They gathered in Maximilian’s command tent just after dusk: Ishbel, Maximilian, StarDrifter, Salome, Garth, Egalion, and BroadWing. Maximilian was worried for Ishbel’s safety. They simply could not wait until they got to Serpent’s Nest to free the Weeper, nor until they raised Elcho Falling.
But what would it do to Ishbel?
Maximilian was worried also about Ravenna. He hadn’t seen her all day, and when he’d sent Garth to look for her earlier, Garth had returned with the news that he had not been able to find her.
What was she up to? Maximilian wished he’d had the forethought to ask Ravenna to return home to Escator well before this.
He looked at Egalion and raised his eyebrows.
Egalion gave a nod. The tent is protected.
Maximilian hoped that whatever, or whoever, the Weeper might yield, that it would be worth this risk.
“Are you certain you have no idea what, or who, the Weeper might hide?” Maximilian asked Salome.
Salome shifted a little, easing her back. She was very close to giving birth now, and StarDrifter had not wanted her to attend tonight because of the inherent danger, but Salome had insisted.
And whenever Salome insisted, she tended to get her way.
“We knew nothing of it,” she said. “Trust me when I say I tried to unearth whatever information I could, thinking to unleash yet more of its powers. All I know, as all the dukes of Sidon ever knew, was that an extraordinarily powerful soul went into its making.”
“A good soul,” said Egalion, “or a wicked soul? I do not like that everyone seems to assume that the Weeper’s soul will be benevolent.”
“Thank you for that touch of negativity,” StarDrifter muttered. “I am sure we all truly appreciate it.”
“The Weeper has never done anything wicked, Egalion,” Maximilian said. “Not since I have known it, and—” he raised his eyebrows at Salome.
“No. Never anything wicked,” she said. “It tended to do anything we wished of it save harm to another.” She gave a small smile. “Naturally the dukes of Sidon, as myself, thought that a terrible flaw, but we managed. It gave us protection and incredible riches, and we learned to ask no more of it.”
Maximilian looked down at the bronze statue he had in his lap. It looked so innocuous, but it had been through such a journey to reach him and had been so desperate to reach him that surely, surely, its soul had some meaning.
“Ishbel?” Maximilian said. “Are you ready?”
“Yes,” Ishbel said.
“Ishbel, be careful.”
“I’m ready,” she said, “but I am only going to try this the once, Maxel. If I can’t do it this time, I do not think I could ever try again.”
“If it gets too dangerous,” Maximilian said, “then get out. We can live without whatever the Weeper might hide. Ishbel, I cannot live without you.”
She took a deep breath at that, and locked eyes with him for a long moment. Then she gave a nod. “Give me the Weeper, Maxel.”
Venetia walked through the night. She walked some fifty paces north of Maximilian’s command tent, through the low brush and early spring turf, turning every so often to glance at the softly illuminated tent, looking at the shadows of the people inside moving against the canvas walls. The tent was ringed by armed men, but Venetia wondered what use they might be against whatever walked this night.
She could feel the pathways between the Land of Dreams and this world opening up, and power seeping across.
Ravenna. Venetia wept, cursing her daughter. Why was Ravenna doing this? Why? Venetia wished she were home in her house in the marshes; instead, she was so far distant from the smell of the marsh that she could barely remember it.
What did she do here? What was the point of it? Why had she come?
“Why, Ravenna?” Venetia whispered. “Why this?”
She turned for her own tent, looking one more time at Maximilian’s command tent.
Ishbel was starting her journey into the Weeper now.
Venetia knew beyond any doubt that she would never come out.
Not alive.