Alphena was suddenly glad to have become one of the people around Lady Hedia.
Hedia handed Alphena the two cups she had filled at the sideboard and sat down beside her. They sipped together.
The wine was straight from the jar. Alphena had already learned that what she drank with her mother was likely to be the pure vintage.
That was all right this time. Alphena took a deep draft. It was probably better this time, though she didn't expect to get drunk.
Hedia took another sip and looked at Alphena over the rim of her cup. "Who treated you unfairly, daughter?" she said. Her tone was mild but her face was not. "I may not be able to put it right, but there's a chance that I can demonstrate to those who wronged you that they have made a serious mistake."
"It's not me," Alphena said. She snatched up the napkin but she managed not to resume blubbering. "It was Uktena. I know what you think but he's not a monster, not really, he's a man, a brave man, and he, and he-"
She broke off because she found herself crying after all. She felt Hedia take the cup from her hand though she'd probably sloshed out half its contents already. A moment later, Hedia's arm went around her shoulders.
After a time, Alphena snuffled. She blew her nose hard into the napkin, then wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"Uktena is your name for Typhon, dear heart?" Hedia asked. Her voice was calm, hinting of no emotion except kindly concern.
"No!" Alphena said. Then, very quietly, she said, "Yes, I guess so. But it isn't fair. He only got that way because he had to fight Procron. His own people sent him away, put him in prison because they were afraid of him. He saved them!"
"Drink some more of this, dear," Hedia said, offering the cup again.
Either she had somehow refilled it or it was the one she had poured for herself. Alphena took a gulp, then second and third gulps.
"Did they have reason to be afraid of Uktena?" Hedia said. She lowered her arm but she continued to sit very close.
"Yes," Alphena whispered. "But it doesn't matter. He got that way by saving them! They can't cast him away like that, it isn't right!"
Hedia turned her face toward a wall where bolts of silk were stacked, but her eyes were far away. In a voice which throbbed with an emotion which Alphena couldn't identify, she said, "I suppose it must be right, dear, because that's what happens to soldiers all the time. We give them land to settle on the frontiers, because that way they don't come back to Carce. They're far too dangerous, you see."
Alphena looked at her. "He's a warrior," she said. "He fought for them."
"Yes, dear," Hedia said, meeting her eyes again. She smiled; a sort of smile. "The tribunes don't spend long out there, a year to be qualified for office and then come back to find jobs in the government. But sometimes a year is too long. They go away boys like your brother, and when they come back they're not really human."
She hugged Alphena again, harder; taking comfort this time, not trying to give it. "And there's nothing anyone can do, dear one, not after it's happened," Hedia said. "Except that sometimes we women can bring a little solace. Remember that, when you're older. Remember your friend Uktena."
Alphena swallowed. She put her cup down to free herself to embrace her mother.
Corylus fumbled with his body armor as he climbed the steps to the west entrance of the Altar of Peace. The orichalc cuirass was heavy, awkward, and it shone even during the rainstorm, calling unwanted attention to him. He would have taken it off before now, except that he couldn't get the catches to work.
On other days, the naked sprite beside him would have attracted even more attention, but the scattered fires and confusion had left many people running about the Field of Mars in states of undress. Coryla was more attractive than most, but the crowd was too excited about the flaming battle in the sky to pay attention to women, even pretty women.
As for the golden-furred Ancient on the sprite's other side-Carce was used to exotic animals. Mostly they died on the sand, shot by archers who stayed on the other side of the fence from their victims, but not a few came as pets for the Great and Good.
Pulto halted at the top. "Here, master," he said, reaching for the catches.
Corylus heard the click, click, click and felt the breastplate sag from his right side. "I got it on with no trouble," he muttered. "I've had it on and off lots of times since, since…"
His voice trailed off. He couldn't remember when all this had started. Days ago, but was a day in that dreamworld the same as one here in Carce?
"You take care of your business," Pulto said, lifting the breastplate away. "Then we'll get you to the baths and a long soak in the steam room. I ought to know what you need, as often as I've been standing where you are."
Blood still streaked the orichalc despite the storm which was only now slackening. The Minos had bled like a whale spouting when Corylus jerked his sword free; gore had covered his right arm as well.
"Right, take care of my duties," Corylus said. He looked into the altar enclosure, feeling his mind sharpen a little; tactical awareness became reflexive on the frontier, especially if you regularly visited the far side of the river.
"Don't worry about the east entrance," Pulto said. "I had some of Saxa's boys block the doorway with the deck of one of them crashed ships. They'll make sure nobody tries to move it while you're inside. Ah-I told'em you'd see them right for the work, you know?"
"Yes, of course," said Corylus. He had to finish this quickly; otherwise he'd fall asleep. "I don't think we'll be long."
The problem wasn't so much the stress of battle: he would normally still be keyed up by the humors which fighting had released into his system.
His present exhaustion came from the blur of time Corylus had spent in the dreamworld. The release of that tension, that existence in a place not meant for living men, had wrung him out more than he could have guessed before the strain released.
"Take as long as you need, master," Pulto said. "Nobody's going to bother you this way neither."
Pulto stepped to the center of the entrance and turned his back to the altar; his legs were spread slightly, and his hand was on a barely hidden sword hilt. No, nobody's going to bother us.
Pulto had stayed with Lenatus in Saxa's house after the attempt to catch the western magicians. That was the proper response for a non-commissioned officer in a crisis: if there wasn't an obvious solution, report to headquarters where people are paid to think beyond straight ranks and a sharp sword.
At the alarm, he had joined the Consul's entourage-figuring that reports of ships throwing lightning bolts in the clouds was likely to be cut from the same cloth as Corylus disappearing into thin air. He'd been right.
It had stopped raining, but water stood in shallow pools in the marble pavement and on the charred top of the central altar. The Ancient scraped a finger across the ash, then sniffed what he had caught under his nail. He grinned at Corylus.
The sprite touched the glass amulet, visible now that Corylus had taken off the breastplate. "What now, cousin?" she said.
Corylus licked his lips. "You both have helped me," he said. "You've saved me, many times. What is it that you want from me?"
The sprite laughed. "Freedom, of course," she said. "Freedom to die."
She looked at the Ancient. He gave a terse growl. He didn't move from where he stood by the altar, but the fur along his spine had rippled.
"Both of us want freedom," the sprite said. "But you would be a fool to free us, cousin. You need us."
Corylus took off the amulet and weighed the glass in his hand. He looked from the sprite to the Ancient. Neither of them moved.