Daifan—that is to say, Eremit—studied his friends, wondering if the peculiar mix of elation and exhaustion he observed on their countenances was also evident on his own.
“And so,” remarked Livosha. “Let us see. Berwick, Yanis, Dorin, Traanzo. Who is left?”
“Sajen and the director,” said Kefaan. “But perhaps they have been punished enough?”
“That is my opinion,” said Daifan.
“I agree,” said Livosha.
“And,” added Daifan, “you are now the Countess of Westward, a pretty pin to add to your dress.”
“And you, my friend,” said Livosha. “You will take back your interest in the sealstone trade? It is, after all, yours by right.”
He shook his head. “I wish no part of it. It is yours.”
“And yet,” said Livosha, smiling sadly, “what will you think when the Empire is restored, and sets out eastward armed with weapons made from these minerals?”
“I will be pleased for you,” said Daifan honestly.
“But then, what are you going to do?”
After an instant’s thought, he concluded that, after everything, he owed her a truthful answer. “Me?” he said. “I will have Captain Sheen transport me to Adrilankha, along with my friend Alishka and her associates, who I think would be happy to be done with life on the road, and I will take up residence in the very nice home that was given to me by the complaisant Traanzo and I will set about in, well, in business.”
“As a Jhereg?”
“I have some thoughts on the matter.”
“And I, my dear sister,” said Kefaan, “intend to assist him.”
“What, you, my brother?” cried Livosha.
“If the Empire is restored, either by this Kâna, or by someone else, a Jhereg will need a good advocate, and I find I like walking between the worlds—that is to say, yours and Daifan’s.”
“And does this decision,” asked Daifan, assuming an air of innocence, “have aught to do with certain looks I may have seen exchanged between you and my friend Alishka?”
“Oh, as to that—”
“Why, my brother,” said Livosha. “You are positively blushing!”
“That may be,” he said, although whether this was in answer to Daifan, Livosha, or both, he did not make clear. “However,” he went on, as if determined to change the subject, “I will visit you often, you have my word.” He paused for a moment, and then said in a lower and more serious tone, “But even were there no understanding between me and the lovely Alishka, well, you must see that I cannot return to Wetrock.”
Livosha sighed and said, “I understand. But I will hold you to your word on the matter of visiting me.”
“And you, good Jerin?” said Kefaan.
The Teckla bowed. “The stables await me, and I am eager to take up my duties.”
Livosha’s countenance brightened at this, which, in turned, pleased Daifan. But then she turned to him. “You perceive,” she said, “that Traanzo is still alive, as are Berwick and Dorin. Might they not wish for revenge?”
Daifan shrugged. “Traanzo will be too busy running from Kelsama to seek vengeance, and Berwick is too broken. As for Dorin, well, let him try.”
“Come,” she said suddenly. “Let us walk in the garden. That is, my garden.”
She took his arm, and they strolled together down the stairs, and (directed by the complaisant Issola who had been so kind to young Eremit so long ago, who was still on duty and appeared utterly unconcerned about the turmoil around him), found the gardens in the back. Daifan, with some difficulty, did not show the emotion that surged through him at the pressure on his arm, a pressure in which there was friendship, but no hint of possessiveness.
“So then,” said Livosha when they were alone. “You are not to come back to me?”
“My Levoshirasha—”
“Ah, you call me that!”
“I remember a boy who was eager, full of life, as innocent and helpless as a Jhegaala nymph. And I remember a girl who was strong, and who laughed, and who gazed into the future as if eager for it to challenge her.”
“I am still that girl.”
“I know it well. But I am not that boy. Had we had the chance to change together, to grow, well, who knows? But with me, you will always seek that boy, and he will not be there. I will always wish to become him for you, and will always fall short. You will come to loathe me, and I will come to loathe myself.”
“Your words are too strong. I could never loathe you.”
“Too strong? Perhaps you are right. And yet I still love you, my Levoshirasha, and should we be together, that love would die, and it is the best part of me. I cannot permit that.”
She sighed. “You are right, my friend. But it is difficult to accept.”
“For me as well,” said Daifan quietly. “But had I not said that we could not be together, well, you would have had to say it, and I will not ask that of you.”
She pressed his arm and they continued walking. “When you take up residence in Adrilankha, will you give yourself yet another name?”
“I believe,” he said, “I will stay with Daifan. It seems appropriate.”
“How, is it? I am unfamiliar with its origins.”
“It is ancient Serioli, and it means Demon.”
“I understand,” she said, and pressed his arm again.
And it is here, in the garden, that, with a certain bittersweet pleasure, we will leave the reader, as well as those persons we have been following during this brief examination of history. Whether the matter has, in the case of any individual reader, been instructive, or rewarding in any other way, is something for which we may hope, but cannot know, as the barrier between author and reader by its nature prevents any such knowledge, save occasionally for those works of criticism that might come across our desk, and which we will then file unread to avoid undue influence.
As for this desk, to which we have just had the honor to refer, we would be remiss in our duty if we did not inform the reader of its new location, that being the Office of the Chair of Interregnum Studies in the Department of History of Pamlar University at Adrilankha, which position we have only just accepted upon learning that the previous occupant of that prestigious office has been dismissed on charges of plagiarism, the greatest crime there is to an academic. While we cannot deny our pleasure at this unexpected change in our fortunes, we are sorry that it has come at the expense of a scandal befalling such a fine institution, and pledge at this moment to do our utmost to remedy any ill odor—which term we use in its metaphorical sense—that may have attached itself to the department.
And so, as one blows out a candle upon leaving a room, the light of which may seem to linger for a moment in the eye even after the flame is gone, permit us to blow out the candle of this small bit of history with our friends Daifan—that is to say, Eremit—and Livosha, though no longer lovers, at least friends, and each in a position, and perhaps with the wisdom, to create a future. For it can be said, we believe, without fear of contradiction, that it is in our individual and combined effort to create for ourselves the future we wish that we find cause for the study of the past.