Leandra’s expression did not change.
Francesca noticed that Ellen now stood next to the sea god. Ellen flicked her wrist at the god and a golden sentence arced between them. The sea god looked at Ellen, his eyes narrowing.
Leandra had not noticed the exchange, but even so Francesca cleared her throat more loudly than before. “Is there anything I can do to help with your investigation in Chandralu?”
“No, thank you.”
“You’re sure?”
“Quite sure.”
Ellen and the sea god were now whispering. Francesca kept her eyes on her daughter. “Maybe you will think of something later. I can check in on your party in a few hours.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“But perhaps you would reconsider that…” Francesca paused as her frustration rose. She had imagined this reunion so many times, and now she was spoiling it. “Lea … I’m sorry.”
Her daughter’s face remained stony.
“Lea, everything that happened … all those years ago in Port Mercy … I’m sorry.”
“There’s no need to revisit the matter.”
“I just wanted … to say that I am sorry.”
Leandra let another moment stretch out before she nodded. “The Sacred Regent has given me quarters in the Floating Palace, and I need to rest before returning to the city.” She paused again. “But perhaps we’ll talk tomorrow.”
Frustration grew hot in Francesca. She had apologized, hadn’t she? But with great will, she kept her face neutral and nodded. “I hope we do.”
Then Leandra nodded to her wrestling goddess and they made for the other end of the hall. The crowd cleared a path for them as they went.
“Well?” Francesca asked.
Ellen held out a dim green sentence. Francesca took it and translated it into “He’s a shark god named Holokai from a large island in the Inner Chain. His requisites are to destroy—and by that I assume he means “eat”—divinities that might threaten his island and to produce a son who will lead the islanders to glory.”
Francesca chewed her lip for a moment and then handed back a reply. “Lea must have refitted his requisite to her purposes as Warden. But how could the Trimuril allow a deity who does such horrible things to women to exist? Forces should have been exerted on his cult to change that requisite. Is Lea aware of his requisite for a son?”
Ellen replied. “He claimed that she is, but neither he nor Leandra seem to know about Lolo. He had apparently been trying for a very long time to produce a child … with Lea.”
Francesca shuddered as she remembered the teeth within the uterus. What was Lea thinking? “And a meeting on the balcony?”
Ellen took the question and flicked back the answer: “He agreed but demanded that we give him Lolo right away.”
Francesca snorted and was about to reply when someone approached. She looked up to see Rory of Calad. “Lady Warden,” the redheaded man said with a bow, “the Lord Warden has just emerged from the throne room and asks you to join him.”
Francesca nodded. “Lead the way, Druid.”
They found Nicodemus on the throne room steps with his hydromancer, Magistra Doria Kokalas, and his Lornish highsmith, whom Francesca had not yet met. She took a moment to examine her husband. Their previous reunion had been so brief, so urgent. He was standing straight, his expression controlled, and yet something had changed.
He was still beautiful. His skin was still a smooth dark olive, his eyes still bright green, his long vest still outlined his muscular arms and shoulders. There was more silver in his long black hair. And his still beardless face had become more careworn. But there was something else—around his eyes perhaps—that suggested a deep weariness. Francesca felt a thrill of fear for her mortal husband. How much longer did she have with him?
On seeing her, the tension around Nicodemus’s eyes lessened. He walked down the steps and when she held out her hands he took them and kissed her cheeks. They began walking toward the end of the hall, arm in arm, as they would have at a reception in the Southern kingdoms. It was only after a few steps that Francesca realized it would have been more in keeping with Ixonian custom to bow to each other and walk side by side.
“Have you talked to Lea?”
“I did. It could have gone … better. She is in a bad flare. I tried to talk to her about her medications, but…”
“It could have gone better?” Nicodemus finished.
“You could say that.”
He sighed. “Did you make things worse?”
Francesca tightened her jaw. “I did not … You know, it is not entirely my fault that things are rocky between us. She is not the most reasonable daughter.”
“Yes, of course,” Nicodemus replied wearily.
“And it is not as if you are always able to make her see sense.”
“I’m sorry, my love; I misspoke. I should have asked if the two of you were on better or worse terms.”
Francesca balled her hands into fists and then relaxed them. “She did say that we might speak again. Once she gets settled in, I’ll see if she’ll let me talk to her about the stress hormones and—”
“Don’t you think it would be better if I went?”
“Oh, so you want to manage her medication?”
“She’s been managing her own medications for ten years now. If you think it’s important that she see a physician, I can take Doria.”
Francesca glanced back at the old hydromancer, who bowed. Frustration again boiled through Francesca even though Nicodemus’s idea was a good one. Doria was an excellent physician and a hydromancer besides; using her aqueous spells, she could forge more of the stress hormone or change its potency. And yet … and yet … “How are Lea and I supposed to make peace if you keep us from seeing each other?”
“I’m not keeping you from seeing each other,” Nicodemus said as they came to the bottom of a stairway and stopped. “I just think that when she is dealing with a disease flare, it might be hard for her to have a productive conversation with you given … given your history.”
“Without that ‘history,’ as you put it, Lea would have died.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“You don’t doubt it, but you never took part in it. If I had been as nonchalant about Leandra’s disease as you were, she’d be dead.”
“I’m not a physician; I couldn’t have done what you did. I am fortunate to have you. I was just trying to support both my wife and my daughter.”
You mean you wanted to be liked, Francesca thought. You wanted to be the lenient parent. You left the bitter task of treating her disease to me. And when the moment of crisis came in Port Mercy, I was the one who had to make the hard decision and now our daughter hates me but not you.
Somehow Francesca managed to keep silent, in part because she had already made these complaints to her husband. Also she knew that Nicodemus had been telling the truth, that he was doing his best for wife and daughter.
“Let me go to her,” Nicodemus said. “Please. You can see her afterward.”
She looked at his haggard expression and then felt a confusion of emotions. There was again a premonition of the grief his mortality would bring. There was her continued frustration and bitterness. But now there was also regret for something lost. Not an hour ago, at their reunion, he had looked at her and seen the beautiful, dangerous creature with whom he had fallen in love. His face had been alive with desire. Now he stared at her with exhaustion. Now he saw only an angry, unreasonable mother. She had been meaning to tell him about Lolo, but now she changed her mind. She was sure that he would object to her plan or insist that he join it.
Slowly she exhaled. “Very well, you can go see her. And now that I think of it, perhaps you should let her rest for a bit beforehand.”
“That sounds wise.”
Francesca nodded. “I have to meet with my two druids and tell them what has happened. I’ll see you in our quarters afterward.”
He gave her a slight
smile and squeezed her hand. “Thank you, my love.”
She felt something loosen in her chest.
“There is something else…” Nicodemus said hesitantly and then glanced about. “Lea is in some kind of trouble we don’t know about. That’s why the Trimuril played that little game; she wanted Lea to be indebted to someone so that she would accept help.”
“That was clever. Lea’s too proud to ever have accepted help otherwise.”
“Maybe, but there is something I didn’t tell the Trimuril. When I took down the River Thief, she was wearing Leandra’s face?”
“Her what?”
“Her face. The neodemon was wearing Leandra’s face.”
“But why would she do that?”
“I don’t know, and we need to find out. That’s another reason you should let me talk to her first.”
Francesca looked into her husband’s green eyes. “Very well, talk to her and I’ll tend to my business.” She let go of his hand and started up the stairs, but as she went she noticed that beside her Ellen was talking to Rory.
“My Lady Warden,” Ellen said casually, “the druid here and I were just discussing some of the techniques the Lord Warden’s party has used to convert neodemons. They might be of use to us. May I finish our conversation before joining you?”
At first, Francesca thought this was a ploy to get out of having to deal with Lolo. But then Francesca realized Ellen had spoken with unusual warmth. She was also standing uncharacteristically close to the druid.
Francesca looked at the man, who bowed his head respectfully. The red hair and freckles looked good on his boyish face.
Then Francesca understood. She was mildly surprised. But what was the harm? “Yes, that is a good idea, Magistra. In fact, would you and the druid please write up a brief comparison of our methods so that we might give them to the rest of our party?”
Ellen smiled conspiratorially. “Of course, Lady Warden.”
Francesca was about to say more but then she looked past Ellen and Rory to Nicodemus. He was looking up at her with the most peculiar expression, his mouth flat with something like fear. As she watched, he pointedly looked at Rory, then Ellen, then back to her. Very slightly, he shook his head.
Francesca fought the urge to frown. Whatever on earth was Nicodemus trying to tell her? Behind her husband, his Lornish highsmith was staring with great amusement at Rory and Ellen. Did the druid have some other woman? Francesca doubted it; she would have remembered Nicodemus mentioning that.
She looked back at Ellen and Rory, who both seemed happy in each other’s company. Surely there was no harm in letting them flirt. “Yes, Magistra,” Francesca said, “please do come find me after you have a thorough discussion.”
Ellen nodded but farther down the stairs Nicodemus shook his head, now with pronounced vehemence. Beside him, the Lornish highsmith looked as if he might start laughing. How strange they both were being.
“I will see you soon, husband,” she said and then walked up the rest of the stairs, all the time wondering what Nicodemus could possibly have against Rory flirting with an intelligent and pretty woman.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Francesca waited on the balcony as the shark god circled. Holokai, she reminded herself, that was his name. In his human incarnation, he was pretending to inspect the rooms below her daughter’s quarters for possible threats. He moved closer with each pass, circling.
Ignoring him, Francesca put aside her anxieties about Leandra. She studied the blue tropical sky. The balcony, which was on the second floor of the Floating Palace, presently faced the tunnel to Chandralu and the blocky monastery. The dark staircase cut switchbacks as it climbed the crater’s inner slope to the volcano’s peak.
Behind her, bare feet slapped against wooden planks. Francesca turned to see that Holokai had finally stepped out onto the balcony. Staring with dark eyes, he stopped five feet away from her. He was about to speak when she held up a warning finger. From her belt purse she pulled a single sheet of paper and peeled from it a subrosa spell. With a wrist flick, she cast the spell above them where it bloomed into a wide cage of sound-deadening petals of silvery Magnus prose. When it completed, Francesca nodded. “You can speak now. Not even the Trimuril can overhear us.”
The shark god was glaring at her. “Where’s my son?”
Francesca smiled politely. “Are you addressing me?”
His dark eyes widened. “You see anyone else out here, hey?”
Francesca looked him up and down.
“Where’s my son?”
She turned away. “Leave,” she said flatly. “I don’t deal with petty gods who don’t know their place.”
A spasm of fury scurried across his face. “Don’t you—” His voice died as she stepped toward him.
“Listen carefully, you oversized mackerel, maybe you never came across anything in the ocean to frighten you, maybe hunting neodemons with my daughter never challenged you, but now you are trifling with forces that will chew you into chum. You felt it when you swam under my boat last night. At sea, you knew how much danger you were in. That’s why you swam away then and why you will scurry away now.”
He blinked at her, taken aback. Away from his element, the shark god was no match for her. That was true. But she was exaggerating. At sea, she had foreseen that Holokai was one of the few souls who could kill her in the coming days. Of course, he didn’t need to know that.
The shark god blinked again, pulled his lips back slightly. “You wanted this meeting. And if you have my—”
“I invited you here,” Francesca interrupted to make sure he never felt in control, “to discuss the future of your son. That was before I knew you couldn’t match wits against a brain-damaged goat. So you’re going to walk away from me before I tear you a fresh set of gills, and you’re going to forget that you ever had a son because you’re clearly too God-of-god’s damned stupid to raise one.” She took another step forward.
The shark god reflexively stepped back, but again his lips pulled back. “Bit hypocritical for you to lecture anyone about bringing up a child, hey Francesca? Maybe I’ll go ask Lea what she thinks—”
Francesca laughed. “Excellent idea, tell Leandra. How do you think she’ll react to learning you came to talk to me without her knowledge?”
Another spasm of fury moved across the shark god’s face.
“Maybe I should tell her you slipped away to meet me?”
Holokai’s eyes started to blacken.
Francesca knew better than to back down. She showed her own teeth and stepped forward again. “That’s right, guppy. You want to solve it that way, you just go right ahead.”
Again the shark god blinked, took another step back. His eyes whitened.
Francesca nodded. “Good. Do you want to try this again?”
He stared at her for a long moment, and then said, “For the sake of my son.”
She only watched him coldly.
At last, and with some difficulty, he said, “Lady Warden, I am here because of your … invitation.”
“Yes, thank you for coming, honored sea god. I wish to discuss the issue of your son.”
“I didn’t know I was a father. Are you sure you have my son?”
Francesca gestured down to the lake. The shark god turned and saw a small floating pavilion, on the edges of which sat Kenna, her white druid robes hiked up to her knees and her pale legs dangling in the water. She was looking up toward the balcony. A few feet away, her brother was dogpaddling next to Lolo. The childish god was smiling and then began to splash Tam, who pretended to be shocked. This precipitated more smiling, splashing.
The shark god shifted his feet but did not change his expression. “He’s mine? Are we sure?”
Francesca recognized the desire in the question. “He’s happy in this lake’s fresh water, but when I dropped him into ocean, he grew fins and serrated teeth. And perhaps you will want to see this.” She raised her hand.
Down on the floating pavilio
n, Kenna returned the gesture and then touched the wooden plank beside her. A blue glow grew where her finger touched wood. A small part of the pavilion broke off to float on its own. The raft sprouted lily pads across the water and then grew a bud that opened into a lotus blossom.
Lolo pointed at the druidic bloom, his eyes wide. With his chubby arms he paddled over to the druidic construct. With difficulty he tried to haul himself up onto it. Tam swam behind him, and gave him a slight push. As Lolo climbed onto the lotus spell, the sun shone on his back and the rows of scars that formed a shark bite. They had come from the uterus of the child’s poor mother. Holokai drew in a sharp breath.
“His mother was a devotee in the Pillow House,” Francesca said.
“But that was only a few days ago.”
“These things happen with demigods. Some are born old and grow young. Some start life with adult minds. In Lolo’s case—”
“Lolo? You named my son ‘crazy?’”
“It is what the children of the orphanage named him. The orphanage you abandoned him to.”
“I didn’t abandon him; I didn’t even know about him! I didn’t…” His eyes narrowed and he seemed to become thoughtful. “He must be why I was feeling so strong a few days before Lea took us to see the smuggler. I thought those in my cult had become more prayerful … but actually I had fulfilled the requisite of providing the son they had been praying for.”
Leandra didn’t know what he was talking about and didn’t care. “Lolo’s gestation was particularly rapid,” she said sternly to get his attention. “His nature filled his mother’s uterus with shark’s teeth that cut into his back. She bled to death after giving birth to him. He knows this, on some level, and it terrifies him.”
Holokai’s mouth bent downward in pain. “Not his fault.”
“No, it’s yours.”
The shark god glared at her but said nothing.
“Lolo has been aging two years a day. You’ve abandoned him for the first six years of his life. Vital years. Thank the God-of-gods someone on the Floating City arranged for him to be placed into the orphanage.”
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