The Grief of Stones (The Cemeteries of Amalo, #2)

by Katherine Addison

Pel-Thenhior let me compose myself and then said defiantly, “I would be of comfort to thee if I could.” I was so startled at being thee’d I could barely speak. “Th … thou wouldst?” “Needst not sound so shocked,” he said, rather wryly. “I did not think that my regard for thee was any particular secret.” “I thought,” I started, then stopped myself. “No. It is no matter what I thought. I thank thee for thy kindness.”

You *two*

I still did not know what Iäna wanted—simple friendship or something more. For that matter, I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t know if, after Evru, I was even capable of “more.” The idea did not terrify me as it had when I first met Iäna, but I felt like the gutted husk of a burnt-out building.

Baby.

I laughed, although it was a harsh sound like a dog’s bark. “Any prelate of Ulis will tell you that the living are the difficult part.” They both looked at me with some concern. “Are you all right?” said Tomasaran. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you laugh before.” “I am very tired,” I admitted. “And so your guard is down,” said Csathamar. “You must spend your life on guard, Othala Celehar.” A Witness’s insights could often be uncomfortable. “I suppose,” I said. “Oh dear,” said Csathamar. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for that to sting.” “It’s all right,” I said. Csathamar seemed unconvinced. “In any event, I should have learned by now not to attack people with my observations. I apologize.” “No harm has been done,” I said.

I have written to him, but I do not know when I will hear back.” “And yet thou’rt still sane! I’m not sure I would be.” “Sometimes insanity is tempting,” I admitted. In the dark, Iäna’s hand found mine, and we sat for a while in silence, until I dredged together enough fortitude to say, “I am keeping thee from thy rehearsal. I should go.” “As long as thou com’st back,” said Iäna.

You are a loyal servant to the prelacy and the empire, and we will not reward your loyalty with abandonment. Have courage.

But the weight of grief would not be denied, self-pity or otherwise, and it was some uncounted length of time before I was able to start walking again.

acknowledging my grief made it easier to bear, now that I was not wasting strength on denying it.