“You make it sound like a battle,” Aryl protested, her breath coming fast and hard.
For those of great Power, it is. Her aunt gestured apology. “You need to know, Aryl. To be prepared. Seru can accept any unChosen, her Choice will be easy. But with you nearby, no one will want her. They’ll turn to you instead—they must. They’ll respond to your Call, to your greater Power, like wastryls scenting fresh dresel.”
“Now I’m a prize?” She didn’t want to hear this. She wanted Myris to stop.
No. That wasn’t true. Something deep inside her responded to the words, to what she was being told. Something believed.
Something rejoiced.
“Choice cannot be forced on a Chooser. You must offer it. But you can’t complete your Choice with an unChosen who is less in Power. I may be weak for a Sarc,” Myris stroked her cheek again, “but my Power to Choose was not. Ael had to struggle against me at first. I was afraid I’d lose him, that our Joining would fail, that I’d stay incomplete. You can’t imagine how that felt.”
She could. She’d lost Bern and thought it the worst that could happen.
Until she’d lost Enris.
Aryl paced away, then back. “What am I supposed to do, Myris? Walk up to every unChosen in Sona and try to measure their Power against mine, then pick the one I want?”
“Those of great Power can’t plan their Choice, Aryl, or control it. That’s what I’m trying to explain. Seru’s drive is not as strong as yours will be. It’s let her wait. Parths can be patient.” Her aunt’s hands were restless; she clasped them together. “My sister loved Sian. Did you know? They were heart-kin from childhood. When Taisal became a Chooser, she wanted Sian and he wanted her. But it was Mele who stopped her on that bridge at firstlight, Mele whose Power matched hers, Mele who became sud Sarc.” Myris’ lips twitched. “For which we were all grateful, let me tell you. Taisal was making truenight a misery for everyone.”
“My parents were happy together,” Aryl countered, tight-lipped. Had this been why Sian visited their home so often? Not to debate with a fellow Adept, or not only that, but to be near someone he could never have?
“The Chosen are—” Myris seemed to rethink what she was going to say. “You aren’t a child, Aryl, to be told Joining is about love and companionship. Neither of those require Choice. Choice is deeper, wilder. It’s the body’s need: to claim a mate, to mature, to breed. Yes, the Chosen are obsessed with one another—until the urge to have children ends. After that? Our bond remains; what we do with it depends on us. I will always love Ael and he, me. We are partners. But you’ve seen how Oran rules Bern, Hoyon’s disdain for his Chosen. You need to be strong. Sure of what you want. Rule, if you must. You can’t let your Chosen take you from us.”
Aryl stared at her aunt. “Haxel sent you to talk to me.” The First Scout didn’t wait for events to happen, not if she could anticipate them. “Why?” At the ripple of dismay she felt, she knew. “The Caraats. Haxel actually believes I’ll Choose Oran’s brother?” She laughed; she couldn’t help it.
Myris looked offended. “He’s the most Powerful unChosen in Sona.”
“No,” Aryl replied, sure of one thing. “I am.”
Whatever worries and fears her aunt had managed to increase, not ease, Aryl was relieved when she joined the rest for supper in the meeting hall. No one gave her odd looks or moved aside. As usual, hands lifted to hers as she passed; grateful beyond words, she sent strength back through each touch.
Not every hand. Oran and Hoyon sat together against a wall, Bern and Kran nearby. Seru managed to be busy serving soup and didn’t look up.
But tiny Yao reached up from Oswa’s lap and both returned Aryl’s smile.
Anxiety and anticipation rilled from mind to mind, as noticeable as the increasing howl of wind outside. They could all sense those approaching. At their rate of travel, the newcomers should arrive tonight.
She should be grateful for that distraction, Aryl decided ruefully. Otherwise, the topic of conversation would doubtless be her apparently obvious-to-everyone-else condition.
Which was on the minds of some regardless. When it was her turn to receive a bowl from Seru, her cousin quickly handed it to Rorn and moved to the far side of the cook fire. Hurt, Aryl stared after her.
“She can’t help it.” Rorn added a spoon with this matter-of-fact explanation. “Close to you, no one will hear her. Choosers have an instinct.”
No longer hungry, Aryl accepted the bowl and hurriedly moved away.
Haxel made room for her at the end of one of the tables. “We’ll need to eat in shifts once they’re here,” she said with no preamble. “Fifteen? You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.” Aryl watched the steam rise from her soup, toyed with her spoon. She could feel Kran’s eyes on her, but he was, as she’d hoped, easy to ignore. Murmurs of conversation filled the room like glows. This was more than they’d hoped—to have numbers so soon, to be a Clan.
At what price? We need to tell them about the Oud and Tikitik.
Haxel made a dismissive sound. Speaker’s business.
The pendant was stored beneath her tunic. Nonetheless, Aryl felt its weight.
It wasn’t as heavy as other secrets. She tried a mouthful, made herself swallow. One sending, here and now. She could tell them all about the M’hir, how to move through it. One sending, and she could abdicate responsibility for keeping that ability from the strangers. Make whatever happened willful Ziba’s fault, or earnest young Fon’s, or power-hungry Oran’s.
Aryl put down her spoon.
“No appetite?” Morla, on her other side, leaned in. “I was the same as a Chooser. Ate nothing but fresh baked dresel cake for a fist. Hungry for something else, let me tell you.”
“Leave her be.” Veca gave Aryl a sympathetic look. “Don’t let anyone tell you how you should feel, Aryl. Everyone’s different. I couldn’t stand company—until I found Tilip.” This with a softening of her usually dour features.
“Rorn found me,” Haxel volunteered. “Not that I objected.” The three Chosen shared a laugh.
Aryl pushed away her bowl and rose to her feet. “I have to check on the Oud.”
She didn’t run from the meeting hall.
She did, however, manage to be out the door before anyone else could comment on Choosing, Choice, and her future.
Snowdrops played in the wind, the thick fluffy kind Aryl had learned found its way through eyelashes and down necks. Drifts were forming again, white scratches against the dark ground. The fire in front of the meeting hall melted the nearest to black puddles.
“Hello, Aryl.” Juo was on watch tonight, a pair of eyes and a nose peering from a bundle of coats, scarves, and blankets. “Come to join me?”
Enris had sensed her unborn was a daughter, a Chooser-to-Be. Aryl felt a sudden rush of sympathy.
“Haxel sent me to check on the Oud,” she said. Which the First Scout likely would have done, had she not been preoccupied.
“In truenight?” Juo shuddered. None of the Yena had lost their aversion to the dark. “I thought they’d stay in their tunnels. They have glows down there. Enris said so.”
Enris. The fire grew brighter, the air colder, the fog of breath from her nostrils detailed and strange. She felt something shift, the M’hir close in, and desperately focused on Juo. “They use glows to work outside with their machines—did you see that at Grona?”
“True. Are you sure you don’t want to sit with me? Watch for them from here?”
She didn’t know what she wanted.