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July 7 - July 12, 2021
“I gave her dreams of the childbed so she would know how I suffered birthing her ancestor. And I gave her dreams of the Nameless One, and of me, so she would know her fate.”
“As for Roos . . . I should have relented a long time ago.” “Roos was a swindler,” Loth said. “He deserved punishment.” “Not to that extreme.”
Had Sabran been in love with Lievelyn and turned to Ead for comfort after his death? Or had her marriage to Lievelyn been one of convenience, and it was Ead who was the root of her heart? Perhaps the truth was somewhere between.
“Certain is a dangerous word,” Loth said, “but I am as sure as I can be that everything he does, he does for the crown—and for the queen who wears it. Strangely, I trust him.”
“I could still have him stripped of his titles, Loth. Only say the word.” “The Knight of Courage teaches mercy and forgiveness,” Loth said quietly. “I choose to take heed.”
Outside, the sun was bright and heatless, and Margret and Ead were at the center of a commotion. They flanked Aralaq, who stood amid the curious onlookers with a sort of dignified exhaustion. When Sabran appeared, Ead curtsied, and the court followed suit. “Majesty.” Sabran raised her eyebrows. “Lady Nurtha.” Ead straightened, smiling.
“You will need more than Virtudom to be ready, Sabran,” Ead said. “You will need Lasia. You will need the Ersyr. You will need everyone in this world who can lift a sword.”
“Just because something has always been done does not mean that it ought to be done.”
If evil must exist, let it not be in our bosom.”
“The Eastern dragons are not our enemies, Loth. I used to believe they were,” Ead said, “but I did not understand the duality our world is built on. They are opposite in nature to infernal things like Fýredel.”
These days I feel obliged to question everything I have ever known.” “We are not supposed to question, Meg. Faith is an act of trust in the Saint.” “And are you not questioning yours at all?” “Of course I am.” He rubbed his brow with one hand. “And every day I fear I will be damned for it. That I will have no place in Halgalant.”
“It may not be the custom.” Ead paused. “But if it is . . . perhaps you should reconsider your determination to remain unwed.” Sabran studied her face. Even as her throat ached, Ead did not break her gaze. “Why do you speak like this?” Sabran said quietly. “You know I never wanted to marry in the first place, and I am not inclined to do it again. That aside, it is you I want. No one else.” “But while you rule, you can never be seen to be with me. I am a heretic, and—” “Stop.” Sabran embraced her then. “Stop it.” Ead drew her close, breathed her in. They sank onto a marble settle. “Sabran the
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“My mother always said it was best to receive bad news in winter, when everything is already dark. So one can heal for spring,”
“What are you thinking?” “That I am likely a bastard. That I am descended from a liar and the Lady of the Woods—the same woman who took my child from me—and that no good house could be built on such a foundation.” Her hair was a curtain between them. “That everything I am is a lie.”
“Have you no care for your own life?” Sabran said hotly. Ead stopped. “I spent weeks believing you dead when you left Ascalon. Now you want to go across the sea without protection, without armor, to a place where you could face death or imprisonment.”
“To ask you to stay would be like trying to cage the wind—but
Sabran had been dealt a cruel hand. Her Lady of the Bedchamber had died while she slept, her companion in her arms, her mother before her eyes. Her daughter had never drawn breath. Her father—if he had been her father at all—had perished in Yscalin, beyond her reach. Loss had dogged her all her life. Little wonder she was holding on so tightly.
“My heart knows your song, as yours knows mine. And I will always come back to you.”
Darkness closed around her like a cocoon. She thought of the orange tree. Not you. Ead. Please. The voice was fading. Please don’t leave me here alone. She thought of how it had been between them, from the candle dance to the first touch of her lips. Then she did not think at all.
“I was cursed in my cradle. The Lady of the Woods laid a hex upon my head.” She never took her eyes from Ead. “Not only is my crown lost, but my loved ones fall like roses in winter. Always before my eyes.”
I will not marry Tharian until she wakes. If she thinks this foolishness will get her out of giving me away, she is sorely mistaken.”
It would be dangerous. Many would die. It was possible that they would all die—but there was no other choice.
“Fuck me, if it isn’t Arteloth Beck.” Estina Melaugo slapped her hands onto the side and grinned at him. “Didn’t think we’d see you again, my lord.”
Much needed
“You see, my lord,” Harlowe murmured. The light feathered in his eyes. “You can find beauty anywhere.”
“The Knight of Courage tells us to look death in the eye,” he answered. “I intend to obey.”
As Loth wiped rain from his brow, a flash came from low down on the island. Bright as a mirror catching the sun. “What in damsam is that?” Plume squinted as the moonburst of light came again. “Do you see it, Captain?” “Aye.”
Oh hey. It's our girl Tanè
“I have been a seafarer for many years,” he said. “Never have I felt a ship move as the Rose just did. As if a god had pulled her out of the storm.”
Every day, before reflection and after supper, she had climbed to the top of the dormant volcano, where rainwater pooled in the crater, and attuned herself to the vibrations of the jewel. She found an instinct, buried deep, that showed her how to will those vibrations outward—as if she had done this long ago, and her body was remembering.
When she had seen the Western ship, embattled by the storm, she had run straight to the cliffs. The great Kwiriki had sent her an opportunity, and she was ready, at last, to seize it. The sea had answered her willingly this time. Though the ship had strained against it, she had succeeded in guiding it past the coral reef. Now it was almost unguarded in the shallows.
“The rising jewel of Neporo.” His gaze was reverent. “In all my years, I never thought—” He could not finish. “It was sewn into my side,” Tané said quietly. “I have had it inside me my whole life.”
“I must try.” Tané offered a faint smile. “Like the Little Shadow-girl. I took heart from that story, Elder Vara.” She could see the struggle in him. “I understand,” he finally said. “Miduchi Tané died when her dragon was taken. Since then, you have been her ghost. A vengeful ghost—restless, unable to move forward.”
“It has been peaceful here,” she said, “but my blood is the sea, and it cannot be still.” “No. This place was never in your stars.” The smile faded. “But perhaps Komoridu is.”
“I will send you away with my blessing, Tané, if you promise me one thing,” he murmured. “That one day, you will forgive yourself. You are in the spring of your life, child, and have much to learn about this world. Do not deny yourself the privilege of living.”
There would be more lookouts on the ship, but she could fight them. If she had to shed blood, so be it. She had already lost her honor, her name, and her dragon. There was nothing left to lose.
Her heart was rising from the dead. She had worn armor to survive her exile, so thick she had almost forgotten how to feel. Now she savored the warm embrace of salt water, its tang in her mouth, the sense that she could be swept away if she put a hand or foot wrong.
That was the last thing Loth remembered. Her face, and its faint scar, shaped just like a fishhook.
She had the sense that he was kind. Straight away, she shook off the thought. He hailed from a land that spat on her gods.
Death had never held much power over him. He thought of it as he did an old friend that would one day knock again on his door. For years, he had sought to make the elixir of immortality in the spirit of discovery. He had never meant to drink it. Death, after all, would either end the pain of grief or reunite him with Jannart in whichever afterlife proved to be the right one. Each day, each step, each tick of the clock took him closer to that golden possibility. He was tired of having half a soul. Yet now death loomed, he did fear it.
“The world is full of fools, Niclays. And they are never more foolish than when they smell eternal life.”
A gnarled and ancient mulberry, larger than any tree he had ever laid eyes on. Cut down.
She could tell he was straining to hold them both up, but he smiled. Tané looked away and kept climbing.
Roos. There was no other Ment they could be talking about. Her fingertips grew hot. She itched to wrap her hands around his throat.
The taste of iron filled her mouth. She watched the blood throb out of him, black in the lanternlight. “Tané,” Loth said. Her skin was as chill as the sword in her hand. “Tané.” His voice was hoarse. “Please. We must hurry.” Two corpses lay before her. Her stomach roiled, and blackness hit her like a cloud of flies. She had killed. Not the way she had killed Susa. This time, she had taken life with her own hand. Dizzy, she raised her head. Loth removed the lantern that hung above the bodies and held it out to her. She took it, hand unsteady, and walked into the innards of the ship. She could
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“The tree had granted her protection only from old age. She could still be hurt or killed by other means.”
“Cleolind also possessed eternal life.
“It seems that somebody wanted the jewel for themselves. To keep it safe, a descendant of Neporo stitched the rising jewel into his own side, so it might never be taken from him. He left Komoridu and started a humble life in Ampiki, in the same pit-house Neporo had once lived in. When he died, it was taken from his body and placed into that of his daughter. And so on.” Pause. “The jewel lives in a descendant of Neporo.”
“Even if it had not died, it says here that the tree only granted immortality to the very first person who ate of its fruit.
And he imagined himself as a notch on her arm. And he realized.
Niclays is lowkey dumb. What did he think the notches were for?!?
Once, Niclays had allowed a young musician to be tortured to spare himself the same fate. The act of a man who had forgotten how to serve anyone but himself. If he was to die with any pride, he would not let Laya suffer for him any more than she had already. “You will do no such thing,” he said quietly.
His spine is back!!
