Four years ago you could have gone home, Ansset, but today you can't.
He pressed his face into her hand. Mother, I found you only days before I left the Songhouse; this is the first year I've spent with you. Don't leave me again.
She sighed, and the sigh was a song of regret and love that Ansset heard and understood but did not forgive. I don't want regret. I want to go home.
And what would you do there, Ansset?
It was a question he had not thought of, probably because he knew in secret that the answer would hurt, and he tried to avoid pain these days.
What would he do there? He could not sing, and so he could not teach. He had governed a world and helped to rule an empire-would he be content as a Blind, running the small business affairs of the Songhouse? He would be useless there, and the Songhouse would be a constant reminder to him of all that he had lost. For in the Songhouse there was no escaping the songs: the children sang in all the corridors, and the songs came from the windows into the courtyard, and whispered in the walls, and vibrated gently in the stone underfoot. Ansset would be worse off than even Kyaren had been, for she at least had never sung and did not know what it was she lacked. Better for the mute to live among other mutes, where no one would notice his silence and he would not miss his lost voice.
I would do nothing there, Ansset said. Except love you.
I'll remember that, she said. With all my heart.
And she held him close and cried again because she was leaving-in front of Ansset she had no need of Control.
Before I go, there's something I want you to do for me.
Anything.
I want you, she said, to come with me to see Riktors.
His face set hard, and he shook his head.
Ansset, he isn't the same man.
All the more reason not to go.
Ansset, she said sternly, and he listened. Ansset, there are places in you that I can't heal, and there are places in Riktors that I can't heal. His wounds were torn by your song; your injuries were made by his interference in your life. Don't you think that what I can't heal, you might be able to heal?
Ansset did not answer.
Ansset, she said, meaning to be obeyed, You know that you still love him.
No, Ansset said.
Ansset, your love was never slight. You gave without bar, and received without caution, and just because it brought pain doesn't mean that it is gone.
And so she led him slowly up to Riktors's rooms. Riktors was standing at the window, looking out as he usually did, watching the birds settle on the lawns. He did not turn until they had been there for several minutes. At first he saw only Esste, and smiled. Then he saw Ansset, and grew sober.
They studied each other in silence, both waiting for the terrible emotions to come back. But they did not come. There was wistfulness, and sorrow, and a memory of friendship and pain, but there was no pain itself, and grief and guilt had faded. Ansset was surprised to discover how much hate he did not feel, and so he walked closer to Riktors even as Riktors walked closer to him.
I will not be your friend as I was, Ansset said silently to the man who was now his height, for Riktors bent a little and Ansset had grown. But I will be your friend as I can be.
And in the silence between them Riktors's eyes seemed to say the same things.
Hello, Ansset said.
Hello, Riktors answered.
They said little else, for there was little enough to say. But when Esste left the room, they stood together at the window, looking out, watching the hawks hunting and shouting instructions at the birds desperately trying to survive.
4
Riktors died three years afterward, in the spring, and in his will he asked the empire to accept Ansset as his heir. It seemed the natural thing to do, since Riktors had no children and their love for each other was legendary. So Ansset was crowned and reigned for sixty years, until he was eighty-two years old, always with the help of Kyaren and the Mayor; privately they regarded each other as equals, though it was Ansset's head that wore the crown.
They became beloved, all of them, as Mikal and Riktors, who had made many enemies, could never have been loved. The stories gradually came out, about Ansset and Mikal and, Riktors and Josif and Kyaren and the Mayor; they became myths that people could cling to, because they were true. The stories were told, not in public meetings, where it might be politic to praise the rulers of the empire, but in private, in homes where people marveled at the things the great ones suffered, while children dreamed of being Songbirds, loved by everyone, so that someday they could become emperors on the golden throne at Susquehanna.
The legends amused Ansset because they had grown so in the telling, and touched Kyaren because she knew it was a reflection of the people's love. But it changed nothing. In the middle of the government, surrounded by work for a hundred thousand worlds, they managed to make a family of it. Every night they would come home together, Mayor and Kyaren as husband and wife, with Efrim the oldest of their children; and Ansset was the uncle who never took a wife, who acted more like the older brother to everyone, who played with the children and talked with the parents but then, in the end, went alone to his bedroom where the noise of the family penetrated softly, as if from a great distance.
You are mine, but you are not mine, Ansset said. I am yours, but you hardly know it.
He was not unhappy.
But he wasn't happy, either.
5
This is a hell of a thing to spring on us, Kyaren said crossly.
If you expect either of us to take the crown, you're going to be disappointed, the Mayor said.
I wouldn't give you the crown if you wanted it, Ansset said smiling. I'm getting old, and you're even older. So to hell with you. He turned and called across the room, where Efrim was talking to two of his brothers while he held his youngest grandson in his arms. Efrim, Ansset called. Are you ready to be emperor?
Efrim laughed, but then saw that Ansset was not laughing. He came to the table where his parents and his uncle sat. You're joking? he asked.
Are you ready? I'm leaving.
Where?
Does it matter?
Don't make it such a mystery, Kyaren said, cutting in. He has some crazy idea that the Songhouse is aching to have him come home.
Ansset was still smiling, still watching Efrim's face.
You're really abdicating?
Efrim, Ansset said, letting himself sound impatient, yon knew damn well you'd be emperor someday. How many of my children do you see crowding around? Now I ask you, are you ready?
Yes, Efrim answered seriously.
When Mikal abdicated, it took him only a couple of weeks. I won't dally so long. Tomorrow.
Why so quickly? Kyaren asked.
I've made up my mind. I want to do it. I'm wasting time waiting here.
If you just want to visit, Ansset, visit, the Mayor said. Stay on Tew for a few months. Then decide.
You don't understand, Ansset said. I don't want to go there as emperor. I want to go there as Ansset. Not even Ansset the former Songbird. Just Ansset who's willing to sweep or clean stables or any damn thing they have for me to do, but don't you understand? This is home for you, and for me too, in a way--
In every way--
No. Because you belong here. But this isn't what I was born for. I'm not right here. I was raised among songs. I want to die among them,
Esste's dead, Ansset. She died years ago. Will you even know anyone there? You'll just be a stranger. Kyaren looked worried, but Ansset reached out and playfully smoothed the wrinkles on her forehead. Don't bother, she said, brushing his hand away. They've been permanently engraved.