“I intend no harm,” she said finally, cold inside. “I want the best for my people. For all Om’ray. To stop us dying needlessly.”
Enris came and sat beside her, making a show of looking for rocks first. He tossed a few aside. Once settled, he nudged her with his wide shoulder. “You want us to fly, Aryl Sarc. The only harm I see is if we fall.”
A Yena caution. To check a handhold before trusting your weight to it was the first, vital training. She’d nearly cost Enris his life, drawing him into the M’hir when she hadn’t checked it was safe, and he knew it.
Aryl raised her hands to gesture a profound apology. Enris trapped them in one of his. “Don’t. What happened to me wasn’t your fault. You saved my life.”
She tugged free. “After almost losing it!”
“What matters to me is the M’hir. How you move through it. Whether I ever can.” Enris used a giant from his pile of splinters to prod others deeper into the fire. “The truth, Aryl?” with a wary glance her way and a sense of determination. “You were right. Back in Tuana, something did happen to me. I was…there was a Chooser. Powerful. Beautiful.” His voice became a low rumble. “I wasn’t ready. She was. I didn’t want her.” This with a twist to his lips as if at a foul taste. “She wanted me. Maybe she couldn’t stop herself. Maybe she didn’t care.” When he paused, Aryl held her breath. “She tried to force me to answer her Call. I refused.” He shoved the heavy length of wood violently into the rest, showering sparks into the air. “That’s when my mind fled into the M’hir.”
Aryl struggled to grasp what he was telling her. She’d never heard such a thing. How could an unChosen refuse Choice? Why would he? Wasn’t it the most wonderful moment of an Om’ray’s life? Whatever you’d felt about each other before, heart-kin or stranger, Joining made you one for the rest of your lives and ridiculously happy to be so.
Didn’t it?
“Afterward,” Enris continued, his voice flat, “the Adepts told me I was damaged. They couldn’t promise I’d ever be able to complete Choice—that it would be better for Tuana if I sought a future elsewhere.” He shrugged. “So I did.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said without thinking.
His laugh was bitter. “While I appreciate your high regard, Aryl Sarc, you’re hardly—”
“I know. I saw you. In the M’hir.” She’d held the fragments of his mind together, felt them. There’d been no flaw, no injury. Whole again, Enris had been solid Power, a boulder the dark currents could only fling themselves against or pass around, not force out of place.
Hurt and terrified—she’d seen that, too. All of which explained why he took Passage to solve a mystery, not to seek Choice.
It didn’t explain why he’d been sent on Passage in the first place. Her heart thudded heavily. Could she? “Do Tuana unChosen often refuse a Chooser?” Aryl asked carefully.
She’d startled him. “What?” A hint of embarrassment. “How should I know? I don’t talk about such things.”
Making Enris different from other unChosen of her experience—not that Aryl was surprised. “I’d think a—” she hunted a word that wouldn’t offend him, “—an ability like that would be noticed.” Without delight by Choosers, she was quite sure.
“‘Ability?’” If she’d startled him before, he was appalled now. “I’ve seen my cousins lose all sense about each other, but that’s their decision, not mine.”
“Didn’t your parents teach you anything about Choice?”
Enris managed to grow larger, though he hadn’t moved. Like a brofer puffing itself up in self-defense. “I had,” he said stiffly, “more important things to learn.”
“Apparently not.”
“And I suppose you’re going to teach me?”
No. Not. Never. Aryl didn’t bother to say any of that aloud. Instead, she circled back to where they started. “You weren’t damaged.”
Enris flicked an escaping ember back to the fire. “The Adepts—”
“Lied.”
“Not every Adept is like your mother!” He gestured a quick apology. “Aryl, I—”
“You’re a fool,” she retorted. “Like I was. Adepts protect the Agreement by preventing change. Change like me—and like you, Enris Mendolar. I’ve never heard of an unChosen able to refuse a Chooser’s Call. I can’t imagine it. But you did it. You still do. You ignored Seru. You dismissed Grona’s Choosers. Let alone how you entered the M’hir.” He took a sharp breath as if to argue. She didn’t let him. “Don’t you see? You proved yourself a threat to be removed for the good of your Clan.
“You’re right, Enris,” she finished. “Not every Adept is like my mother. Tuana’s gave you a chance to live.”
He jumped up and strode away without a word, the crunch of his boots ending a few steps into the dark. She let him be and watched the flames, careful to keep her thoughts to herself. Not easy, remembering the moment she and the others had been exiled. None had believed they’d survive the first truenight; without the Human’s help, none would have. Yet was it Taisal’s fault that Yena had had no supplies to share, no safe road of dirt and stone for their feet?
She couldn’t forgive the decision, but suddenly she wondered. Was it one only a Yena could have made? Despite its beauty and lush life, the canopy was a harsh existence. She doubted other Om’ray faced death every day or fell asleep to screams. It made Yena strong. Had it made them ruthless, too?
If she believed it necessary for the good of her people, would she do what her mother—what Yena’s Adepts—had done?
No, Aryl assured herself. In Sona, they would find another way. She would protect her kind, never waste their lives.
The fire snapped and crackled to itself. Then, from the dark, a contented “Hmm,” as if Enris had discovered a forgotten sweet in his pocket.
Crunchcrunchcrunch. When the firelight caught his face as he sat, he looked younger. His face might have shed lines of grief or anger or both. Noticing her attention, the Tuana flashed his grin. “So you’re saying I’m special.”
Her lips quirked. “What you are is annoying.”
“More than special.” The grin widened. “Unique. Perfect!”
“Insufferable,” Aryl countered.
“With, according to you, my wise little Yena, my pick of Cersi’s Choosers!”
“How could any be worthy?” That made him laugh. Her chuckle died in her throat.
What would it be like, to offer her hand and have an unChosen refuse it? She felt a rush of sympathy for Seru—and for the unknown Tuana who’d wanted Enris so desperately.
What would it be like to have an unChosen—no, not any unChosen, but Enris Mendolar—have him take her hand, knowing it meant he wanted her more than any other?
Suddenly too warm, Aryl coughed and sputtered in an anguish of embarrassment. “S–smoke,” she managed in answer to his quizzical look, glad her shields must have kept the wildly errant thought private.
Enris laughed, then bumped her shoulder companionably once more. “Choosers will have to wait. I’m in no hurry to complicate my life. What matters is the M’hir. You’re the Adept there. Do you believe I can ever use it?” Lightly, as if all he asked was for another rokly stick.
“It’s not safe,” she evaded hoarsely.
“What is?” A pause. “Your turn. The truth, Aryl Sarc. Can I try the M’hir again? When I’m ready,” he said in hasty addition. “My head still spins.”
She could say no. Should say it. Protect him from himself.
Her teeth caught her lower lip. For how long? Until curiosity overwhelmed caution? Oh, that would be the first moment the Tuana was bored. Until he was truly desperate, with no other choice but to try again? Courage, Enris had in abundance.
Doubt made any handhold fail.
Aryl bumped her shoulder into his. “You’ve touched the M’hir. Sent a roof into it,” she reminded him. “You’re as much an Adept there as I am. Learn from what went wrong, like anything else. Be careful.”