.XIV.

Charisian Embassy, Siddar City, Republic of Siddarmark, and, Royal Palace, Eraystor, Princedom of Emerald, Empire of Charis

The Charisian standard atop the embassy’s roof snapped briskly on the evening breeze. The city was calmer, although there was a sense of unease stemming from the departure of so much of the army strength which had been concentrated in and around it. Confident of the arrival of Duke Eastshare, Lord Protector Greyghor and Lord Daryus had sent almost half the forty-six thousand regulars in Old Province off to help defend the loyal portion of Shiloh. It wasn’t that the citizens of Siddar City distrusted their leaders’ judgment; it was simply that so many terrible things had happened since the previous fall that they were waiting to see what new disaster was headed their way.

Cayleb Ahrmahk could understand that as he stood on the rooftop balcony which had become his favorite vantage point and gazed out across the city. The sun was settling steadily in the west, and he’d just finished a late-night conversation with Sharleyan in distant Cherayth.

“You do realize,” a deep voice said musingly from behind him, “that there are rifles in Temple Loyalist hands now, don’t you?”

“And your point is?” he asked without turning.

“That it wouldn’t be so very difficult, with you standing up here like a target in a gallery, for one of those rifles in the hands of some ill-intentioned soul to hit you from any one of several firing points I can think of right offhand.”

“At which point my ‘antiballistic undies,’ as Sharley’s taken to calling them, will save my no doubt reckless life, right?”

“As long as you’re not unfortunate enough to get hit in, oh, the head, for instance. Not beyond the realm of possibility, I’d think. And you might remember just how battered and bruised Sharley got from a pistol ball. Don’t you think it’s remotely possible a rifle bullet might be even more painful? For that matter, a bit of splintered rib driven into a lung or, say, an aorta would probably come under the heading of A Really Bad Thing, too, now that I think about it.”

“My, you are in a pessimistic mood.” Cayleb turned. “Is there a particular reason you’re so intent on raining on my parade?”

“I just worry sometimes,” Merlin Athrawes said in a much more serious tone. “I don’t want to try to wrap you up in cotton wool and protect you from every bump and bruise, Cayleb. But … all you flesh-and-bloods are so damned fragile. I just … don’t want to lose any more of you.”

The seijin’s sapphire eyes were darker than the evening light could account for, and Cayleb reached out and rested his hands on the taller man’s shoulders.

“What brought that on?” he asked more gently. “Watching Sharley and Mahrak?”

“Partly, I suppose.” Merlin twitched a shrug. “That and watching her with Archbishop Ulys and thinking about Archbishop Pawal and everybody else Clyntahn’s butchers killed. It shouldn’t bother me that much, I suppose. I mean, all the deaths of all the ‘Rakurai’ combined are such a tiny, insignificant number compared to the people he’s killed by proxy here in the Republic. But it does bother me, damn it!” His face tightened. “I knew too many of those people, Cayleb. I cared about them. And now they’re gone.”

“It happens.” The words might have been flip; the tone was not, and Cayleb smiled sadly. “And it doesn’t happen just to you theoretically immortal seijin PICAs, either. But with the embassy so crowded, this is the only place I can be sure of the privacy to talk to Sharleyan out loud, and that’s worth a little risk. It really is.”

He shook Merlin gently, and the seijin chuckled.

“Well, I don’t suppose I can argue with that. But since the only reason you can be sure of that privacy, even up here, is that the deadly, mysterious Seijin Merlin is standing menacingly at the bottom of the stairs to keep anyone from disturbing you, I hope you’ve already enjoyed a satisfactory conversation.”

“Why?” Cayleb cocked his head. “Did you have an appointment somewhere?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

Cayleb’s eyes narrowed. He looked at Merlin very intently for a moment.

“Is this more of whatever took you off so mysteriously last month?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

Merlin met the emperor’s gaze with level eyes. He offered no further explanation, however, and Cayleb held his gaze for another second or two, then drew a deep breath.

“All right,” he said simply. “Do you know when we should expect you back? I only ask because Paityr, Ahndrai, and the rest of the detachment have to cover for you if anyone asks any questions. They’d probably appreciate any little hint I might be able to give them about just how long that will be.”

“I should be back well before dawn,” Merlin assured him.

“In that case,” Cayleb released his shoulders, “go. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Merlin bowed with rather more formality than usual when the two of them were alone. Then he turned, headed down the stairs, and disappeared.

*   *   *

Ohlyvya Baytz sat on the balcony above her garden, gazing down onto its lantern-lit paths and listening to the night wyverns’ soft whistles, and smiled gently. She doubted Prince Zhan had realized she was up here—he was a very … direct young man, rather like his older brother—but she knew her daughter had. It was probably just as well. Young Zhan would be fifteen in another few months, and Princess Mahrya was a very attractive twenty-one. She was also betrothed to him, and in the three and a half years since that marriage had been arranged he’d gone from a somewhat bemused little boy not at all certain about this entire marrying business to a very nice-looking and well-grown young man with all a young man’s curiosity about the opposite sex. True, it was a marriage of state, arranged for the most cold-blooded of political reasons. The two of them had spent much of the time since in one another’s company, however, and it was obvious more than hormones were involved in their attitudes.

Not that Zhan’s hormones aren’t roaring along quite nicely. It’s a good thing he’s basically such a nice young man. And that Haarahld and Cayleb both had such strong views on the subject of proper restraint. At least he’s thankfully free of the notion that just because he’s a prince, the rules don’t apply to him! And, of course, having said that, it probably was a good thing Mahrya knew I was up here. Not that anything remotely improper would’ve happened if I hadn’t been, of course. Oh, of course not!

She snorted in amusement. The truth was that betrothals were serious things on Safehold. Mother Church had seen to that. They were legal contracts as binding in many ways as the marriage itself, although it had always been possible for the wealthy and powerful to acquire the proper indulgence to slip out of one or have it annulled if that seemed desirable. It wasn’t all that unusual for a bride to appear at the altar pregnant, or even accompanied by a young child, without anyone looking particularly askance, however, as long as the betrothal period had been long enough to account for it. It wasn’t considered the very best form, but no scandal usually attached to it. Princes and princesses, however, were just a bit more visible than most young couples, and she rather hoped the two of them would bear that in mind for the next couple of years. She wasn’t foolish enough to think such an intelligent and resourceful pair hadn’t managed to evade their various keepers and bodyguards long enough for at least a little discreet experimentation, but she was philosophical about it. Far better for them to come to know and care for one another, complete with the aforesaid discreet experimentation, than for Mahrya to never even have met her proposed husband before her wedding.

Yes, it is, she thought, but it didn’t work out that badly for you, did it? Her lips curved in a tender smile. He was already plump, poor thing. But there was something so … endearing about him. Like a gawky puppy. I wonder how many times he’d been told he had to marry me to legitimize the dynasty? I know how many times they told me I had to marry him to make sure the legitimate dynasty’s blood still sat on the throne! But he was so eager, so earnest, about trying to put me at ease. And I think he probably thought the only reason an attractive young lady would have looked at him—if she hadn’t had to marry him for reasons of state, of course—was because he was a prince. But he never was really fair to himself. He always thought of himself as a clever little man, not simply as a man … when he was all the man anyone could ever have needed.

A single tear brimmed at the corner of her eye, but it wasn’t a tear of sorrow. Not anymore. Regret, perhaps, for all the years they’d lost, but the memory of all the years they’d had—that defeated the sorrow. And she only hoped Mahrya and Zhan would find the same happiness she and Nahrmahn had.

And at least they probably won’t have to worry about figuring out where the various parts go, the way we did, she told herself with a suddenly impish grin. That’s something. Besides—

“Excuse me, Ohlyvya,” a deep, familiar voice said behind her, and she turned quickly.

“Merlin!” Her eyes widened in surprise—at seeing him here, not that he’d managed to get to her balcony without anyone spotting him along the way. “I didn’t expect you. Why didn’t you com?”

“Because this is something best done personally,” he told her with a bow which was deeper than usual and oddly formal. “It’s not the sort of conversation we should have over the com.”

“Really?” She regarded him more narrowly. “That sounds faintly ominous, as Nahrmahn would have said.”

“Interesting you should mention Nahrmahn,” Merlin said with a strange smile. “He has quite a lot to do with this visit, as a matter of fact.”

“What?” Her brow furrowed in confusion, and he waved one hand at the balcony’s marble bench.

“Why don’t you sit down? I have a story to tell you.”

*   *   *

“And that’s how it happened,” Merlin said, twenty minutes later. “I know I had no right to make a decision like that without consulting him—and you. But there wasn’t time, I didn’t know if it was going to work, and you had enough grief without hoping for something that might never come to pass.”

Ohlyvya stared at him, her face pale and streaked with tears in the balcony’s lamplight. She pressed her hand to her quivering lips, and he could almost physically feel the tension trembling through her muscles. At that moment, he thought, what she’d learned from him and Owl in the last two years must be at war with everything she’d ever learned before that.

“I can’t—” She broke off and swallowed hard. “I can’t … take it in,” she said then, her voice hoarse. “He’s dead, Merlin. I buried him!”

“So is Nimue Alban, Ohlyvya,” he said gently, his blue eyes dark and bottomless.

“But … but I never knew Nimue.” She lowered her hand and managed a tight, strained smile. It was fleeting. “Intellectually—here—” she touched her temple, “I know the man I see in front of me is really a machine with someone else’s memories. But that isn’t real to me, Merlin. Nimue isn’t—you are. It’s … different.”

“Is it really? Or is it just that you feel like you’d be cheating?”

“Cheating?” She looked at him. “Cheating who?”

“That would be my own attitude,” he told her. “On the other hand, I haven’t committed myself to a rebellion against the only Church, the only faith, I’ve ever known. The Church of God Awaiting is nothing to me but an enormous con game, a scam perpetrated upon the entire human race by a batch of megalomaniacs who were loony as bedbugs, whatever their intentions may’ve been. It’s not hard for me to kick over that anthill, Ohlyvya, but I think it could be harder for you than your intellect’s ready to admit.”

She opened her mouth, but he held up one hand, stopping her.

“I’m not saying your rebellion isn’t absolutely one hundred percent genuine. In fact, it’s probably even more genuine—if that’s an allowable term—than my own, because it did require you to think about and reject the lies you’d been taught all your life. But human minds are funny things. Sometimes, they punish themselves for doing what they know was the right thing because someone they loved and trusted once told them it was the wrong thing. So are you punishing yourself for having dared to defy the archangels by feeling as if you’d be cheating to accept that Nahrmahn isn’t really gone?”

“I—” She began, then paused suddenly and looked around. “Is he watching us right now?”

“No.” Merlin shook his head. “He’s had Owl take his VR offline until you or I tell him to put it back online. He wanted you to be able to think or say anything you wanted to—or needed to—without worrying about how it might affect his feelings. This decision is up to you, Ohlyvya. He doesn’t want to put any more pressure on you than he can help, because—as he put it—God knows just sending me to tell you about him has to be pressure enough for any long-suffering wife to put up with.”

She gurgled a strained laugh.

“Oh, that does sound like him! Just like him.”

“I know.” Merlin rose, crossed to the balcony railing, and looked out across the garden. “I can’t tell you for certain that this is really Nahrmahn, Ohlyvya.” His voice came back across his shoulder. “That’s because I can’t tell you for certain that I’m really Nimue Alban. I think I am … usually, but I suspect I’ll never know for certain until the day this PICA finally powers down for the last time. Maybe when that happens I’ll find out all I ever really was was an electronic echo of someone who died a thousand years before I ever opened my eyes on this planet.”

He turned to face her once more, his eyes dark.

“Maikel doesn’t think that’s going to happen, and as a general rule, I’m prepared to accept his expertise where souls are concerned. If that man doesn’t have it right, no one I’ve ever known did. So all I can tell you is that I think this really is Nahrmahn, the man who loves you. That’s what I believe. And he asked me to tell you one more thing.”

“What?” she asked very softly.

“He asked me to tell you he thinks he’s Nahrmahn, and that he loves you. That there are still things the two of you have never told each other—that he always meant, or at least wanted, to tell you. That he wants to tell them to you now. And that he’s pretty sure that if he isn’t the ‘real’ Nahrmahn, the original couldn’t possibly object to your taking what comfort you can out of at least talking to him. After all, he wouldn’t.”

She laughed again, a much less strained sound this time, and shook her head.

“And that sounds even more like him! I can even see his smile when he said it! He always was an unscrupulous devil when it came to getting what he wanted.”

“I see you’re an excellent judge of character,” Merlin said with a chuckle, and she laughed yet again. The laugh segued into a smile, pensive and still more than a little strained, but definitely a smile.

“He hasn’t told me this, Ohlyvya,” Merlin said after a moment, “but I think he plans on having his VR terminated on the day you die.”

Her smile disappeared and her eyes widened, one hand rising to her throat, and Merlin shook his head quickly.

“I don’t mean he’s going to terminate tonight if you don’t feel you can talk to him! I just mean that when the time comes for you to die, he intends to follow you to wherever it is you go. I think … I think he doesn’t want either of you to be left behind. And I think he believes that if he isn’t really Nahrmahn, if despite everything he thinks and feels neither he nor I are truly ‘real,’ it won’t matter one way or the other when he shuts down. But if he is Nahrmahn, he’s not going to hang on to an existence here when it might cost him the opportunity to follow you, or whatever of both of you survives.”

Her eyes softened, and she drew a deep, tremulous breath.

“Do I have to decide tonight?”

“No. And it’s not like you’re going to leave him on tenterhooks while you think about it, either.” Merlin grinned suddenly. “Now that I think about it, that might be another reason he had Owl take him offline. It would be like him to combine selflessness with self-interest, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes, it certainly would,” she said in a rather more entertained voice, a trace of amusement glinting in her eye. “Just like him!”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that—‘just like him,’ I mean,” Merlin pointed out gently.

“I know. It’s just … hard.” Her expression was calmer, her eyes deep and thoughtful. “I’ve been through losing him. I think part of it is that I’m afraid of finding out it isn’t really him after all—that I’ll have to go through losing him all over again.”

“I guess it’s like Maikel’s always telling us.” She looked at him and he shrugged. “There comes a time when we just have to decide, Ohlyvya. Sometimes all we can consult is our heart, because the mind doesn’t supply the answers we need. So what it comes down to, I think, is whether or not you’re willing to risk that. Do you have the courage to open yourself to that sort of possible hurt in the hope of finding that sort of possible joy?”

She looked at him oddly for a moment, then rose and crossed to stand directly in front of him. She reached out, laying both palms flat against his armored breastplate, and looked up into those dark blue eyes.

“Merlin,” she asked quietly, “was Nimue ever in love?”

He froze for a long, quivering heartbeat, then very gently covered the hands on his breastplate with his own.

“No,” he said, his deep voice soft. “Nimue loved many people in her life, Ohlyvya. Her parents, Commodore Pei, Shan-wei, the people who fought and, in the end, died with her. But she was never brave enough to love someone the way you loved Nahrmahn, the way Cayleb and Sharleyan love each other. She knew they were all going to die, that they could never have a future together, and she wasn’t willing to open her heart to the pain of loving someone when she knew what the end had to be.”

She stared up at him, hearing the stark regret, tasting the honesty it had taken for him to admit that. And then she bent forward, laying her cheek atop the long-fingered, sinewy swordsman’s hands which had covered hers.

“Poor Nimue,” she whispered. “Trust me in this, Merlin. If she ever had opened that heart of hers, if she’d found the right man, it wouldn’t have mattered to him how little time they had. And”—she drew a deep breath—“I think I see now another reason why you love so deeply here, on Safehold.”

“I don’t know about that. Maybe I never will. But I do know the people I’ve met here, on this world, are worth everything. They’re worth what Commodore Pei and Pei Shan-wei and all the others of the Alexandria Enclave gave, and they’re worth everything Nimue Alban gave.”

“No, we aren’t,” she told him, head never moving from where it lay against his chest, “but because you believe we are, we have to be worth it anyway. You don’t leave a choice.”

They stood there for at least two full minutes, and then she drew a deep, lung-cleansing breath and straightened. She leaned back, looking up at his face once more, and cupped his cheeks in her hands.

“Damn you, Merlin Athrawes,” she said softly. “Damn you for making all of us pretend we’re characters in some legend somewhere! It’s a lot more comfortable being one of those people who just tries to get along in the world, but you couldn’t let us do that, could you?”

“That’s me,” he told her with a crooked smile. “Just a natural-born troublemaker who never could leave well enough alone.”

“Which sounds a lot like someone else I once knew, now that you mention it.” She drew another breath. “And since it does, I suppose I’d better talk to him about all this, hadn’t I? Did you say I could ask Owl to … wake him up?”

“I think he’d like that,” Merlin told her, touching her cheek in return. “I think he’d like that a lot.”