The world shall swirl in chaos, but chaos shall not prevail.
-Genesifin
Although more than a handful of days had passed, Brenol had barely found another moment to be alone with Colette. His head spun with the council and their incessant arguing, and his feet and hands itched to move, to do something. Guilt crept upon him; he keenly felt his failure in this blunder of calling council. It seemed he simply stumbled from one mistake to the next, regardless of intent. But what could he do now? The council could not be undone, and he would be forced to sit on his hands while the terrisdan soil succumbed to toxicity.
Even if there was a clear path, they’d never agree to do it, he thought ruefully.
He toyed with the whistle—never far from his restless fingers—but felt an overwhelming reluctance at the thought of summoning Pearl. Then doubts eroded his convictions, and he began to fear it was his own pride preventing him, but still his mind arrived at the same argument again and again.
What could she do, even if I were to call her?
Brenol withered further as he thought of Colette. The afternoon retreat had been lovely, but it remained apparent to him that she was not well. Whatever had happened at Ziel had done wonders, for she seemed more peaceful, yet she was also secretive and quiet. He feared that her mourning over the maralane was consuming her, but he was loath to insist she speak. He wanted her to feel freedom to discuss—or not discuss—with him as she pleased, so he remained silent.
As the days tumbled forward, Brenol grew even more doubtful. And Arman was not present to help sort through his thoughts or swoop in with a solution. He was still out trying to persuade the missing nuresti and terrisdan leaders to join the council. Brenol had thought it premature for Arman to leave after the first day’s meeting but once again found the juile right. The council was like a dog, never relinquishing the chase upon its tail until forcibly stopped. Some new force would perhaps be the only way to change its course.
So Brenol waited. And waited.
Would that I could chop off the cursed tail.
~
Colette ached to be free of the place. The council was repugnant in its anger and selfish grasping and terrified her because her own heart still beat with the nurest claim for power and love of terrisdan. She berated herself for not telling Brenol but nevertheless remained steadfast in her silence. Try as she did to rationalize, she knew deep within that her motives were not pure. It was not merely shame that made her hold her speech.
Between sessions, she took to walking the grounds to sort through her thoughts. Outside, she did not have to stare, trembling with desire, at the hos, and could escape the hard and curious glances of the group.
One afternoon, as the council wore her thin, she slipped from the circle and crept from the hall. She sighed in relief as her back passed the last pillar and the tapestry fell closed behind her.
Colette sucked in the evening air. Shadows stretched across the gardens and painted gray and black outlines along the walkways. Twilight was but a breath away. She eased a course down the winding stone and sniffed the nectary breeze. It was thick with the bursting aroma of Ziel.
Could a storm be—
Without warning, the scent yanked her from the present, back to the morbid banks. She could feel the trickling sweat beading on her face and neck and back, the icy wind racking her frame, the ache of her quivering muscles as she lowered the dead fish-men into the soil. The maralane child’s kiss brushed her face, and her ear tickled as it met the soft whisper. Colette raised her hand to her cheek; the memory ushered in with such force that she almost expected to find her face wet and lungs bursting with the need for oxygen.
Her dark tresses whipped and blinded her as the wind knifed through the path, and the recollection began to recede. She shivered and stepped from the gravel walkway to lean her frail body against the soladrome walls. She slid her weight to the soil, tucking both knees to her chest and hugging them closely.
The maralane changed me. I know it. Bren can help me move past this terrible desire for the hos. He knew what it was like to be a nurest. Why don’t I just explain it to him?
She recalled the transformation that had occurred in her. The corpses had shaken her awake from hatred, but the lake-child, while melting her hardness, had left her raw. Her heart ached in loneliness.
Do I really plan to steal the hos and run back to Veronia? Am I that foolish?
She pushed her face to her knees, letting the warm cloud that escaped her lips heat her nose. She curled ever tighter against the cold until her musings merged into the strange world of dreams. When she woke, not a light remained in the skies, and the cold night bit at her toes and ears. She shivered, her muscles cramped and asleep.
“—much longer, do you?” a voice whispered.
Colette stilled her quivering and strained to listen.
“We have to at least try. How else will we get past Brenol? He’s been plucked by that insipid lunitata.” The tone was venomous.
Colette froze. She dared not move to glance around the corner, but she did not have to. Both voices were irritatingly familiar from the unending tedium in the hall.
“How long do we need to delay, then?” asked Restar.
Colette pictured his tentative fingers twisting and fidgeting before him. How he had found a royal seat in Plune was a mystery to her. He seemed more vulnerable than a spider beneath a sole.
“Surely not long. I was told Veronia was nearing the end—already dying between her fingers when she left. And that was over a moon past. Colonastra is the same. Bergin and Granallat are pressed but holding. The west has drunk more of Jerem’s vileness than the east,” Derpa said.
“I’m still not sure this should be the way, though,” replied Restar.
The Callupian queen granted him a sneering laugh. Colette could picture easily enough the snide smile widening on her clenched and bony face. “You’d dare to back out now? No. We wait until the west has died. Then we take the full measure of serum for the east. We’ll have more power and control. The westerners will be forced into tribute, to follow our ways. We will be the rulers of this next age.”
Restar pondered for a moment, but soon his words flowed out in angst. “What if we wait too long for our own lands? It seems a dangerous thi—”
“Hush. A worm has more sense than you do. You will do what we’ve agreed. Or there will be consequences.”
Silence ensued for a few moments, and then muffled voices traveled towards them.
“Not a word,” she hissed.
Their footsteps meandered off toward the soladrome’s garden entrance, and Colette burned fiercely. Veronia. My Veronia. I won’t let you die. My Veronia. The numbness in her muscles had vanished in the power of her rage.
I know what I must do.
I know.
~
“Colette?” Brenol found her in the dining hall in the soladrome, curled forward before an empty table. It was well into the night, and he had almost not noticed her in the dimmed corner.
“Yes?” She angled her face toward him, but her eyes were focused elsewhere.
He lowered himself down to take a seat across from her, although he yearned to be closer. A heavy sigh left his lips—much weighed upon him. He fingered the silver whistle through the fabric of his pocket. It did not seem time to call Pearl, but it never did.
What could she possibly do? he wondered again. Watch the world die with me?
“I don’t know what’s right anymore,” Brenol began. “What do you think we should do?”
Startled, she was glad he could not read her mind. Her thoughts had been wrapped around the hos. The unguarded hos.
Colette mustered her focus and settled her vision squarely on Brenol. The gauntness of his face startled her.
He isn’t sleeping, she realized, finding the truth sobering. He doesn’t have a solution. He can’t help me. The thought only sent her weak will spiraling further.
Brenol waited upon her with patient expectation.
“I don’t have any answers for you,” Colette said softly. She turned her eyes down to her hands.
Brenol leaned nearer, concerned. “Are you well?”
“Leave me, Bren. I want to be alone right now.”
The man exhaled softly, feeling slighted. He began to rise but then paused as he examined her face. There was an element in her expressions that jolted him. It reminded him of a time—not as long past as he would have liked—when he would have been willing to let Colette meet death, all so he might retain the powerful nuresti connection. He felt his cheeks flush.
Not wanting to believe his perception was accurate, he asked, “What is bothering you, Colette?”
She glanced over at him, her features creased with tension and her hands rolled tightly into fists. “It is just a lot. That’s all. The maralane…”
Brenol sighed, relieved that he had discerned poorly. “You’re still thinking of the maralane?” he asked.
Colette smiled weakly at him and then clamped her jaw shut. Already, she could feel sweat slicking her hands and neck as greed rumbled to life within her. Her mind swam with the image of the hos, and the terrible inner voice practically sang her forward in purpose.
Brenol berated himself. Why do I always assume she is battling with nuresti greed when she is simply mourning? She is better than me. Why do I continually doubt her?
“We will know when they have passed,” he said softly. “The Genesifin says so. The heavens will shower light.” He met her eyes with compassion; they swirled with a mess of emotion. “It will be good to at least know.”
Colette shook her head slowly. “Leave me alone, Bren,” she said, the words leaving her lips like a secret.
He rose and peered down at the lunitata. “Please let me help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”
She drew her arms around herself tightly, turning her frame away from him. It was plain she wished him gone.
“You don’t know what I need,” she said bitterly. The pounding desire burned through her veins, and she hardly even perceived what she said.
Brenol swallowed, surprised. She’s right, Brenol thought. I don’t. I can’t do anything for her. His mouth could not form any more words. She doesn’t want my help or my consolation. She doesn’t want me.
I’m a fool. I’ve blinded myself with emotion.
He abandoned the hall with a stomach wrung raw. When he arrived in his room, he flung his articles at the walls in frustration. Clothing and papers soon lay strewn across the white tile.
I don’t even know her anymore, he thought.
And she certainly doesn’t want me to.
A grimace stretched itself across his features. You think this is really love? You can’t love a stranger.
He clenched his hands until they were the hue of bone. You can’t love a stranger.