their reign. He therefore felt no need to bend at knee, to bow head. But the compulsion—hated, cursed—coiled within him, demanding stillness, silence.
“Marakas,” the kai el’Sol said, and Marakas turned.
To this man, he could bow should he so choose. But although he recognized the crest of the sun ascendant upon his chest, he offered nothing.
“To the Lady,” Fredero said, “that which is the Lady’s.”
“In her time.”
“In her time.”
They stood, separated by shadows and foliage and the questions which, unbidden, remained unasked.
“Make peace with the Lady, if you can. Such peace is a thing that the Lord cannot take from you.”
“The Lady failed them,” Marakas replied, the bitterness of years undiminished. “I served her, as any with her gifts might serve, and in return, she failed me.”
“Ah.” The kai el’Sol rose, and rising, made Marakas aware of the fact that he had offered what no man was required to offer. “So.”
“You summoned me.”
“Yes.”
“How may I serve?”
“You may not. Not yet. Where I go, there must be no fury, no hatred, no anger such as the anger that sustains you. I have watched you, this past year, and I have waited. I will wait longer, if that is necessary. But I wish you to be whole. What would your wife desire, were she beside you now? Think on it. The sun will fall, soon; the Lady’s time will begin. Wait here.”
Marakas had no desire to obey this command.
“And think. She chose you, and you her, for a reason. Would your wife have desired you to turn your back upon the gifts that you possess? Did she not, time and again, counsel you to offer comfort and aid to those who were less fortunate than she?”
Marakas felt his eyes grow round and wide. “Did you know my wife?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
“You could have made much, much more of your talent than you did. You could have been a richer man, a more powerful one. You could have owned houses, serafs, and a place in the court of any man you chose to serve.
“But you came to the Radann. I believe that nothing happens without reason, even the bitter death of a loved one. And I believe that had your wife been a different woman, you would have had all of those things, in abundance—and I would not now have you. Forgive her for her absence. Forgive her for your failure.” He turned and began to walk away.
Marakas did not call him back.
But something did; he turned, the robes of his office catching light and containing it. “I will come to you in the dusk, and I will ask of you a favor at that time.”
In the evening light, Marakas par el’Sol awoke. He could not say why; no sound greeted him when he sat up in the confines of his poor tent. Such a tent as this had not been his home for some time, but he was Radann; he was not trapped by the finery that rank bestowed.
He could not stand in the small tent, but felt no loss of dignity when required to crawl through its narrow length to push aside its flap.
The Lady’s face was bright in the night sky. There were clouds, thin as fine, Northern lace, that obscured the paler of the stars, but she was undimmed. Silver light shone. Without hesitation, he reached for his dagger and his wineskin. He broke dirt with the tip and the flat of unsheathed steel, making the most primitive of bowls by dint of his effort. Into these, he dripped water with care, and wine with abandon. She would understand.
The Sea of Sorrows was before him, and not even the most fanatic of her followers denied themselves water here.
On that day, too many years ago, he had made his peace with the Lady.
Funny, that he should think of Fredero during the Lady’s time. It was Amelia who most often came back to him; Amelia and the ghost of a son whose smile was so bright, whose joy was so infectious, they could only continue to exist encased in memory.
But they stood in shadows this eve; it was the kai el’Sol whose spirit the Lady invoked.
And as he had done on
“Marakas,” the kai el’Sol said, and Marakas turned.
To this man, he could bow should he so choose. But although he recognized the crest of the sun ascendant upon his chest, he offered nothing.
“To the Lady,” Fredero said, “that which is the Lady’s.”
“In her time.”
“In her time.”
They stood, separated by shadows and foliage and the questions which, unbidden, remained unasked.
“Make peace with the Lady, if you can. Such peace is a thing that the Lord cannot take from you.”
“The Lady failed them,” Marakas replied, the bitterness of years undiminished. “I served her, as any with her gifts might serve, and in return, she failed me.”
“Ah.” The kai el’Sol rose, and rising, made Marakas aware of the fact that he had offered what no man was required to offer. “So.”
“You summoned me.”
“Yes.”
“How may I serve?”
“You may not. Not yet. Where I go, there must be no fury, no hatred, no anger such as the anger that sustains you. I have watched you, this past year, and I have waited. I will wait longer, if that is necessary. But I wish you to be whole. What would your wife desire, were she beside you now? Think on it. The sun will fall, soon; the Lady’s time will begin. Wait here.”
Marakas had no desire to obey this command.
“And think. She chose you, and you her, for a reason. Would your wife have desired you to turn your back upon the gifts that you possess? Did she not, time and again, counsel you to offer comfort and aid to those who were less fortunate than she?”
Marakas felt his eyes grow round and wide. “Did you know my wife?”
“No.”
“Then how—”
“You could have made much, much more of your talent than you did. You could have been a richer man, a more powerful one. You could have owned houses, serafs, and a place in the court of any man you chose to serve.
“But you came to the Radann. I believe that nothing happens without reason, even the bitter death of a loved one. And I believe that had your wife been a different woman, you would have had all of those things, in abundance—and I would not now have you. Forgive her for her absence. Forgive her for your failure.” He turned and began to walk away.
Marakas did not call him back.
But something did; he turned, the robes of his office catching light and containing it. “I will come to you in the dusk, and I will ask of you a favor at that time.”
In the evening light, Marakas par el’Sol awoke. He could not say why; no sound greeted him when he sat up in the confines of his poor tent. Such a tent as this had not been his home for some time, but he was Radann; he was not trapped by the finery that rank bestowed.
He could not stand in the small tent, but felt no loss of dignity when required to crawl through its narrow length to push aside its flap.
The Lady’s face was bright in the night sky. There were clouds, thin as fine, Northern lace, that obscured the paler of the stars, but she was undimmed. Silver light shone. Without hesitation, he reached for his dagger and his wineskin. He broke dirt with the tip and the flat of unsheathed steel, making the most primitive of bowls by dint of his effort. Into these, he dripped water with care, and wine with abandon. She would understand.
The Sea of Sorrows was before him, and not even the most fanatic of her followers denied themselves water here.
On that day, too many years ago, he had made his peace with the Lady.
Funny, that he should think of Fredero during the Lady’s time. It was Amelia who most often came back to him; Amelia and the ghost of a son whose smile was so bright, whose joy was so infectious, they could only continue to exist encased in memory.
But they stood in shadows this eve; it was the kai el’Sol whose spirit the Lady invoked.
And as he had done on
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