The Heart of the mirage mm-1
Page 42
There was a long silence until both of us had more control.
'Will you ever come back?' he asked finally.
'Yes, yes, of course.' I turned to face him. 'To see you – to see you both. And one day I shall come as Exaltarch, as the ruler of a State coming to visit a fellow monarch and his son.'
He stared, disbelieving. 'You're out of your mind! The Exaltarch? Cabochon, Derya -! How can you even envisage that? With a ragtag army of slaves more used to wielding a scythe or a pickaxe or a broom, against the empire's finest legionnaires? That's insane! And stupid. And it's not like you to be stupid.'
'I spent a lot of time warded in a room with no one to talk to, day after day. I did a lot of thinking about this. I have no intention of being stupid.'
There was another long silence. I could almost feel him dampening down his rage, smothering the flame, depriving it of fuel. It was still there, though, smouldering in some dark, deep recess of his soul. It always would be. What I was doing to him was just another form of betrayal and I was uniquely placed to know how much fury betrayal generates. Goddess, I thought, we are becoming experts at hurting one another.
Then his lips twitched, but there was more sardonic appreciation than amusement in the result. 'Sarana – you always were a little devil. I used to hate playing with you. Who'd have thought that would change so much?' He gave a laugh, half rueful, half bitter. 'Or maybe nothing's changed. You used to make me cry then, too. Ah, Derya – no, Sarana – fate played a nasty trick on us.'
'Do I go with your blessing then, Tem?'
He shook his head. 'Blessing? Never! But I don't know how to stop you.'
'No. That's because there is no way.' I let him feel the truth of that.
He threw up his hands in resignation. 'So when do you leave Ordensa?'
'We were just waiting for you to arrive. We'll sail tomorrow morning.'
He put his head on one side, regarding me with eyes that had lost their laughter and a gaze that hungered. 'I'm not your brother any more. Is that going to make any difference to how you spend the next few hours?'
I swear my heart stopped beating. 'Ah, yes. Um, it certainly could do.'
We both knew this time would be different. Our need was there, but the joyous sparkle had gone, and we both doubted we'd ever get it back.
But we still loved, oh, yes; only it was such a dark, grieving love.
No one gets to this point in writing a book without help, and I have been lucky enough to have had enthusiastic people supporting me all the way. Top of the list is always my agent, Dorothy Lumley, who has read this particular book so many times without ever losing her enthusiasm for it. My editor Stephanie Smith at HarperCollins Australia, and Kim Swivel, my copy editor, have helped to make it better, even when I thought I was done. And many thanks to my first readers whose appreciation kept me going, and whose criticism and eye for holes is so much appreciated: in this case my fellow Voyager authors Russell Kirkpatrick and Karen Miller; Alena S., Fiona McL., bookseller Mark T. And lastly, thanks to Perdy Phillips for the wonderful map and Shane Parker for the gorgeous cover.
Many years ago, when my own children were very young, I heard for the first time two stories, from opposite sides of the globe. One told the tragedy of stolen babies raised by those who had murdered their mothers, inevitably indoctrinated with the very beliefs their true parents had died resisting. The second story,
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