alis, for some of the Mechs remained concealed in the Marque in the guise of Sisters, while the rest had gone into hiding. The Illyri had turned on the Mechs once before, and Meia was unconvinced that they would not do so again. Cocile was being spoken of as Archmage, which surprised Cocile almost as much as it might have surprised Ani—and left the lovelorn Rent Raydl concerned at what this might mean for him—but others, hearing that Syl had rejected the presidency, had begun to wonder aloud if she might not consent to become Archmage instead.
Syl wanted none of it. She had no place here. She told Ani so, as she whispered to her beneath the stars.
• • •
Paul was waiting to meet Syl when the shuttle from the Marque landed in Upper Tannis after yet another of her sad-eyed trips to Avila Minor. They were living together in a lovely apartment in one of the older sections of the city, and Paul was enjoying exploring Illyr while his medical treatment continued. Thula was staying nearby, and he and Paul saw each other nearly every day, either by choice or at the medical center.
Steven had returned to help rebuild Earth at the first possible opportunity after the war. He’d taken all the other humans with him, as well as a team of Illyri volunteers—mainly scientists—who wanted to help right the wrongs that had been done in their name. Danis and Peris had gone with them. Ani’s death had dimmed the light of Illyr for both of the old soldiers, and Danis still hoped to discover the fate of his lost wife, Fian.
“I’ll see you back down there, big bro,” Steven had told Paul on parting. “I’ll give Mum your love. Oh, and I’m taking the top bunk.”
They’d laughed, and bumped fists, then hugged, but many weeks had passed and Paul missed his younger brother. He missed his mother too, and now Thula had begun to talk about going back to Earth.
As for Paul, he tried not to think about the future. He needed to give Syl time, just as he needed his own health back so that he might be of use to her again, and not a burden. Because of his injuries, he walked with the aid of a crutch, but the doctors had assured him that the need for it would become less and less over time. He was still in some discomfort. He tried to hide it from Syl, but nothing could ever truly be hidden from her. He watched her now as she approached, and something in his chest tightened painfully. How he wished that he could help her, or heal her, but he did not even know how to begin. All he felt equipped to do was love her, and hope that this might be enough.
“Let’s go home, Lady Syl Hellais,” he said, and he reached for Syl’s hand, but to his surprise she did not take it.
“Syl?”
Paul stopped, and turned to face her. She met his eyes, fierce and willful, and there was a challenge written large across her troubled and, oh, so very lovely face.
“But where is home, Paul?” she said. “Where is home for the likes of us?”
How different she is now, he thought—a million miles away from the contrary sixteen-year-old he’d met playing dress-up on the streets of Edinburgh, a million-billion-trillion miles in every which way—and yet somehow still the same, because the essence of the Illyri girl with whom he’d first fallen in love remained. They had come so far together, they’d crossed galaxies, and he knew he couldn’t bear to be without her.
“Home?” he said, without thinking it through. “My home is wherever you are, Syl.”
And as the words left his mouth, romantic and foolish and rash, even to his own ears, he recognized that they were also true. Yet still trouble stirred him, roiling like storm clouds on an internal horizon, for there was within Paul a desperate craving for the only home he’d ever known, the place where he’d been created, the world for which he’d fought before he’d met Syl, before she’d opened his universe, and the greater universe with it. Paul Kerr yearned for Earth.
Syl laughed, a throwaway sound, and he felt wounded, but the tenderness in her expression showed it was not meant harshly, and there was a new light in her eyes, or maybe an old light that he just hadn’t glimpsed for a while, so obscured had it been by grief. She put her hands on his chest and looked deep into him, and he did not turn away. He wasn’t even sure that he could.
“Now that’s just silly,” she said. “But you know what, Mr. Kerr, my sweetest love? If you think you can handle it, I heard about this little place—a real fixer-upper I’m told, though the last tenants pretty much wrecked it. Still, I think you’ll see the potential of it regardless. I certainly do.”
Her bronze hair was like a halo around her earnest face, and Paul found he wanted to run somewhere quiet with her, somewhere private and distant, and lose himself in her in every way. God, he realized, he’d go anywhere she suggested, anywhere at all.
“We can make it right again,’ she continued. “I think you’ll love it, Paul, this place of ours. I know I will. I mean, I already do; I guess I always did. It’s called Earth.”
Paul slipped his arms around her waist and held her tightly to himself.
“Yes,” he said. “Let’s go there.”
Reluctantly she pulled away from him so she could look into his face.
“There’s just one more thing,” she said.
“And what’s that?”
Syl smiled, but it was a shy, bashful thing, and she bit her lip before replying. She took his hand and placed it on her belly.
“I think this time there’ll be three of us . . .”