“What is he doing?” Sorley asked, as soon as he was in the room. “I heard what he said to you.”
“Being a hero,” I said. “Being Darcail, I think.”
“I don't understand.” He sat down. “What do you mean?”
“What do you remember about Darcail? There must be a danta.”
“He had a series of labours to complete, to find redemption for an evil deed. Which he did successfully, and ended up a god, or nearly a god.”
“Right. Cillian and I talked about him, a time or two on our journey. Do you remember the last labour?”
“To do something in the underworld, and return safely. I don't remember what.”
“It doesn't matter. Only that it takes him to the underworld.”
“And how does in intend to return safely?”
“I don't know. I don't even know if Cillian realizes what he's doing. Sorley, do you know why he chose celibacy, when he did?”
“More or less.”
“Do you know how his previous choices made him feel?”
“Empty and cold, he said. Is that why you said what you did, this afternoon, about an empty place?”
“Yes. Sorley, that lake is where he told me he loved me, and I him. It is not an empty place for us. You heard his response. He knew what I was asking him.”
“He has offered himself to the Empress, hasn't he?” Sorley said. “Regardless of the cost, to him or to you?”
“I doubt he has made a direct offer. Rather, I believe he has made it clear he will not refuse her advances. Which she appears to be making, very publicly, whether just for pleasure, or for politics, I am not sure.”
“He must be desperate to ensure this treaty.”
“Yes,” I agreed. “This will destroy everything he has worked to become this last year. He will break so many promises to himself, and one of those was made in his mother's name. All because he believes himself responsible for Lorcann siding with Fritjof, and what happened to Linrathe, and, like Darcail, he is looking for redemption.”
“But how can he break his vow to you, Lena?”
“He isn't,” I said. I had worked this out, too. “Or at least, not one of them. He vowed to shelter me. If he can obtain Casil's promise to help the Empire, is he not providing me with the best shelter he can, in saving my land?”
Sorley swore. “So what do we do?”
“If he comes home tonight,” I said, “I have a plan. But he didn't, last night.”
“He slept with the guards,” Sorley said. “Druisius told me. He said he didn't want to disturb you.”
“Tell Druisius to lock the door tonight, then. Or make sure there is no spare bed. Whatever he can, to make Cillian come to our room. Now we need to speak to Prisca, and you and I have some work to do.”
Dawn was only a short time off when Cillian came in. I had been dozing, not truly asleep. I moved to sit cross-legged on the bed. He stood in the dark room, not speaking.
“Hello, my love,” I said.
“Lena.” He could barely speak. Good, I thought. I wanted him off-balance, vulnerable.
“Have you come from her bed?” I inquired, as calmly as I could.
“No.”
“Not yet?”
He sat down on a bench. “Not yet.”
“But the offer has been made?”
“Alluded to, indirectly, by her. It is only a matter of time.”
“Cillian, why have you done this?”
“Her advisors wanted no part of our petition. They told her we do not matter; there was nothing we can offer to make the gift of troops and ships worthwhile. Quintus tried to bribe me, with citizenship and property; I still believe they may have threatened you. None of those worked. I expected an attempt on my life, which did not happen, probably because the Empress was inclined towards me, after the peace I brokered with the Boranoi, and they would not dare to hurt me if I were in her favour. Far enough in her favour. I did say I would use myself in these talks, to save the Empire, and Linrathe. Which I have done.” There was no expression in his voice at all.
“An Empress and an Emperor's son,” I said, as lightly as I could. “And now an Emperor's heir, am I right?”
“By Casil's laws, yes.”
“She is intelligent, I can see that,” I said. “There was a xache board in the room; does she play?” He made a sound of assent. “And she is well read?”
“Yes. She even reads Heræcrian.”
“A worthy partner, then. I see only one problem, or perhaps two.”
“Which are?”
“She does not love you. She cares only that you are Callan's son.”
“You are right. But she may come to care for more than that, in time.”
His response to my next words was crucial. “And you do not love her. Will that change too, in time?”
“No,” he said hoarsely. “Lena, do not ask me this, please.” I heard the catch as he spoke my name, the crack in the carefully constructed wall holding back feeling. I had had a long time, waiting for him to come home, to practice the words Sorley had taught me, one of them chosen so precisely. I thought I had the pronunciation correct.
“Do you really think I am going to let you do this?” I said. “Thá mi gràh agäthe, Cillian. Ná mi tréigtha, kärestan. Ná mi tréigtha, do thóille.” I love you, Cillian. Do not abandon me, beloved. Do not abandon me, please.
I heard a long, shuddering breath, and another, as he fought for a control he could not reach. He covered his face with his hands, turning away from me. I slid off the bed and went to him, kneeling in front of him, wrapping my arms around him. My words of love and fear, in his own language, had done what I had hoped they would. I held him until his sobs began to diminish. Then I reached for the flask of wine I had asked Prisca for, earlier in the evening. There was just enough light through the shutters to see, now. Carefully, I poured one glass, and gave it to him. “Drink this, my love,” I said. “You need to sleep.”
Prisca knew how to measure a dose of poppy. Cillian slept for four hours, which is what I had requested. He woke slowly, blinking in the filtered light of the room. I sat on my half of the bed, Sorley by the window.
“Lena,” he said, a bit groggily. “What did you give me?”
“Poppy in the wine,” I told him. “You needed to sleep.”
“I do not like being drugged.”
“I remember. But this was medicinal,” I told him. “I learned a few things from my mother, and that was one of them.” He went to the latrine. I heard water splashing, and when he came back his face and hair were damp. He looked from me to Sorley. His lips quirked, just slightly. The drug was still affecting him, I realized.
“Both of you? Is this a conspiracy?” That had taken effort, I thought, but better than anger, or sullenness.
“It is,” I told him. There was a knock at the door. Sorley took the tray of food from Prisca. She had sent the usual breakfast offerings, fresh flat bread, soft cheese, and figs. “Eat something,” I told Cillian. “And drink water, a lot of it.”
“What are our choices?” Sorley said, after we had eaten.
“Our choices?” Cillian asked. “Surely mine.”
“Ours,” I said firmly. “You are not alone, Cillian, in this, or anything, any longer. It is time you realized that, fully.”
“Get used to it,” Sorley added, bluntly.
“I came up with one idea,” I said, keeping my voice light, “but it doesn't work. At first, I thought we should find a priest from that temple popular with newlyweds, and have him marry us. But then I decided the Empress probably would find a way to have any marriage dissolved, so I discarded that idea. And then I thought that perhaps we should just talk to her. All of us. No diplomacy, just the truth. Including something I think you have forgotten, Cillian.”
“You cannot stay, unless you were planning to commit treason against your Emperor. He ordered you home.”
He frowned. “When?”
“What does your letter say?”<
br />
I watched him thinking. Comprehension took longer than I expected. “I require you by my side,” he said finally. “That is an order, I suppose. But Eudekia could still command a betrothal, or even a marriage, before I went back. Callan is not truly Emperor, now.”
“Isn't he, until he also signs the agreement?” I asked. “But regardless, why would the Empress of the East want a man who did not love her, and had broken almost every promise he had made, as her consort? What sort of prize would he be? And how would she ever trust him?”
“You would tell her that?”
“I would,” Sorley said. “I will. Do not doubt me on that, Cillian. I will. Even if you tell me not to, if I can find a way.”
“I believe you,” he replied. “And you, Lena? Why would you still want me, now? I broke a promise to you.”
“You did. You promised to be constant, and you have not been. But in breaking that promise, you had a chance to save the land and people that you love, and keep me safe. Is that not true?”
“I thought it was.”
“Then I can forgive you. I made much the same choice, once.” I did not take my eyes from his. “You need to forgive yourself, too. Will it help to remember that it is not some mythical hero whom I love, but you, difficult and complicated and flawed as you are?”
“And I,” Sorley added, quietly. “Shall I leave you now?”
“When are you due back at the palace?” I asked Cillian.
“Two hours after mid-day.”
“Then, no. We have some thinking to do, and you need to visit the baths, my love. Wine and poppy and strong emotion have left you less than fragrant this morning. You would offend the Empress. Although perhaps that might not be a bad thing.”
The men were ready to leave for the baths. I would meet them outside the palace; my job, in the time before that, was to ensure Turlo did not know what we were doing. We had decided—or Sorley and I had—that he had no part in this.
“Sorley,” Cillian said, “would you give me a few minutes with Lena?”
When the door had closed behind Sorley, he looked at me. His dark eyes were clear again, and gentle. “Lena,” he asked, “who chose the one word you used, earlier?”
“I did. Sorley just taught me how to say it.”
“I thought so. I doubt any other would have had the same effect.” A hint of a smile played on his lips. “You planned that very carefully, did you not? Waiting until I was past exhaustion to ask what you knew would undermine my defenses, and then...taking a battering ram to them. Almost cruel, one could say.”
“Possibly.”
“How did you know?”
“I worked it out, from things you have said, and not said. You were seven, Cillian, and not an Empire's boy, prepared since he could talk for leaving, and waiting eagerly for it. You were barely over a physical attack that nearly killed you, and then suddenly taken away from everything and everyone you loved. If you did not, in your deepest self, fear abandonment, there would be something wrong with you.” Fear it, and somehow also think it both your fault, and your due, I thought.
“There has been something wrong, these last days.”
“Only a misplaced desire for atonement, my love. Your last task in this war awaits you at home, not here. Your father made that clear.”
“Käresta, I do not deserve you.” He still had not touched me, I realized. I thought he might not, until this was done.
“Yes,” I said, “yes, you do. Me, and Sorley, and Alain, and Perras and Dagney—and others, too. Go to the baths, Cillian. Sweat out the remnants of the poppy. You need a very clear head this afternoon.”
But in the end, neither Cillian nor I stood in front of the Empress to plead with her to let him go. Sorley did it all. Turlo, I discovered, had gone to the harbour. So I went to the palace alone, except for an escort. But in the anteroom where we met, Sorley had changed the plans.
“I have requested an audience, for myself,” he told us. “I will thank her for her generosity towards Linrathe, but then I have other things to say to her.”
“I should be there,” Cillian argued. He looked far better; still tired, but his skin was less pale, probably from the heat and the lotions of the baths.
“No,” Sorley said. “Your presence might inhibit what I have to say. I am insisting, for once, Cillian.”
“And me?” I asked.
“Again, no,” Sorley replied. “I thought this over, at the baths. I have only been in the Empress's presence a few times, but I do not think she likes other women very much. Certainly not one whom she would construe as a rival.”
He was with her a long time. Cillian and I sat, not speaking very much. Footsteps sounded occasionally in the hall, but from the adjoining room I could hear nothing at all. Finally the door between the rooms opened.
“The Empress requests your presence, Cillian,” he said. Cillian stood, adjusting his cloak. He glanced at me before walking steadily into the next room. Sorley closed the door.
“Well?” I asked.
“She has a very fine mind,” he said. “And a great deal of compassion, but she demands the truth. She will not be easy on him, but I believe she will let him go.” He went to the wine on the sideboard and poured a glass. “Lena?” I shook my head. Not yet. He watered it, and drank it down. “I found myself telling her things I did not expect to. Not all were mine to tell, truly, so I hope both you and Cillian will forgive me.”
“I forgive you anything, if it means she relinquishes any claim on him.”
“I also pointed out what you did, this morning: knowing he had broken so many vows, how could she ever trust him? She seemed to take that seriously. I hope I am right, Lena. In another life, you know, they would be well suited.”
“Yes,” I said. “I think I do know that.” In another life, I would still be with Maya.
The door opened. Cillian came in. Closing it, he leaned against it. He looked at the two of us somberly. I held my breath. “That was worse than the worst tongue-lashing Dagney ever gave me as a child,” he said. “And all the same technique: sorrow at my behaviour, regret that I had hurt people, a flash of anger, ending with a penance and forgiveness.” His slow smile began to light his face. “And then she told me she has decided to marry the Boranoi heir, because he is better situated to help her take back the grasslands west of the river. In a year or two, she said. When her people have forgiven the peace treaty, and have seen the benefits of the trade arrangement. Sorley, whatever you said to her, meas, mo chariadh gràhadh, meas.”
He crossed the room to embrace him. I had seen the quick start of tears in Sorley's eyes, and I thought I knew why. My friend, whom I love, Cillian had said. I felt tears pricking behind my own eyes, at the thought.
He turned to me. “I have a penance to do.” Slowly, he dropped to both knees in front of me. “Käresta,” he said, “do you forgive me?”
“Is this what the Empress asked of you? To ask my forgiveness, on your knees?” I wasn't doing a good job of holding back my laughter.
“Yes.” He too was trying to not laugh. “In her world, käresta, for an Emperor's son to diminish himself in such a way to a mere soldier would be penance indeed.”
“But I have never cared whose son you are,” I pointed out. “Get up, Cillian. I forgave you last night. Sorley can report you did your prescribed penance. I may think of my own, later.” I stepped into his arms. We held each other, tightly, for a long moment, until I moved back, just a bit, turning to look at Sorley. He was watching us, smiling. I held out my hand. “Come here,” I said. “Cillian needs you too, you know. We both do.”
We walked slowly home. We were all drained, from too little sleep, from worry, from the relief of fear. At the house, we collapsed onto the benches of the sitting room. Sorley looked longingly at the sideboard. There was no wine; Sergius had not expected us back yet. “I don't have enough energy to get up and order any,” Sorley said.
Druisius had followed Sorley's eyes. He said something, then ran
downstairs, coming back a few minutes later with his cithar, Sergius, and wine. At a word from Druisius, Sergius served us all—something he never did—and then, after a small bow to Cillian, left us. Druisius smiled a little wryly and addressed Cillian, sounding apologetic.
“He says,” Cillian told me, “that the household was told days ago what my rank is, and he will be reporting Sergius's lack of respect. I told him not to; I preferred it this way. But that we appreciated the wine.” He laughed. “And does Druisius know who you are, my lord Sorley, if we are playing games with rank?”
“A landless farmer with a courtesy title of no real meaning, you mean?” Sorley asked. Wine and fatigue and relief were bringing us to the edge of uncontrolled hilarity.
“Listen, both of you. Neither of your lovers care a whit for your ranks and titles, or lack of them,” I said. “I am sure I can speak for Druisius on that.” Sorley looked surprised, for a moment, at my words: his relationship with Druisius had never been quite so openly acknowledged, even between us.
“Let me find out,” Cillian said, grinning wickedly. He spoke to Druisius, who looked shocked, then turned to Sorley, asking a question.
“Cillian,” Sorley moaned. He spoke rapidly to Druisius, who continued to look doubtful. I should intervene, I thought.
“Druisius,” I said, to get his attention. He looked at me. “Remind him,” I said to Cillian, “that I am only a soldier too.”
He did. Druisius gave me a long considering look. Then he grinned, and nodded. He said something to Sorley, and picked up his cithar, beginning to play softly.
“Troublemaker,” I said to Cillian. He shook his head, slightly.
“I have my reasons,” he murmured.
Turlo came in, not long after. He stopped at the top of the stairs, taking us in. Sorley, unable to not make music, had fetched the ladhar, and he and Druisius were harmonizing on a Casilani tune. I had moved from my bench to sit on the floor at Cillian's feet, leaning against his legs. His hand played in my hair.
I looked over at Turlo. He smiled, tentatively. “Lassie,” he said, sounding relieved. He had been worrying for me, I knew. I smiled back at him.
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