“No.”
“And he does not remember me or our son?”
“He has not ‘met’ you in his past as yet. Nor has he yet confronted the decision that caused his execution-the decision that abandoned your child and your friends to death and you to humiliation and exile. My aim is to restore the man that made that decision, not to change him into someone else whose choice might have suited you better. Can you leave aside your feelings about those events as you speak to him?”
His gaze was penetrating, and as unrelenting as his harsh words. When he had been arrested, Karon had chosen not to use his power to save himself or the rest of us, believing that use of sorcery to injure others-even his captors-was a fundamental violation of the healing gift he had been given, sacrilege. Anger and bitterness at his choice had blighted my life for ten years. “My feelings about his decision are unchanged, Dassine, but neither would I change the heart that made it. I’ll wait until he is whole again to resolve our disagreement.”
Though his eyes lingered on my face, the sorcerer jerked his head in satisfaction. “Understand that he also remembers nothing of the events of last summer or your journey together. They will need to be relived in their turn. He is, to put it mildly, in a state of confusion, a most delicate state which you must do nothing to upset. This is really not a good time to bring him. Not at all.” Clearly, this argument with himself was not a new dispute.
“Then why did you?”
Dassine sighed and leaned his chin on his white cane. “I know you think me cruel to have imprisoned Karon’s soul for so long, and wicked to have arranged D’Natheil’s mortal injury. And so I may be. What I do with him now is painful and exhausting as well. Every memory I give him must live again. Every sensation, every emotion, every sound, every smell… the experiences of days or months compressed into a few hours until his senses are raw. I press him hard, for though we have this interval that he won for us by his actions at the Gate, I don’t know how long it will last. ”
“Your war is not ended, then?”
“The assaults on Avonar have ceased-a blessing, of course. But our peace is uneasy and unaccustomed. No one knows quite what to do. The people of Avonar rejoice that the Heir of D’Arnath lives, and they know that he was somehow changed by his journey here in the summer and his victory at the Bridge, but they’ve not yet seen him. He has managed to put off the Preceptors with a brief audience, but their patience is wearing thin. And the Lords of Zhev’Na… our enemies, too, wait… and we do not know for what. I must use this time to bring back our Heir to lead us.” Dassine rapped his stick on the frozen ground as if some Zhid warrior were hiding under the snow. A rabbit scuttered out from under the bench and paused under a fallen trellis, twitching indignantly. “But I’ve no wish to kill him. He needs an hour’s respite… and someone other than his taskmaster to share it with.”
“What must I do?” I said.
“Follow my instructions precisely. Say nothing of your acquaintance and marriage. Nothing of your friends. Nothing-absolutely nothing-of his death. They are not his memories yet, and to mention them could do irreparable harm. If he speaks of himself-either self-then let him. As far as he knows, you are a friend of mine and know his history, but have met him only this year.”
“Then what can I say to him?”
“Be a friend to him. Ease him. You were his friend before you were his wife. Now go. He thinks I’m here to consult an old ally, but, in truth, I’m tired and plan to take a nap.”
Before I could ask even one of my hundred questions, Dassine leaned back, closed his eyes, and vanished. There was nothing to do but walk toward the end of the path.
He stood motionless, solitary, bathed in winter sunlight, facing a gnarled, bare-limbed tree that creaked in the cold. The white hood masked his profile, and his arms were folded into his white cloak, so that he might have been some strange snowdrift left in the garden by the passing storm, something only an enchanter could transform into human shape. I didn’t even know what name to call him. “Good morning, Your Grace,” I said, dipping my knee.
He bowed to me in answer to my greeting, but said nothing and did not raise his hood to reveal his face. He remained facing the tree.
“The tree is a lambina,” I said, “native to lands well east and south of here, lands less extreme in their climate. In spring it flowers, brilliant yellow blossoms as large as your hand, their scent very delicate, like lemon and ginger. When the flowers fade in early summer, they don’t fall, but float away on the first breeze like bits of yellow silk. Then the tree blooms again, almost immediately, small, white, feathery flowers with bright yellow centers, each in a cluster of waxy green leaves. It’s very beautiful.”
“I’ve seen it,” he said, so softly that I almost didn’t hear him. “The leaves turn dark red in autumn.”
“This one hasn’t bloomed in many years. I’m hoping it’s only dormant.”
With movements spare and graceful, he stepped across the snowy lawn to the tree and laid a hand on its gnarled trunk. “There is life in it.”
Beneath my warm cloak, the hairs on my arms prickled. “I’m glad to know that.”
“You’re Lady Seriana, Dassine’s friend.” So strange to hear the disembodied voice coming from the shapeless robe and drooping hood. I strained to hear some trace of the person I knew in the quiet words.
“He said you might like someone to talk to while he was about his business.”
“Please don’t feel obliged. It’s cold out here, and you’d be more comfortable inside. I’ll await my keeper as he commanded. He knows he needn’t set a guard on me.”
“I don’t consider it a burden to speak with you.”
“A curiosity, perhaps.”
“I’ll ask no questions.”
“And answer none? Dassine’s not very good at it- answering questions, that is. I can’t imagine he would permit someone else to answer things that he would not.”
I smiled at this wry disgruntlement, even as I blinked away an unwanted pricking in my eyes. “I’ll confess that he’s asked me to be circumspect.”
“Then you do know more than I.” His curiosity tugged at the conversation like a pup.
“About some things.”
“It sets quite a burden on an acquaintance when one knows more than the other.” The note I detected in his voice was not anger. Nor did it seem to be resentment that kept his countenance hidden under his hood. I felt the blood rush to his skin as if it were my own. Earth and sky, he was embarrassed.
I shook the crusted snow off a sprangling shrub, and the branches bounced up, showering me with ice crystals and almost hitting me in the face. “I think this could be considered an interesting variation of acquaintance,” I said, brushing the chilly dusting off my cloak. “And, as many things have happened since I met you last, we should start again anyway, don’t you think?”
“I certainly have no choice in the matter.” His tone demonstrated a most familiar irony and good humor. My heart soared.
“All right, then. We shall ignore all past acquaintance and begin right now. You may call me Seri. I am thirty-six years old, and I live in this hoary edifice you see before you. A temporary situation, though there was a time- Ah, I forget myself. No past. I am a poor relation to the lord who rules here, though circumstances have placed me in charge of the household-not an inconsiderable responsibility. I am well educated, though not as up-to-date in many areas as I’d like, and I have a secret ambition to teach history in our kingdom’s center of learning. Now tell me of yourself.”