Ishbel sat in the room that had been hers as archpriestess. It was dawn outside now, the light filtering through the shuttered windows, and Ishbel was cold and stiff from having sat virtually unmoving for eight or nine hours.
She had not slept in all that time.
Instead she had been remembering—her life as archpriestess, as a novice, and as the girl before Aziel had rescued her and brought her to Serpent’s Nest. She remembered how the Serpent god had exhorted her to leave the mountain to marry an unknown and meaningless king on the other side of the continent, and how she had railed against that fate.
She remembered how she had clung to the promise that one day she would return home.
And here she was.
This room had been everything to Ishbel for all her years as archpriestess. Within its walls she had found peace and security, and forgetfulness from the horrors of her childhood. When she had left to go to Maximilian, Ishbel had visualized herself coming back to this room, over and over, flinging open the door and sinking down to the bed to bury her face in her beloved old pillow, finding peace and security once more.
To come home.
She had wanted to come home so much.
Ishbel had assumed that she would feel something when she reentered the room. Not the incandescent joy she’d once thought, but perhaps some lingering sweetness.
But there had been nothing.
The room had been a stranger to her. It was empty of everything—memories, emotion, meaning. Ishbel had lived over twelve years within this room, but she could barely remember any of it.
Everything had changed.
She became aware that it was a new day. Very slowly Ishbel rose from the chair, pausing now and again as a muscle twinged or a tendon creaked.
I am getting old, she thought, and was then consumed with sadness at that realization. Not so old, surely, not yet.
She walked to the twin windows, folding back the shutters and closing her eyes for a long moment to enjoy the flood of new-day sunlight on her face. Then, still at the windows, she looked to the west.
There was nothing on the horizon, but surely Armat couldn’t be far away.
Armat and Ravenna.
Turning away from the window, Ishbel walked to a mirror hung on the opposite wall. Her hair had been neatly coiled about her head when she’d sat down, but at some point during the night the pins had loosened, and now hair hung in some disarray about her face. She smoothed the hair away, studying the new lines around her eyes and mouth.
Lines of strain, and experience, and pain and love.
Tears flooded her eyes, and she rubbed them away, then suddenly pulled all the pins from her hair and shook her head, the hair tumbling down around her shoulders and back.
Taking a deep breath, she leaned closer to the mirror, tilting her head so that the brightening sunlight illumed the crown of her head, then carefully parted the hair.
When she’d been archpriestess, Ishbel had done this several times a week at dawn. It had been a comfort to her, and a pride, and a reassurance.
It was not something she’d done at all since she’d left Serpent’s Nest to marry Maximilian, and most certainly not whenever she’d been living with him as his wife.
She’d always been most careful about brushing her hair in Maximilian’s presence.
Now she studied her scalp, frowning into the mirror, fingers parting the hair this way and that.
It was gone.
When Ishbel had been inducted into the Coil as a priestess, she had been marked with the sign of the Serpent: a coiled serpent rising to strike. But because the Great Serpent had told Aziel that one day Ishbel would be required to leave Serpent’s Nest and live among ordinary people, they had marked her carefully so that the mark would not be observable.
When she was fifteen, Aziel had shaved Ishbel’s head, and marked her entire scalp with the sign of the serpent.
Then her hair had gradually grown back, hiding the mark, although Ishbel could always see it when she’d parted her hair and looked.
But now it was gone. Faded away, just as the mark of the Manteceros had faded from Maximilian’s biceps.
It was gone, and she was glad.
It was time to move on. The mark had gone, her former life was gone, and everything it had ever meant to her was gone.
There was only one place that was home now.
Rearranging her hair into a loose plait over one shoulder, Ishbel straightened her gown, then left the room, closing the door behind her.
She did not once look back as she walked down the corridor.
Ishbel went to the chamber Madarin had found for her, washed, dressed carefully in a fresh gown, and combed out her hair, redressing it in the long plait.
She went first to see Salome.
“I knew you’d had the baby,” Ishbel said, sitting in a chair close by Salome, who was nursing the child. StarDrifter was leaning against the wall just to one side of Salome’s chair, watching both his wife and the baby, and Ishbel was not even sure that he was aware she had entered the room.
Salome raised her eyes from her son and looked at Ishbel. “You can still have him, if you like.”
Ishbel smiled, a little sadly, remembering the jest Salome had made that day they’d become friends. Ishbel had still been grieving over the loss of her daughter (was still grieving over the loss of her daughter) and Salome had pretended indifference to her own pregnancy and offered the baby to Ishbel.
“Maximilian might be suspicious,” Ishbel said, carrying on the jest.
“You will have another baby, one day,” said Salome. “I had Ezra, and had thought that ended my childbearing, but then my life ended and began anew, and with it came this baby.”
“Do you think so?” Ishbel said softly, her eyes still on StarDancer, who had now finished his suckling and had turned his head to regard Ishbel.
Salome wiped her son’s mouth. “I am certain so, Ishbel. Why, it would take less than an hour to walk up to Maximilian, and—”
“Didn’t you give me this advice before?” Ishbel said.
“At least we are consistent,” StarDrifter said, finally acknowledging Ishbel’s presence. He leaned over Salome and lifted the child gently from her arms. “Look at my son, Ishbel. Is he not beautiful?”
“He is very beautiful indeed,” said Ishbel. “And so aware.”
“Would you like to hold him?” StarDrifter said.
“No,” said Ishbel. “Do you mind?”
“I understand,” said StarDrifter.
Ishbel left Salome and StarDrifter shortly after, and went in search of Maximilian. She found him in a large chamber that overlooked the inner courtyard and beyond, to the road that led west and up which Armat would approach. Axis, Egalion, BroadWing, and Ezekiel were with him, sharing some breakfast over charts spread on a large central table.
The men looked up as she entered, but she waved them into silence, indicating she would wait until they’d finished, then helped herself to tea and breakfast from a side table.
She sat herself down on a bench by a window, eating and drinking silently as the men continued their discussion.
“Eleanon arrived last night,” Axis said.
“I saw him,” Maximilian said. He paused, grinning a little wryly. “He was in an ill temper.”
“Well,” said Axis. “He’d just seen me. I’d shouted at him.”
“He was upset about Inardle,” said Maximilian.
“Eleanon is still upset about making an utter fool of himself with Armat,” said Axis.
“Has he reported to you, BroadWing?” Maximilian asked, and BroadWing nodded.
“We have exchanged greetings, and a few cautious words,” BroadWing said. “We agreed to meet again once I have done here.”
Maximilian talked briefly about reawakening Elcho Falling in two days’ time, then the meeting broke up, leaving Maximilian alone with Ishbel.
“You look tired,” he said.
“I have been up all night, thinking.”
“And?” Maximilian said.
“The Ishbel you married is well and truly dead, Maxel. The new one has decided she cannot wait for the rebirth of Elcho Falling.”