"I know."
"I don't want to be ... who I am. I was happier before, Royina. But everyone thinks I should be praying my thanks."
She returned him an ironic smile. "Be sure, I am not one of them. But—your soul is your own, now, to make of what you will. We are all of us, every one, our own works; we present our souls to our Patrons at the ends of our lives as an artisan presents the works of his hands."
"If it is so, I am too marred, Royina."
"You are unfinished. They are discerning Patrons, but not, I think, impossible to please. The Bastard said to me, from His own lips—"
Dy Cabon's breath drew in.
"—that the gods did not desire flawless souls, but great ones. I think that very darkness is where the greatness grows from, as flowers from the soil. I am not sure, in fact, if greatness can bloom without it. You have been as god-touched as any here; do not despair of yourself, for I think the gods have not."
The dim gray eyes reddened, edged with water's gleam. "I am too old to start over."
"You have more years ahead of you now than Pejar, half your age, whom we buried outside these walls these two days past. Stand before his grave and use your gift of breath to complain of your limited time. If you dare."
He jerked a little at the steel in her voice.
"I offer you an honorable new beginning. I do not guarantee its ending. Attempts fail, but not as certainly as tasks never attempted."
He vented a long exhalation. "Then... that being so, and knowing what you know of me—which is, I think, more than ever I confessed to anyone, living or dead—I am your man if you will have me, Royina."
"Thank you, Captain: I shall. As my master of horse, you will take your instructions from my seneschal. I think you will find him a tolerable commander."
Goram smiled a little at that, and saluted her farewell.
Dy Cabon stood by her a moment, watching him exit the court. His face was troubled.
"Well, Learned? How do you feel about your witnessing now?"
He sighed. "You know, this god-touched business wasn't as much . .. urn ... as much pleasure as I thought it would be, back in Valenda when we started. I was terribly excited, in secret, to be picked out to do the god's work."
"I did try to tell you, back in Casilchas."
"Yes. I think I understand better, now."
"My court is going to need a divine, too, you know. As I am to become a lay dedicat of the Bastard's Order, of a sort, I think you might suit me very well. We will likely be riding into the Five Princedoms. If you truly aspire to martyrdom, as your early sermons to me implied, you may still have a chance."
He blushed deeply. "Five gods, but those were stupid sermons." He took a deep breath. "I'll be glad to forgo the martyr part. As for the rest, though—I will say you yes, Royina, with a glad heart. Even though I've had no dreams directing me. Well, especially as I've had no dreams directing me. Not so sure I want them, anymore." He hesitated, and added with a wholly inconsistent longing in his voice, "You did say— you did see Him face-to-face, in your dreams? Your real dreams?"
"Yes." Ista smiled. "Once, He borrowed your face to speak through. It appears that Someone thinks you not unworthy to wear His colors, Learned, to wear in turn the semblance of your flesh."
"Oh." Dy Cabon blinked, taking this in. "Is that so? Really? My goodness." He blinked some more. When he took his leave of her, his mouth was still tugging up.
IN THE EVENING AFTER SUPPER, WHEN THE SUN HAD SET AND WHITE stars were coming out in the cobalt sky above the stone court, Lord Illvin climbed the stairs and knocked on Ista's door. Liss admitted him to the outer chamber with a friendly dip of her knees. With a look of extreme bemusement on his face, he held out his hands to Ista.
"Look. I found these growing on the apricot tree in the forecourt, as I was passing through just now."
Liss peered. "They're apricots. Makes sense that's where they'd be ... doesn't it?" She hesitated.
The fruits were large and deeply colored, with a faint red blush upon their dark golden skins. Ista, bending to look, flared her nostrils at their heavy perfume. "They smell lovely."
"Yes, but... it is not the season. My mother planted that tree when I was born, and the almond for Arhys. I know when they're supposed to come ripe, I've watched them all my life. Not for months yet. There are still a few blossoms that haven't fallen, though half the leaves are gone. These two were hiding amongst the few that held on—I saw them by chance."
"How do they taste?"
"I was a little afraid to bite into them."
Ista smiled. "Out of season they may be, but I think they are not a disaster. I think they may be a gift. It will be all right." She pushed open the door of her inner chamber with one foot. "Come in. Let us try them."
"Urn," said Liss. "I can stay in sight, if you leave the door open, but I don't think I can get out of earshot."
Ista gave Illvin a tilt of her head, toward the inner door. "Excuse us a moment."
A little smile turning his mouth, he gave her a courtly nod and passed within. Ista pulled the door shut behind him, briefly, and turned to Liss. "I don't think I have explained to you yet about the other set of rules for discreet ladies-in-waiting ..."
She did so, in clear, succinct, but on the whole polite terms. Liss's eyes grew bright as the stars outside, as she listened attentively. Ista was relieved, though not surprised, that Liss seemed neither confused nor shocked. Ista hadn't quite expected enthusiastic, however. She found herself swept within, and the door firmly closed behind her, almost before she'd finished speaking.
"I think I shall go sit on the steps a while, dear Royina," Liss's voice called back faintly through the wood. "It's cooler. I think I shall like to sit out for quite a long time." Ista heard the outer door close, as well.
Illvin's eyes were crinkling with silent laughter. He held out one of the fruits to her; she took it, her hand jerking a little when her fingers accidentally brushed his. "Well," he said, raising his to his lips. "Let us both be brave, then ..."
She matched his bite. The apricot tasted as wonderful as it looked and smelled, and despite her attempts at daintiness, she ended with juice dribbling down her chin. She dabbed at it. "Oh, dear..."
"Here," he said, moving closer, "let me help you..."
The kiss lasted quite a long time, with his apricot-scented fingers winding pleasurably in her hair. When they paused for breath, she remarked, "I always feared it would take divine intervention to find me a lover ... I do believe I was right."
"Tch, tch, look at yourself, bittersweet Ista. Saint, sorceress, dowager royina of all Chalion-Ibra, converses with gods, when not cursing them—a man would have to be maniacally intrepid to even think of you in that rude way... . This is good. It will cut down on my rivals."
She couldn't help it; she giggled. She heard herself, and laughed, in wonder, in joy, in huge surprise. He tasted her laughter, too, as though it were miraculous apricots.
And I was afraid I wouldn't know how to do this.
He'd looked tall and splendid, in the long sweep of black tunic and trousers and boots, but he looked even better out of them, she thought, as she pulled him down beside her on her bed. The warm night demanded neither sheets nor blankets. She left a brace of candles burning, the better to see the god's gifts.