She’d removed her Sona outercoat, willing to sweat in the inner. The rains might be over for the day, but that only made the biters worse. Her knife was free and in her hand, having just dealt with an overly bold stinger. Home, she thought, taking another deep breath.
Daughter. Taisal’s greeting held an undertone of threat.
Home, indeed. Mother, Aryl acknowledged, her reply through the M’hir holding them together. Are you well?
You shouldn’t be here.
I’ll leave soon. Before firstnight. She had no interest in feeding the canopy’s hunters. Until then…Aryl feasted her eyes on what was, beyond doubt, the most beautiful part of Cersi.
There are none for your Choice in Yena.
Which wasn’t true. Aryl’s inner sense had found two, from their direction both inside the Yena Cloisters, but she didn’t argue. Haven’t the Tikitik rebuilt the village?
We are patient.
They were prisoners. Aryl kept in her pity. Taisal and the others had picked their path. Still…
Tuana. Sona. Do you know what’s happened?
I know what you’ve done. Fury mixed with fear. All of it. Did you think you could change the face of the world and no one would die?
How old was the grove? Aryl wondered for the first time. How many times had it been destroyed and regrown? How many times had Yena been Oud, then Tikitik, then Oud…with Om’ray lives the cost?
Do you think we can leave the world as it is, Mother, she sent, and live?
Taisal listened. She knew it. And heard. The M’hir eased between them, if only slightly. We do what we must for our people.
Yes. Her people. Aryl thought of them all, pictured each of the Yena exiles for her mother. They’ve done well.
Too well, she realized suddenly. There couldn’t have been a better group to bring Sona back to life. Beyond their Talent and Power, they had all the knowledge they needed, the strength and courage and drive to take any challenge, even a Birth Watcher. Given a chance, nothing would stop them, if they were together.
Her sense of Taisal faded, as if her mother had followed that thought and tried now to slip away. Aryl sent Power through their link to hold it.
How did you pick us, Mother? It wasn’t just those with Forbidden Talent. How did you decide who to exile?
Taisal fought free, began to vanish. But then, ever-so-faint, came her answer.
We dreamed.
The branch on which she sat was larger and stronger than any of the stalks grown at Sona, the nekis itself a mountain by comparison. A frond from the neighboring rastis crossed over her head, seeking light. As for light…it was time. Standing on her toes, Aryl ran her fingers along the soft gray down of its underside. A farewell.
The branch swayed and she staggered to regain her balance. The thick Sona boots.
She bent to take them off.
“Won’t you need those?”
Enris. Suddenly there, in front of her. Like turning on a glow in the dark.
He glanced down and sat quickly, hands grabbing hold of the branch. “Why did I think cliffs were bad?”
Aryl frowned at him. “Why are you here?”
“You Called me.”
She hadn’t. She’d quenched the slightest urge. Which had been, she realized desperately, much easier before he arrived. “I didn’t. Go away.”
The annoying Tuana merely made himself comfortable. “I came to bring you home. It’s getting dark.”
“This is home,” Aryl told him. “This is what I am—nothing else. Not their leader. Not a Speaker. Just me, here. Nothing else.”
He made a noncommittal sound, and shooed a biter interested in his bare arm.
No coat. Clean clothes. Mended scratches. His hair shone. Aryl narrowed her eyes. “You used the ’fresher.” She felt itchy under her damp coat.
“Worin needs to stay with Marcus. Yuhas took the rest back to Sona. To meet those coming from Sona,” he corrected. “My guess is Haxel wants to know about the new arrivals.”
“What will they say about—about how you—Enris, we can’t let them tell the others about moving through the M’hir, not until they understand the dangers!”
“Oh, I’d say they all know what we can do now. Stop worrying. Marcus warned us until his face turned blue, and no one else knows how until we show them.” The big Tuana shifted and frowned. “You could have run somewhere with padding.”
“I didn’t,” Aryl said stiffly, “run.”
“’Port, then.” His lips quirked. “In order to run. From me.”
“Go away.” She walked out to the tip of the branch, feeling it dip under her weight, riding the motion.
Then it dipped a great deal more.
Aryl whirled around. “Stay where you are.”
Enris stopped, knees partially bent, arms out and tipping from side to side. He looked ridiculous. And anxious.
And oddly determined. “Come here, then.”
“No.”
He took another step, almost losing his balance, seriously risking hers.
“Do you want me to fall?” she complained. “Stop!”
An eyebrow lifted. “Thought Yena don’t fall.”
“They do if a clumsy oversized Om’ray fool shakes the branch! Stop!” Quickly, when he raised his foot.
He was impossible. Aryl took three quick steps. “There.”
“Closer.”
“Move back.”
Enris looked over his shoulder, teetered alarmingly, then eased toward the trunk, where the branch was wider and stronger. One step. Two. A slip and Aryl’s heart pounded. “Be careful!”
Another two steps put him on better footing. “Your turn,” he challenged. “If you can.”
“I live here, remember?” Aryl began to walk easily along the branch, Sona boots or not.
Without warning, Enris stepped forward again, meeting her where the branch was not wide enough to pass.
She’d forgotten how tall he was.
“This is no place for games, Tuana,” Aryl warned him. “You’ll fall.”
“Then you’ll have to catch me.” He held out his hand. “You will, won’t you, Aryl Sarc?”
This wasn’t about falling or catching.
She couldn’t move. Could hardly breathe. “Don’t.” The urge within her was rising, nameless and wild.
Enris didn’t smile, didn’t laugh. His face was weary with grief, his eyes unutterably sad. “Don’t what, Chooser of my heart?” he asked softly. “Don’t reach for the only joy I can feel in this world? Don’t hope, in case I fail? Some risks are worth—”
Aryl stopped his mouth with hers, his taste ending all thought. Her right hand found his arm, trailed the rise of muscle and bone, reveled in the fine hair and warmth of his skin, until their fingers met and intertwined, until their palms met and…
…Power sought Power, mind sought mind.
Found!
Fire struck metal and took away its shape. Water found slope and carved its own channel. The M’hir Wind screamed through chasms and split rock, reached the canopy and tore limbs, found the rastis and freed its wings to soar in a sky…
…a sky of heartbreaking color and movement and life, as if every moment of happiness had been tossed too high to reach, waiting until they could lift each other there…until two…
…became one.
Interlude
AND fell.
Not fair, Enris complained as he tried in vain to grab one of the thousands of branches whipping by his face. Just when…