by Pearl North
She nodded. “Yes. I love you, Po. That hasn’t changed. Do…” She swallowed. “Do you still love me?”
His mouth was dry. He felt cold inside. He couldn’t think. Did he love her? He must. “Yes.”
She smiled. How odd, that this was the first time he’d ever seen it. He drank in the curve of her lips and the gleam of her teeth, but soon glanced up to the comforting familiarity of her eyes and the crinkles at their corners.
“You must have many questions,” she said.
He nodded.
“Ask me anything, Po. It’s important to me that you understand. There has been too much misunderstanding between the Libyrinth and Ilysies already. I hope to remedy that, but first, I must make certain that you and I are on terms befitting a woman and her consort.”
A woman. She was more even than that, but the knowledge that she saw things that way heartened him. And somewhere in the back of his mind an image flickered to life: himself as an old man, reclining in a bower with dates and olives in bowls at his hand. Surrounding him were his daughters, young women with dark hair and aquiline noses, and just a dusting of freckles and a golden glint to their hair. It was a grand version of the dream he had avoided desiring, because he had always thought it out of reach, but there it was—the affection and protection of daughters, a satisfied heart, and a secure future. Safety. Comfort.
But beside that vision stood Princess Selene, severe in her Libyrarians’ robes, telling him that the queen of Ilysies was not to be trusted.
Looking on Ithal—Queen Thela now, it seemed impossible that she could be all that Selene said she was. They had made love. He knew her, did he not? All the same, the question came. “Why are you here?”
She nodded, as if she had expected he would begin there. “It’s a good question. You are no doubt thinking of the fact that I have rescinded my offer of aid, and decreed that those Ilysians at the Libyrinth are barred from returning home. It was not until I arrived here that I realized how that had been received by the people of the Libyrinth. I did it because I want the Libyrinth to succeed. Did you know that I was present at the Redemption?”
He shook his head. “You came after…”
“But I was on the plain when the blessed event occurred, on a low rise in the distance, and I saw it all—the fighting and the arrival of the wing, the miraculous light. I was witness to all of it, though I did not experience Redemption.”
Po caught his breath at the sadness in her eyes. What must that be like, to be so close to Integration, and not experience it?
“At first, I admit, I was jealous,” she went on. “I wanted to take the Libyrinth for my own and subvert Haly’s plan. I wanted to punish you all for having what I was denied. But…recently I realized how wrong that is. And I realized that if the Libyrinth were to accept Ilysian aid, it could never achieve its true promise. That is why I rescinded my offer, and that is why I barred Ilysian Libyrarians from returning to their country of origin. You must make it on your own. Do you understand?”
He nodded. Yes, it made sense once she explained it. “I’m sorry you were not Redeemed, Your Majesty.”
“Please, call me Thela.”
He gaped at her.
“If you were a resident of my bower, you would use my first name.”
Sudden realization doused the glowing image of himself as a father. “I can’t go back with you.”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Not yet. But you will. As to why I came here now…” She shrugged. “I was curious. I had hopes that if I lived among you, as one of you, I might learn the secret to Integration—excuse me, Redemption.”
“It is the same thing. Have you?”
“Only that it is tenuous, even for those who have experienced it firsthand. No. What I have learned is that my place is in Ilysies, taking care of my own people.”
His heart felt as if it were slowly being pried in two. “You’re leaving?”
She nodded and reached a hand out to cup the side of his face. “Soon. I’m sorry.”
Tears came and he let them fall. “Can’t I go with you?”
“Not yet, Po.” Her smile was sad. “You are an adept now. Your community needs you.”
“But it is only because of you that I can do it in the first place.” The knowledge ate at him like acid.
She stroked his cheek. “That is as it may be. But it changes nothing.”
He felt as if he were choking on heartache. He shook his head. “Why did you choose me?” This hurt so much, more than a little part of him wished she never had.
His words seemed to startle her. “Darling, even a queen has needs.”
“B-but, why me? Why not another male?”
“Here? Those others are not proper males, Po, you know that. They know nothing about pleasing a woman, and I am too old and impatient to teach them. But you are a fine consort indeed, Po. I know this is hard for you, but don’t be too downhearted. You are young. The community will get on its feet and then I will send for you, and you will be first among my consorts.”
That sounded a long way off, but it was better than never seeing her again. “I will?”
She stroked the side of his neck with the back of her index finger. “Of course. Relax, Po. Everything will be all right.”
She cupped the back of his head and drew him down to kiss her. Despite his sadness, her agile tongue made him stir. A small groan escaped him. She drew back. “You are a delight,” she said, almost regretfully, as she ran long, elegant fingers down his chest to his navel.
It was sweet and painful in equal measure. Po held her tight, giving himself over to the kiss even as tears leaked down the sides of his face. When she broke the kiss, he gasped, “I don’t want you to leave.”
A small, sad smile played upon her lips. “Neither do I, but we both have responsibilities.”
His body cared nothing for his breaking heart. She caressed his chest and pulled him in for another kiss. Her fingers danced lower. “I need you to be strong for me now, Po, and patient. I’m leaving today.”
So soon? “No, please.”
“Shh. You may tell whom you wish that I have been here, but consider the impact that knowledge will have. Think of your community, Po. I know you will do what is best for your people. And we won’t be parted forever. The waiting will be worth it—I promise you.”
11
Fire
Po told no one that Thela had been among them in the community. At first his heartbreak was too overwhelming, and it was all he could do to go through the motions of each day—working, eating, treating patients. He was surprised to discover that his kinesthetic sense cared not one whit for his feelings. He was able to treat Yolle, who was declining quickly, and Nian.
As the days passed and his sadness retreated to a dull but ever-present ache, he realized that no good could come of imparting such information—that doing so could in fact cause a great deal of harm.
Queen Thela had gone now. All talking about it would do is make people worry, and for no reason. There would be arguing—if, that is, they believed him in the first place. He had no proof that Thela had been here.
Whether they thought he was making it up or whether they believed he’d consorted with Queen Thela, no one in the community would ever trust him again.
“What’s wrong, Po?” said Burke after he had completed his current session with Yolle. She was failing fast now; he could barely see the tree for all the yellow flowers blooming on the vine that all but choked the life out of it. He no longer rebuked himself for being unable to cure her. No one, not even Adept Ykobos, could have saved her, ever. But at least he was able to bring her comfort, and facilitate her body’s absorption of Burke’s Ease.
Po shook his head. “Libyrarian? I don’t know what you mean.”
Burke tilted her head and gave him a smile of wry exasperation. “Yes, you do. For the past several days you have gone about as if you were under some sort of death sentence. What’s happened? You seemed to be so happy before
, with your kinesthetic sense coming in, and your new paramour.” At his intake of breath, Burke raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Have the two of you broken up? Is that it?”
Po stared at her, trying to decide what to say. With Thela gone, he was lonely. He wanted to tell Burke everything so that she could comfort him in his loss, but is that what would happen? No. Absolutely not. At the least, Burke would not believe him that Ithalia was in fact Queen Thela. And at worst, she would believe him, but not Thela’s reasons for coming here. She’d be suspicious, not only of the queen’s motivations, but of him. The thought of losing her respect, on top of everything else, was just too much. He nodded. “She discarded me.”
Burke looked on him with compassion, and he pretended that she knew the whole story. That she was comforting him for what truly bothered him, not for the reason he gave. “Oh, Po, I am sorry. I know you were very happy to have a romantic relationship with a woman from your own country.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “But you don’t need anybody else to be happy and fulfilled, you know.”
He shrugged.
Burke sighed. “You’ll see. It hurts now, but the pain will fade. The best thing to do is keep busy.”
He nodded and forced himself to smile. “I’m sure you’re right, Libyrarian. Is there anything I can do for you now?”
Burke tilted her head to one side. “Well, I am running low on silverleaf. Maybe you could go gather some?”
The idea of getting out of the community for a little while was very appealing. Genuine relief crept into his smile, and he nodded. “Of course.”
Haly woke to the smell of smoke and Gyneth shaking her arm.
“Haly! Wake up!”
She blinked and forced her eyes into focus. One look at Gyneth’s grief-stricken face galvanized her and she jumped out of bed. “What is it?”
“The fields!” Gyneth pointed out the window of the tower room they shared. From here only the sky was visible, and it was a dirty gray.
She rushed to the window and looked out. The Community at the Libyrinth was ringed by fire. The fields were burning.
After three days of gathering silverleaf and sleeping under the stars, Po at last turned his steps back toward the Libyrinth. It was dawn, and a spectacular sunrise painted the sky red and gold. Since he was west of the community, he walked directly toward it. He couldn’t ever remember seeing such a vivid sky. It wasn’t until he began to smell smoke that he questioned its cause.
He broke into a trot. A half-mile later his heart hammered in his chest and he staggered to a halt, unwilling to believe what he saw. Flames devoured the once-green barley fields surrounding the Libyrinth, turning them black and belching thick smoke into the air. Heat pressed against him like a living wall. Smoke made him cough and he could not see. He ran to the top of one of the low hills that surrounded the community, searching for a way through the burning fields, hoping that some part of the crop had been spared. But no. The entire community was surrounded by burning fields. There wasn’t a stalk of barley or a vegetable patch left untouched.
What could have caused this catastrophe? His mind raced. There had been no storms. No lightning to spark a dry twig and ignite a blaze. He stared and stared, trying to make sense of it. Everything they had worked so hard for had been obliterated in a single night. How?
That first day, Haly had all she could possibly cope with, mobilizing the community into water brigades, passing bucket after bucket from the wells to the outskirts of the settlement, putting out the blaze before it could devour the entire town.
It was a near thing. They lost a tent full of silverleaf twigs and another that housed a family of seven, but by the end of that first day, the fire was vanquished. Soot-stained and coughing, everyone went to bed, darkness mercifully cloaking the ruin of their fields.
Haly was too weary to go back to the Libyrinth and climb the stairs to her room. She lay down in the girls’ dormitory tent and fell asleep almost instantly.
She awoke just before dawn, got up, and walked out to the edge of town, watching as the sun rose over the blackened, smoking fields. She wasn’t even aware that she was crying until her tears dripped onto the front of her soot-stained robe. Her frantic mind, her broken heart, taunted her with memories of how these fields had looked just a day ago, green and lush, the barley stalks furred with ripening grains. She longed for some way to reach into the past and pull that former reality into the present. It was so vivid, it really did seem as if she should be able to grasp it, reclaim it. The wind shifted, bringing with it the fetid smell of wet, charred vegetation. How had this happened?
“Who could have done this?” said a voice at her side.
She turned to see Siblea standing there, looking every bit as devastated as she felt. “Who?”
He gave her a disparaging look. Despite the fact that she was the leader of the community, he still regarded her as a pupil. “The fields were green, not dry, there’s been no lightning. This was not an accident of nature, Holy One. Someone set this fire.”
Cold wrapped around her heart. He was right. Yesterday had been one long scramble to keep from losing more than they already had and there’d been no time to think about the whys and wherefores. But Siblea was right. She could think of no natural cause for this fire. As she stood, contemplating this, she spotted a figure in the distance, walking toward them across the blackened field.
“What is more important than how this happened, is what we are going to do now,” said Haly.
“Of course,” said Siblea. “What do you suggest?”
The figure was nearer now. It was a man in robes, tall, broad shouldered, with a bag slung over one shoulder.
A sob burst forth from her, unexpected and appalling. She bit her lips and fought for control. “I don’t know,” she whispered.
Siblea sighed and put a hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps, this Lion’s Bloom…”
She nodded, her throat raw with smoke and unshed tears. “But it seems so tenuous.”
“It is. But it is better than nothing. The grain will last another two months. We can get another crop in as soon as we may; we can seek aid from the villages of the plain.” He squeezed her shoulder. “You must not give in to despair. As long as you have hope, the others will as well.”
The man in the field hastened his stride and in moments she saw that it was Po, with a bag of silverleaf at his side. He looked every bit as soot-streaked and lost as everyone else, but he had not been with them during the fire, she realized. Where had he been?
But who would do such a thing?” protested Burke. It was the morning of the second day since the fire and an impromptu meeting was in progress in Haly’s office. People had just started showing up after breakfast.
“My mother, that’s who,” said Selene.
“Queen Thela?” asked Peliac.
“Do you think that she is content to sit at home while we grow and flourish?”
“But she offered us aid.”
“Yes, as a means to control us. And now that we have refused, she will bring us to heel by other methods.”
Haly sighed. “But if it was Thela, how did she do it?”
“She almost certainly has agents in Thesia and the Corvariate Citadel. It would be naive to think she did not have spies here as well.”
The room was silent a moment as they all pondered that. “What is more dangerous than spies,” said Haly, “is the suspicion of spies. We are all we have now. We cannot afford mistrust.”
“Perhaps,” said Siblea. “But someone set that fire.”
Haly could see it all so clearly. It would not be starvation that would destroy them. They would tear themselves apart with accusations long before the grain ran out. “And finding that person and punishing them will bring us no closer to ensuring our survival. I suggest we turn our attention to more useful pursuits, like investigating terra-forming and the Lion’s Bloom.”
“I may have something on that, Holy One,” said Rossiter. “There is an obscure object from Singer hist
ory known as Endymion’s rose—an object of great power and terror. It bears some striking similarities to the Lion’s Bloom. Some say it was what made the ancients all-powerful, and that when it was lost, that was when they were overthrown.”
“What happened to it?”
“No one knows, but by all accounts, it disappeared in the Corvariate Citadel.”
The Lion’s Bloom. Endymion’s rose. Ultimate power. Transformation. Fragments were beginning to accrete. “I think some of us should go there,” said Haly. She looked to Siblea. “You and Selene should take the Chorus of the Word. You can stop in villages on your way and try to elicit support for us. Then, when you get there, see what you can find out about this object and its function.”
Siblea had been glaring at Rossiter the entire time he spoke. “Holy One, I assure you there is no such thing as Endymion’s rose. It is a tale told to frighten children.” He turned to Rossiter. “I’m surprised a young man of your caliber would even deign to repeat it.”
Rossiter colored, but did not back down.
Haly looked at Siblea. Her irritation must have shown. Siblea blinked, and then said, “Of course, it would not be a bad idea to create some goodwill among the villages; and as for the citadel—there may be some things there we can utilize.”
“Fine. Gather the members of the chorus and make preparations for the journey. There’s no time to lose. In the meantime, Peliac, you meet with Ock about getting another crop in as quickly as possible.”
“And I’ll take the wing out and search for food,” said Clauda.
“Yes!” Haly embraced her oldest and best friend. “Good idea.”
The meeting broke up. For some reason, even though nothing concrete had been accomplished, Haly felt better. It was the difference between being overwhelmed by calamity and taking action to remedy said calamity. She hoped their efforts would be enough.
12
Traitor