The people of Doum were refreshingly disinclined to assign a behaviour as being atypical to either males or females. Women weren’t considered more or less sexual than men. It was possible they would not be at all bothered by Tyen and Rielle being lovers. They might even see it as beneficial—greater motivation to find a peaceful solution.
He had less familiarity with Muraian customs or, more importantly, with what the Emperor’s possible reaction would be. The man might be angered by the assumption that Rielle had been charmed by Tyen, or pleased that she was willing to use her feminine attractions to manipulate Tyen on his behalf. Tyen didn’t know him enough to judge.
I can’t shake the feeling his reaction would be bad either way. Which makes me even more certain that Rielle would never tell the Emperor—but I have to consider whether this was all some plan to manipulate me in a way I haven’t thought of …
He paused to recollect, seeking signs of deceit, but that only led to reliving some very pleasant and distracting memories. Dragging his attention back to the questions that plagued him, he chuckled quietly. If she only meant to make it hard to concentrate on serious matters, then she has succeeded.
Whatever the intentions of all parties, Tyen was determined to be as persuasive and flexible at this coming meeting with Rielle as he had been at the first. If his stomach buzzed and his heart raced in her presence … well, he would have to rely on his skill in hiding his true thoughts and keeping a calm exterior.
Though Tarran had managed to read him easily enough.
Tarran. That old meddler! Tyen smiled. I barely spoke to him, and mostly about Rielle.
He recalled then what the old sorcerer had said about Rielle being a Maker before she became ageless. That reminded him of his plan to discuss it with Vella. He’d put off doing so. When he’d undressed in the cave room, he’d slipped the pouch over his neck with his shirt, keeping her hidden. Later he’d slipped her into his jacket, avoiding touching her cover through the holes in the fabric.
Vella must have seen enough to know what I was about to do, he reminded himself. But she wouldn’t know for sure what had happened until he touched her again and read the truth from his mind. Though she could not feel jealousy, and no disapproval had ever been in her comments when he’d had lovers in the past, guilt always plucked at his conscience. It was more intense this time. It hadn’t faded.
Because I want more than a passing, physical encounter with Rielle, and that feels like disloyalty.
He straightened in his seat as he felt the truth of that.
I promised Vella that I would protect her and find a way to restore her to a living human being. So what do I want from Rielle that could threaten that? He wasn’t sure. To talk to her. To get to know her. To make love with her. Just the thought of it set his pulse racing. Does this mean I’m in love? Ironically, he wanted to ask Vella. She was the only person he could talk to. The only friend he discussed such personal matters with. And it helps that her answer can only be truthful and free of emotional complications.
That thought made him wince. Being trapped in a book was so unfair to her. She ought to be able to lie and feel emotions. He should be doing more to help her. He owed her that much. And that was, he realised, the true source of his guilt.
Vella’s welfare is still my responsibility, and here I am dreaming about another woman—to whom I cannot make promises of unwavering loyalty. Not when my promise to Vella comes first.
Rielle might not want anything more from him anyway. She might not even intend to sleep with him again. He might be, to her, no more important than the women he’d lain with once or twice. She might not want to become attached to anyone, when Dahli could threaten that person in order to persuade her to reveal the location of the boy who was supposed to have become the Raen.
And then he realised that Rielle too had made a promise that must come first: the promise to protect the boy.
He wanted to talk to Vella even more now. He needed the clarity that came from discussing matters with her. I can’t help her or Rielle or Doum if my mind is distracted by all these questions. He rose and slipped out of his room, heading for the toilet. Though he wasn’t hiding Vella there any more, it was still the best place to talk to her. Claymar Fursa was unlikely to materialise inside the room, at the least.
Once perched on the lid, he dug Vella out of a pocket and removed her from her pouch. When he opened the pages, her elegant script appeared.
Well, well. Haven’t you been having fun?
He felt his face grow hot. I’m sorry. Are you bothered at all?
No. There’s nothing to apologise for, Tyen. On the contrary, it’s about time you stopped keeping to yourself. You’ve been practically celibate since you settled in Doum.
Tyen didn’t know what to say, so he changed the subject.
What do you think? Can I trust Rielle?
I do not have enough information to be certain. The only duplicity she has demonstrated was to disobey Dahli and the Raen’s instruction to resurrect him, and secretly meeting with you if she knew the Emperor would disapprove—which would be a move against the Emperor, not you.
Tyen nodded. Tarran said that Rielle lost her Maker ability when she became ageless. Does this always happen to Makers who learn how to stop ageing?
I cannot answer that question. That she became ageless at all is unusual. It has been written and believed for thousands of cycles that Makers cannot become ageless.
Perhaps that is only because there are no ageless Makers, because becoming ageless removes the Making ability. Or that Makers who were strong enough sorcerers to become ageless decided not to. Or that Makers are almost never strong enough to become ageless.
Those are all plausible explanations. However, there is an old belief that the worlds will be torn asunder if a Maker becomes a Successor.
A prophecy?
Perhaps. Or a prediction based on information or insight I do not have.
Could it be interpreted the same way Tarran did Millennium’s Rule: “a vague prediction of inevitable change”?
It is most certainly vague. Whether it is predictable or inevitable relies on knowledge I do not contain. It would be difficult to prove. Successors have been defeating Predecessors for many thousands of cycles, so a prediction of inevitability is not implausible. The worlds being torn asunder is most likely not a repeatable scenario.
Do you know who thought of it?
No.
How do you know about it?
The source is a notation on a scroll translating a tablet describing Millennium’s Rule, written over eight thousand cycles ago. It was described most recently two and a half thousand cycles ago by a pair of ageless scholars who had gathered a great library, destroyed in the wars following Roporien’s Succession. One wrote about the scroll in his diary, which was found in the ruins by a scavenger and sold to a king, who held me at Roporien’s bidding.
This sounds more like speculation on what would happen if a very rare circumstance occurred than a prophecy.
Or an impossible circumstance, if becoming ageless removes a Maker’s ability.
Tyen recalled the sadness in Rielle’s voice as she’d told him of her loss.
Being a Maker is a rare ability. She says she didn’t care much for it, but I suspect she does feel the loss.
Most well-populated worlds will produce a Maker every few generations. That means thousands of Makers are alive across the known worlds at all times.
I suppose when you put it that way, it’s not that rare. How many of those thousands are powerful enough to become ageless?
I don’t know exactly, only that sorcerers of Rielle’s strength are very rare, so the probability that one would also be a Maker is extremely low.
When was the last time you—?
A sound interrupted Tyen’s question: his name, shouted from somewhere below the stairs. He looked up from Vella’s pages and reached out to open the door a crack.
“What is it?” he called back.
“Messenger,” one of the workers shouted.
Closing Vella, he stowed her in her pouch and slung it around his neck under his shirt. He flushed the toilet, left the room and moved across the hall to the stairs. A man in the uniform of the Claymars’ messengers waited below. As he saw Tyen, he straightened.
“Greetings, Tyen Wheelmaker,” he said. “I am here to tell you that Rielle of Murai has arrived early at the Island of Tiles, at the bidding of Emperor Izetala-Moraza. Are you able to meet her?”
Tyen’s heart skipped a beat, but he kept his expression and bearing relaxed.
“I guess I can leave now, if the Claymars wish me to.”
“They do,” the messenger replied. “The meeting is at the same location as before.”
“Thank you.” Tyen looked at the worker who had announced the messenger. “Could you see our visitor out?”
The young man nodded, and ushered the messenger towards the door. Tyen hurried to his bedroom and changed into his formal clothing. Drawing magic and a deep breath, he pushed out of the world and began the journey to the meeting place. Though he paused to breathe less frequently than last time and travelled faster, it seemed to take twice as long as he remembered. When he finally arrived at the shelter, it was midday. The interior was cast in shadow, but he could see someone moving about inside. The fountain’s splash concealed all noise. Smoothing his clothing and his expression, and ignoring the racing of his heart, he walked across the bridge.
The occupant stepped into the entrance, the sunlight revealing the same official that had greeted him last time. Tyen nodded respectfully, keeping his disappointment hidden.
“Thank you for coming here early, Tyen Wheelmaker,” Abler said. “The Claymars have left a new document. Rielle of Murai is being entertained elsewhere to allow you time to examine it.”
Tyen frowned and peered into the shadows. He could see a rectangle of white pages, but could not judge its depth. “How long do I have?”
“As long as you need. Ring the bell when you are ready.”
Abler stepped past Tyen, crossed the bridge and entered the building. Sighing with impatience, Tyen entered the pavilion and was relieved to find the stack of paper wasn’t too thick. It would take some time to read it, but not the rest of the day. He’d have rather had a full day to consider the contents, however. That was a luxury the Claymars weren’t intending to give him, so he sat down and picked up the first page.
It was slower work than he’d expected, not due to the complexity of the contents or occasional confusion caused by a writer inexperienced in using the Traveller tongue, but because he had to pause to let his temper cool several times. When he was finished, he rang the bell and concentrated on regaining a calm composure.
Rielle stepped out of the building. She smiled as she headed for the pavilion, and all his annoyance melted away. Her pace was serene, her walk graceful and yet he could not help noting the sensual curves of her body and the quirk in the corner of her smile that suggested she too was thinking of their last meeting.
“Tyen Wheelmaker,” she said as she stepped into the shelter. Her tone was warm, but her stance was formal. A roll of paper was coiled within her fingers. “There’s no reason to get up to greet me.”
He glanced down, realising he was on his feet. He couldn’t remember standing.
“Rielle Lazuli,” he replied evenly. “Welcome back to Doum.”
“Thank you.” As she walked over to the table he tried not to stare. Every detail about her was fascinating. How her hips swayed as she walked. How the simple dress she wore, shaped by the body beneath, tightened when she sat down. How the pendant’s chain was exactly the right length, so it rested just above the gap in the neckline of her dress, in the dip between her breasts.
“I apologise for my unplanned visit. The Emperor demanded it and expects me back at an unreasonable hour. Though I expect to return at a reasonable hour, I would rather not give him any more cause to be annoyed with me than necessary. Let’s make a start.”
Tyen returned to his seat and looked down at the Claymars’ document. “I am afraid I cannot offer good news.”
“Me neither.” She uncoiled the roll of paper and held it open. “Shall I start? I’d like to get this unpleasantness over with.”
“Go ahead.”
When she had finished reading, Tyen said nothing in response. Instead he read aloud the Claymars’ new demands. Rielle asked a few questions, nodded at the answers and then they both fell silent.
“I see our error,” she said eventually. “Instead of giving them a shortcut to the middle of their respective positions, we have provided them with a third position, and two new middle grounds on either side.”
Tyen nodded. She was right. “They’ve started negotiating with us, not each other.”
“I guess it’s our fault for thinking they’d welcome us speeding the process.”
“We denied them the chance to bicker with each other, so now they’re bickering with us.”
“We’ve gone backwards.”
She set her elbows on the table and pressed her hands to her face. “I knew I wasn’t up to this task. What do I know of negotiation?”
Tyen shrugged, resisting the temptation to reach out and place a reassuring hand on her arm. “No more than me,” he assured her.
She crossed her arms and moved her hands to her shoulders. “So what do we do now?”
He considered. “Remind them that we are not the enemy.”
“How?”
“I don’t know … just tell them?”
“Tell them they’re acting like children?” She let out a bitter laugh. “I’m sure that will be welcome.”
“Nothing we do will be welcome,” he pointed out. “We’re not here to tell them what they want to hear.”
“So … if our job isn’t to make them comfortable, do we aim to make them feel uncomfortable? More uncomfortable? That will make them even more likely to consider us the enemy.”
“Perhaps …” Tyen paused as he considered this. “Perhaps we should say, ‘If you make us your enemy, we will be your enemy.’”
A small crease appeared between her brows. “What do you mean?”
“Maybe it’s time we gave them an ultimatum.”
“You’ve already threatened the Emperor.”
“No, I mean threaten the leaders of the worlds we represent.”
Her eyebrows rose. “With what?”
“For the Claymars, my absence. Judging by their unreasonable demands, either they believe Doum is stronger than it is, or they think I will—and can—defend it for them.”
She frowned as she considered this. “I couldn’t make the same threat to the Emperor, so what do I do instead?” She tapped her fingers on her shoulders. “I suppose it would truly foil the Emperor’s ambitions if I swapped sides.” Her eyes widened. “I could set up here, actually. Mosaic-makers come here for tiles, so there’s a good chance they’d buy designs at the same time.”
Tyen’s heart leapt. If she swapped sides she would be living in Doum. “Would you do that?”
She pursed her lips. “I’ve not considered a more permanent home before, but I guess it only has to appear to be one long enough to dissuade the Emperor. Would you leave Doum, if the Claymars didn’t cooperate?”
The fresh little flame of hope within him died. “Probably not.”
Her smile faded. “Well, then we had better hope they don’t call your bluff. Though … if they do, you could leave for a short time and return later.”
“I doubt they’d welcome me back.”
“They might, if you were their only hope of defence.”
“It would be harder to monitor the situation from elsewhere.”
“Yes, but I can tell Tarran what is going on and you could check with him.” She shrugged, unfolded her arms and leaned back in her chair. “This might work. Or it might backfire on us. What is more likely?” Her question was not posed to him, but to herself.
; “Do you want more time to consider it?”
She shook her head, slowly at first, then with more determination. “No. The people we represent aren’t taking us seriously. I think we have to force them to decide whether they trust us or not, or we’ll never get anywhere. If we’re never going to get anywhere, then I’d rather they stopped wasting our time.”
“Very well,” he said. He had more to lose than her since she had no desire to live in Murai permanently, but her point that the Claymars wouldn’t take the negotiations seriously until they decided whether they could trust him rang true. “Let’s do it.”
As she rose, he got to his feet. “I had best return. I will let you know what happens.”
“And I you.”
She smiled. “Good luck,” she told him, and then she vanished.
For a moment, he stood staring at the place she had occupied, holding back his disappointment that she had made no suggestion they meet at Tarran’s house again.
But then, maybe I’m supposed to make the second invitation.
Sitting down again, he drafted a short letter to the Claymars, then wrote out a final copy on a fresh piece of paper. Leaving it weighed down with a stone from the garden, he moved into the doorway of the shelter. Once Abler had emerged, Tyen told him of the letter, then pushed out of the world and retraced his path to his house.
The workers were gone, returning to their homes for the evening. He descended the stairs and considered the workroom and the unfinished wheels. If the Claymars did call his bluff and he left for a short time, would he lose all this?
If the Muraians invaded, it was likely he’d lose it anyway.
Sighing, he turned away, but as his gaze moved past the doorway he noticed a small object on the table beside the door where his workers left messages when he wasn’t home.
A small parcel of a familiar size and shape. He walked over, tore away the wrapping and stared at the tile inside. His heart lifted and sank, over and over, as hope and dread struggled for dominance.
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