“Calaa,” he said, and she looked at him expectantly. He realized he didn't know what he wanted her to do; stay or go.
Sensing his uncertainty, she said, “I've made you something. You know I'm a face shifter. I made one just for you. Would you like to see it?”
“You made a face for me?” This required a great deal of work, he knew. It would be poor form for him to refuse, and even worse not to show his appreciation. “Of course I want to see it. How thoughtful of you.”
She had him shut his eyes again. He could feel the fundament of her body shifting inside her robe. “Here it is,” she said. “Look.”
He would later give himself credit for not screaming or heaving her onto the floor. “That's…well. I am impressed!”
She smiled at him, or at least that's what he thought she was doing. She'd turned herself into a creature pale and cool as ash. The huge round head, bobbling on its stalk of a neck, was covered by short, spiky, bile-yellow hair, had a grotesquely tiny nose and mouth, and was dominated by two enormous bright blue circular eyes, without lash or lid. The lower extremities had gained a foot or so between the knee and ankle and flopped bonelessly across his legs onto the sand. It took all his will not to yank his hands off the white, slightly damp flesh of its spindly arms.
“Well, just look at you! You've made yourself into a human,” he said. “How remarkable! Who…what …”
“I confess,” she said with that tiny bud of a mouth, “I had to listen to gossips. I heard the story from the friend of a sister of a servant of Aelle's family. That's how I learned what humans look like. I know you like them, everyone knows that. So, tell me, is it perfect, or only nearly perfect?” She showed her tiny teeth and waited for approval.
This is what my people believe I lie down with, he thought bleakly. She must not have noticed the picture on his desk. He tried to imagine her version of Lelet and covered his horrified laugh with a cough. “Nearly, very nearly. Um. I think what you done is you've created an old friend of Aelle, a young man named Olly. Humans can look many different ways.” He could feel her deflation, even if her 'face' couldn't express it. “But this is certainly uncanny! You are an artist.”
“Do you think?” She brightened. “I can keep it on, you know. For you. If you want me to, while we…”
Now he did release the arms. “Oh, I couldn't possibly ask you to do that. And tomorrow, the ceremony starts early—it wouldn't do for the two of us to be nodding off when I give the crown back to my mother. I can barely keep my eyes open as it is. It would be a waste of your talent, I promise you.” He shifted to bring his feet under him, and taking the hint, she shivered back into her own body, to his great relief.
“I see,” she said. She stood and twitched her robes back into place. “Another time? When you are less tired?” He could see her trying to find a reason to hope.
“Of course. Another time.”
When she had gone, he poured a glass of sarave from the bottle next to his chair and tried to decide what to do about her. He could be excused from accepting her advances because of her position in his employ; it could be seen as improper, that he was taking advantage. And of course, she was from outside the Arch, for those who felt such things mattered. He wondered why he was looking for reasons to put her off. She didn't expect him to fall in love with her just from joining, did she? She couldn't think of herself on the High Seat or accepting his spark. It wouldn't be love, it wouldn't be for life, it would just be the act of joining. It would just be an act.
With these thoughts chasing each other through his head, his eyes did close. He knew he was asleep, and assumed he was dreaming, because if Calaa had come back, his household guard would have announced her. And yet here she was, a soft brush of fabric, a sweet fragrance, and a weight in his lap. A heavier one than Calaa, though. A far bigger person. He opened his eyes.
“Lelet.” The soft light of the nightstones picked out her hair and eyes in silver. “Are you really here?”
“Are you?” She was smiling, and his only decision was whether to kiss her at once or let himself look at her. Kisses won out, like sweet water coursing through his body. Too soon, she pulled away and rested her hand on his cheek. “Because this is just a dream, I can tell you how much I miss you.” She peered at him more closely. “You look tired. You're not taking care of yourself.” She pushed his hair back, an echo of Calaa. “So beautiful. Oh, I miss you.”
“Then come home.” He kissed her hands, her long pale throat, her soft and pliant mouth. “Come back to me. Come home. Please, I can't stand this, please come home.”
She smiled again, this time less kindly. “Now I know this is a dream. So now you want me back?”
“More than my life. More than pears.”
“Maybe I will.” She was fading into motes of dust, he could only clearly see her eyes. “I wonder if you'll still be so happy to see me, if I ever do come back.”
The sound of his glass as it hit the ground woke him. He picked it up, wiped the sand off, and refilled it. Then he eased his yala out and let it find its place against his palm. He took the head between thumb and forefinger and applied enough pressure to hurt.
“A lot of good you are,” he told it. “Had a real girl on top of you, not a twitch. A daeeva shows up, and all of a sudden you're the War Tower.” He could send for Calaa, in her home in the Quarter. It was late but he knew she'd run the whole way. He decided against it. He loosened his fingers and tightened his hand. He knew he'd have to disappoint Calaa. It was really no decision at all.
Chapter Forty-Three
Mistra
Lelet gasped herself awake, and lay in the dark, shaking. She could hear her heart. She rarely remembered her dreams, but she knew this one would linger. “Come home,” she said to herself. “I am home.” She turned her head and looked at the dark shape of the man who slept at her side. “I'm at his home, which is nearly the same thing.”
May had said it felt soon for her relationship with Auri to become so serious. “What's the rush?” she wanted to know.
“No rush,” she answered. “I'm just ready to put a lot of things behind me.”
May didn’t much care for Auri, although she hadn’t liked Billah either. May had only liked one of her beaus. Maybe May also needed to take a long look at what she thought was right and wrong and stay out of her business.
She knew Rane only intended she have a fling with his friend to both cure her broken heart and mend her fractured reputation, but to his surprise—and hers—it not only lasted, it had flourished.
Auri doted on her, he was clever, handsome and generous, and he forgave her all the foolishness of the past few years. Being near him was like being wrapped in a soft, warm blanket. He displayed her like a newly acquired jewel. And she felt like she’d finally made a decision that was right, that hadn’t ended in disaster. Auri wanted her with him all the time, and they talked about her moving in, but she knew that her father would have something to say about that. It would sour him on their future together. She had another idea, one that Father would almost certainly approve of. So, within two months of meeting Auri, she was at Rane’s door with two suitcases at her side, and a pile more in the cab.
“You’ve got plenty of room,” she told him, setting her bags down in his now-former study, “And I won’t have to pretend I’ll be home at a reasonable hour. And you can report back to Father that I’m learning how to behave from you.”
So, her suitcases and dresses and shoes lived in Rane’s office, but she was rarely there. Auri bought her new things, anyway.
He stirred in his sleep and she gently stroked his dark hair. Dreams were nonsense, everyone knew that. Auri said they only existed to punish you for wicked thoughts. She'd never think of telling him; it would break his heart to think she still had enough feeling for Moth to summon him into her dreams. She'd never hear the end of it.
She wondered again how she'd been so wrong. Had Moth lied to her, or was he really so emotionally barren that all he co
uld muster was fondness? 'Please come home,' dream Moth had begged her, and she tried to remember what she'd said in response. Something unkind. It felt good, even if it was a lie.
Even so, she hoped wherever he was this night, he was taking care of himself.
Chapter Forty-Four
Eriis
“That sdaasch.” Calaa raged, throwing her traveling scarf on the floor. “She ruins everything. I wish she were dead.”
The Zaal retrieved the scarf and hung it on the hook by the door of his little house at the edge of the Quarter. He had been trying out a new face, a nice fresh one, when Calaa had come storming in. He knew she referred to the Glass Girl, and so assumed she'd been rebuffed. “She might be dead,” he told her. “She's been through The Door several times. Without proper training and guidance, she could easily be dead.” He didn't think this was true, but Calaa looked about to combust, and he didn't want the neighbors to think he entertained a harridan. Not that he’d be living there much longer. Just one more task to finish and he’d have his new house—the Counselor’s old house—all to himself.
She thumped into a chair. “Really?” He handed her a glass of sarave. “I hope she is, not that it would matter to him. He didn't like it,” she said. “The human face I showed him, why didn't it work?” She didn't wait for an answer. “He said it was…what did he say? ‘Remarkable.' Then he said I looked like a man. A human man, that's even uglier than a human woman. Of course it was ugly, it was a human—they're all ugly. What did he expect?”
The Zaal wondered if she was more irritated at the prince's refusing her advances, or that he hadn't recognized her genius. “I thought it was very clever. I didn't think you were ugly at all. Or like a man. He's even more simple in his wits than we thought if he turned you down.”
This made her heat cool a bit faster. She remained susceptible to compliments, he knew. “He said he was too tired. He seemed sorry.”
“Good. Perfect, in fact.” She frowned at him, confused. “He feels guilty. He hurt your feelings. He will be more receptive next time. Don't be afraid to keep his glass full, that strips most any man of their resolve.”
She gave him a sour look. “I don't need to get a man drunk to have my way. At least, I never used to. Have my charms faded so fast?”
They had as far as the Zaal was concerned. She was either complaining about the poverty of his home, or the sand in the food or the grit on the sheets, or trying to wheedle plans and secrets out of him. He found he agreed with the ancient Zaalmage who’d first decreed that the women were unfit to serve at the Raasth. Still, he needed someone at court, and the closer to the prince, the better. Next to him was fine, of course, on top of him would be ideal. So he said, “You have grace beyond charms that relies not on passing light or time of day,” quoting the old book. And it worked; she smiled. “Put on the face,” he continued. “You know the one.”
She sighed and gave a shrug that rippled from her head outwards, and within two blinks Hellne stood in front of him. She dropped her robe.
“More flame this time, I think,” he said.
She smiled with Hellne's perfect mouth. “For you or from you?”
It turned out to be both.
Chapter Forty-Five
Mistra
Lelet stood with her hand on the doorknob, gathering her breath. She glanced over her shoulder at the long oval mirror in its polished mahogany frame (every bit of wood; every board and splinter in Auri’s bedchamber was matching mahogany) and forced her best Eriisai smile. Calm and unruffled. It was one of the few things she’d brought back with her that was useful, not painful. Her indigo silk dress (not one of her family’s fabrics, but good enough) was simple—almost severe in design. It was expensive, beautifully tailored but lacking flourishes, ruffles or lace. Auri thought ‘all that frippery’ looked cheap. He didn’t like her to look cheap. She agreed; the dress—all of her new things—were elegant and sleek. Sometimes she thought they made her look more sophisticated. Sometimes she thought she just looked older.
So far, she’d managed to keep her hair bleached white, but she knew he had his eye on that, as well. He also would have his eye on the clock. The angle of the sun slanting through the sheer curtains told her it was late afternoon, and she was expected. She knew his meeting had started, and his ‘guests’ would have begun to gather in the great room. They’d want to look at her. Auri didn’t mind that, just as he didn’t mind that they all knew who she was; the girl who Actually Met One of Them.
“I won’t talk to them again,” she’d said after his last gathering of demon hunters had assembled at the house. “They scare me. I don’t like the way they…insinuate. It’s beyond rude.” They may have asked about eyes and wings and fire, but she knew perfectly well what they all wanted to hear: had she slept with it? None of them would dare to come out and say it, but she could tell. She kept her answers brief and her own eyes on the floor.
“You did a fine job,” he told her. “And we’re all interested in the same thing, so there’s no reason for you to be afraid. Next time, just come down and say hello. You don’t have to talk to them if it’s too much for you. Are we agreed?”
She had agreed.
As she descended the stairs, sure enough, all heads swung in her direction. Many had already arrived and were sitting in the rows of straight backed chairs one of Auri’s men had set up. Others were handing off their coats and hats and chatting about the latest news in demonology. By the time she reached the bottom step, it had fallen silent. She knew she was a curiosity, and now she was on display. Well, that didn’t mean she had to stand on a stool and dance for them. She gave the group—twenty or so in all—a curt nod and went to stand against the wall near the wide, arched door that led to the main hall, the kitchen, and the rest of the house. Auri caught her eye, his expression unreadable. She wouldn’t find out until everyone had left whether she’d performed acceptably. Either he’d be silent, or effusive. There was never an in between with Auri. As sweet and loving as he could be when she earned it, she’d come to dread the silence when she did not.
“Quite a collection your man has put together, don’t you think?”
Jan had appeared at her elbow, leaning against the doorframe. His own sleek and elegant clothing looked like he’d been born wearing it, and she wondered if Auri was trying to emulate his stylish uncle.
“They’re all right,” she answered. “They like having people to talk to. Similar interests.”
Jan smirked. “That makes you their queen.”
She pursed her lips and didn’t answer. Jan took some getting used to; his habit of simply appearing out of nowhere, along with a peculiar sense of humor. He reminded her of someone, and she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. At first, oddly enough, he brought Ilaan to mind. But not quite. Someone older? A friend of Pol’s? It nagged at her.
“Oh, look at that one,” he continued. He nodded at a pale young woman in an even plainer dress than Lelet’s, though not nearly as fine. Her program was already mangled from her folding and refolding it in her thin hands. As they watched, she carefully removed her hat, revealing freshly bleached hair that was more chalk yellow than the desired white. It hung limply around her face. “How charitable of her, going to a blind barber.”
Despite the rude remark, Lelet clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a bark of laughter. Was it actually Niico that Jan brought to mind? She cleared her throat, relieved that Auri hadn’t noticed. He was helping an elderly man, his hair like a soft grey fogbank around his ears, to a seat near the front of the room. Lelet thought he was a judge or barrister, she couldn’t recall.
“Now, that one—just imagine what that old man would do if he ever came face-to-face with a real demon.” He cocked his head. “What do you think? Wet himself? Or fall to his knees and greet his new god?”
She crossed her arms. “He’s just an old man with a hobby.” Jan gave her a sardonic look. “Oh, all right. New god, I’d go with. That’s what they all want, isn’t it?�
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“Quite. Humans just love having someone tell them what to do.”
She turned to him. “What a strange—oh, hello, sweetheart!” Sally had chosen that moment to come up from behind and throw her arms around Lelet’s dark skirt.
“Daddy says humans are funny.”
Jan looked uncomfortable, which was unusual. Lelet bent down and kissed Sally on the top of her head. “He isn’t wrong. But we must be nice to these humans, isn’t that right, Jan?”
“Sally knows she should be polite to everyone.” He knelt and adjusted the ribbon in the girl’s braid, which had untied itself and hung down her back. As cool and remote as he was with everyone else, he treated the child with such affection that it made her heart ache. It made her like him more than she might otherwise be inclined. Even though at first glance Sally was nothing like Thayree (whom she recalled as being far more shy, at least at first) sometimes being near the girl brought it all roaring back. She swallowed the lump in her throat. Jan hadn’t noticed; he was concentrating on getting the ribbon just so. “And you generally are, even if your ribbon is being naughty. Speaking of naughty little things, where is Dolly?” The girl was rarely without her silver cat.
Sally had a stage whisper even the worst seats in the theater could hear, and she used it now. “She doesn’t like Uncle Auri and she doesn’t like these people so she said she would stay in our house. Also, she might get stepped on.”
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