"And I hate it because I want this one to have a mother and a father of its blood—" She was running out of breath and intensity. "—and to keep it, to keep it, instead of giving it away as I gave away Kalle, to be a mother, a true mother, even though I know you'll want no part of this child or this life."
Empty of everything save sluggish shock and a wish to end a pain I could not begin to comprehend—and thus would lessen by any attempt—I walked away from her on unsteady legs and stood at the stream's edge, staring into rushing water. Lost myself in the sound, the tumult, the motion that required no words, no decisions, no compromises.
The cantina stool was getting harder all the time.
I squatted, leaned, scooped up and drank water. Sluiced it over my face and through my hair. Considered falling face-first into the stream and drowning myself, just so I never had to find myself yet again so utterly, completely, incoherently stunned.
Too much. All of it, too much. And Del knew it. Expected my reaction. Because I had told her what I'd told everyone: no children for me.
Go? Oh no. I had sworn oaths to Del, though she was unaware. And these I would not break.
And then I thought, I'll be dead in twelve years.
I would never see the child as an adult, like Neesha. Another good-looking, smart kid with a head on his shoulders—or a girl with all the glorious beauty and strength of her mother.
But twelve years, ten years, were better than none.
It seemed, after all, there was no decision to make. No reluctance to forcibly sublimate. There was merely comprehension– and a little fear.
Then I remembered the dream. Me, alone, as everyone I knew—and some I didn't—walked away from me. That is what my life could be like. Me, refusing to accept responsibility for my own actions. Even for my children. And deserted because of it.
I'd survived hoolies all alone among the Salset. I wouldn't– couldn't—do it again.
I pressed myself up from the ground and went to Del. I cradled her jaw, smoothed back her hair, kissed her on the forehead, then took her into my arms.
Her body was stiff, her voice tight and bitter. "And here I was prodding Neesha to tell you his secret, when I've been keeping my own."
Into her ear I said, "I think I'd have figured it out one of these days even if you never said anything."
She pulled back. Walked away from me. Stood staring at something I couldn't see and probably never would. Her tone was oddly detached. "Don't worry, I don't expect you to stay."
It hurt. Badly. But I had done it to her. Had done it to myself.
She turned. The angles of her cheekbones were sharp as glass. Her eyes were ice. "I will not force a man to stay who has no wish to. I have been alone in much of what I've done since my family died; I can be alone in this."
I drew in a shaking breath that filled my head with light. "Well, it's not an entirely new idea, this being a father. I've had all of, oh, about a day to adjust to the idea of Neesha being mine."
Her tone was scathing. "Neesha is not a child."
"But it's a start. I mean, you're not going to drop this kid tonight or tomorrow." I paused. "When is it due?"
"Around six months from now."
I shrugged off-handedly, keeping it light. It was what she was accustomed to. "I figure if I can get used to having Neesha around, I can get used to a baby."
Del was not in the mood to be amused. "Babies are considerably more trouble than a twenty-three year-old man."
"Bascha …" I wanted to go to her, to take her into my arms once again. But I had learned to read her over the years, and that was not what she wished me to do. So I stayed where I was and told her the truth. "I knew when I stepped out of Sabra's circle and declared elaii-ali-ma that the life I'd known was over. I knew when Sahdri chopped off my fingers that the life I'd known was over. There on that island, with you lying next to me in the sand, I decided to build a school and become a shodo. Whether it's here or at Alimat isn't important; what matters is that I'd already made the decision to stick in one spot. Knowing there's to be a baby doesn't alter that." I paused. "Though I confess I'm not exactly sure how this has happened, since you made that pact with the gods. But then, I don't have much to do with gods—except when I curse—so what do I know?"
Her mouth compressed. "It happened because my song is over. Being gods, they knew it."
"Your song isn't over."
"That part of it is. I vowed to find my brother and kill Ajani." Her tone chilled. "Apparently they decided the pact no longer applied."
"Then make a new song. You're a sword-singer, after all."
Pain warped her words. "A sword-singer without a jivatma."
"Well, I've got one of those. And a terrible voice, as you've pointed out—you can sing for me."
It did not set her at ease. "This is not a casual decision, Tiger. This is a song that lasts a lifetime. Kalle I gave up. At the time it was all I could see, were I to achieve the goal I set myself, the goal that allowed me to survive. It wasn't a wrong choice; it was the only choice. But I am older now. I am different now. I have killed and will undoubtedly kill again; I know I will dance again. That is what I am; no child changes that."
"No," I agreed.
"But this time, I wish to preserve life. I have no goals beyond that, no song to sing, save I wish to make a new beginning with a new life." She said her walls had come down. I could hear in her voice the attempt to rebuild them, should it be necessary. "I will ask no man to do what he cannot do."
"Then don't ask me. Just tell me what you need. Now—or after the baby's born. If Alric can do it, I can."
One pale brow arched. "Do you really believe so?"
I needed badly to knock down the nascent walls. "Well, maybe only until the first time it spits up on me."
Her mouth twitched in a faint smile. "You missed all that with Neesha."
I feigned wide-eyed hope. "I don't suppose you could arrange for it to be born as a twenty-three-year-old?"
"Twenty-three-year-olds spit up. You spit up. That's what happens when you drink too much."
"As you found out."
Del sighed. The tension began to seep out of her shoulders. "As I found out."
"Look, bascha, what I said yesterday was the truth. I've never claimed to be a perfect man, and I won't ever claim to be a perfect father. And getting hit over the head with a cantina stool two days in a row is more than a little tough to take in! But if you'll give me the chance to do it—and forgive my lapses—I'll never say anything rude about how big you look when you're about ready to drop the kid."
"You don't drop a baby, Tiger; it isn't a foal. You have a baby. And you will too make rude comments."
"Well, all right, yes, I probably will. Some things I just can't change." I glanced around. "But I guess I can change where I'd planned to start a sword-dancing school. This place is beautiful.
Alimat had its shodo and became a legend. This is Beit al'Shahar, and we can found a new one."
She hadn't yet relaxed. "A child is not a stray kitten, or a puppy with a broken leg, or even an orphan sandtiger cub. A child is for life. Make no promises you cannot keep."
"As I made to my shodo?"
From that, she flinched. "I didn't mean it so."
"Then let me make this promise: I will try."
She lifted her chin. "Are you certain?"
"Hoolies, no! But I don't know that I'd be any more certain if we were at Alimat just now." I smiled crookedly. "I never really planned to become a teacher. I never thought beyond dancing. I expected to die in the circle, to meet an honorable death. But that song for me is ended just as yours is for you. It's time I began another."