It was not as if either of us had been given a choice; it had just happened. We knew that somehow our very gods were behind his transformation, but that did not make it any easier for either of us to bear. No matter how great his love for me—and I did not doubt it—I knew that he mourned what he had lost. How could he not? When he had truly realised, that day in the Mear Hills, that he would never fly again, the sorrow on his face had torn at my heart and I had felt a desperate guilt deep in my soul. Jamie was right. I had gone across the sea to change the world and I had done it. If the price had been demanded of me I could have borne it, but it was the Lord of the Kantri who had died.
We were come to a crossroads now, Varien and I. Now that I was safe from the threat of imminent death there was much we had to say to one another, for the words we had spoken in our fear and anger had a kind of truth behind them and would have to be faced. We had accepted the will of the gods and of fate swiftly enough when Akor was transformed, but it was as if the dream was finally done and the clear light of morning shone harsh and merciless upon us at last. We had to accept the reality of what had happened, and it was neither simple nor without cost on either side.
I didn't mean to call to him in truespeech, but I needed to reach out to him and it seemed only natural. I didn't know if he could hear me, or if I wanted him to hear me, and I didn't use words. I didn't have any. What could I possibly say? There was only one thing left to cling to in all the shifting ground that we stood upon, and it filled my mind and rang in my heart—the song we had made together. When we had flown in thought the Right of the Devoted, while still he was one of the Kantri, we had made a song together that blended our souls, that was our love made real. That, at least, was true. Our souls, no matter what the shape of the bodies that held them, were the match of one another. When words failed me for the love I bore him, for the desperate sorrow I knew was in him, still that song echoed in me. I knelt beside him. I did not touch him, but I opened my mind to him and sang that melody softly and with all my heart, letting it take its force from my love and my understanding of his pain, sending it to him through the intimate link of truespeech that we shared.
That was when I began to realise that the song had changed, was changing. It had grown deeper and more complex, it spoke now of sorrow, of pain, in places where before had been only joy and wonder. It was—I know not how to describe it. I closed my eyes, listening even as I sang, as the voice in my mind took me places I did not expect. The melody was the same, but now it had a greater richness to it. It was deeper and more varied and somehow more real. It took unto itself all that had been happening to us, touching Varien's sorrow and mine, weaving it into the very melody—
I looked at him then, smiling, knowing that he was awake. I could never do that with music, but the Kantri were the greatest musicians who ever lived. His eyes gleamed in the darkness, for the only light we had was starlight from the window. I guessed the gleam came from eyes bright with tears as we both rose to our feet, singing together softly now in truespeech, and he held his hands out to me, palm up. I placed my palms to cover his, lightly, shaking, as the voices of our minds blended, drifted apart, blended again, and fell away into silence at the same moment.
Together.
When the last note faded I stood unmoving, my eyes closed. I knew now that the sorrow that was come over Varien was deep in the bone and not to be kissed away like lovers' hurts or soothed with soft words of devotion. I could not have moved if I had wanted to. I needed to know if his love was greater than his pain, if his sorrow was now become regret deep as the sea and old as time—
"Lanen. Lanen. My heart, my life, how can you think it?" he asked, his fingers closing gently around my hands.
"Come, Lanen Kaelar, look at me," he said. "Look at me," he repeated aloud. I opened my eyes. It was very, very dark.
"I can't see you," I replied, my voice catching. Damn.
"You are using the wrong part of you to look," he replied. Dear Lady, his voice was wonderful. "Look at me with your heart, my Lanen. Truespeech is only a part of the full Language of Truth, use it in its wider sense. See, my darling."
"I can't do it, Varien, you know that," I said, impatient. "I've tried this before and—Lady keep us!"
I cannot describe to you how I saw what I did, for many kinds of sight were involved. It was most like a painting but that falls far short of the grandeur. Imagine a great swirl of red and gold over the heart against a background of pulsing green the colour of Akor's soulgem and the shape of Varien's body but much larger—then see the red and gold, ever moving, extend to cover the whole physical body, see a shadow in some parts, no longer denied, that adds depth and fullness. Then add in a melody, high and far, but always present—the song that rings ever in both our hearts. And then lift it all from the imagination, give it shape and weight and make it real, and you will have some faint idea.
I was astounded. "What was thatV I asked. "Varien, I saw—"
"You saw for a moment as the Kantri see, my dearling," he said, and in the darkness the joy in his voice was plain. "Do you believe me now? That is the truth of my love for you, my Lanen. It colours everything I do, even unto mourning my severance from my people." He caught hold of me then and held me close, his arms so tight I heard my ribs creak.
"Lanen, my dearest Lanen," he murmured as he held me. "Well I know that I wear this body as the kind gift of the Winds and the Lady, and that in my old self I have died—but Lanen, hear me, hear my words and believe them. I do not love you only for a season, or only as long as it is easy to do so. Sorrow is not regret, kadreshi," he said, and I began to cry. "I do not regret what has happened. Like any creature, Kantri or Gedri, sorrow takes me sometimes, but it is not an evil. Sorrow is part of life, as death is part of life and comes as surely. Believe me, my heart. We both made the choices we made of our own free will." He released me just enough to look in my eyes. "It is true that if you had not come to the island I would not have changed, I would not have died. But Lanen—Lanen—if I had not chosen to act as I did, I would not have changed no matter what you had said or done. What has happened was the fault of both of us, or of neither."
I was weeping so hard now I could barely speak, and my mind had little to do with the words that came out. They flew straight from my soul. "Varien, forgive me, forgive me! I would have paid any price to be with you but I never wanted the payment to be yours. Forgive me—"
He made me look into his eyes. "Lanen Kaelar, Lanen my wife, I forgive you. Will you now forgive me for the pain our love has cost you, and for the change our babes have forced upon you?"
"I forgive you from my heart" I reached out to stroke his cheek. "We are both changed now, my love. It is well."
I saw again the gleam of tears in his eyes. "I love you," he said, simply. "And Lanen, I do not regret."
I had needed desperately to hear those words. When he spoke them I clung to him and wept like a child. When the tempest of weepmg had passed, though, I recovered myself a little and stood back. "I have desperately needed your forgiveness," I said. "But Varien—I know these feelings will return. They run too deep to be dealt with all at once. By the love I bear you, do not fear to speak to me of them." I drew myself to my full height. "I would always rather have to do with spiky truth than with comfortable lies. Always."
I held out my right hand to him and he smiled and took it in his. "I give you my word, Lanen Kaelar," he said, the beauty of that deep warm voice threatening to break down my hard-won self-control. "Always the spiky truth."
We gazed long at one another in that quiet darkness, our hands softly clasped. It was a vow as great as our marriage vow and we both knew it. Finally he stepped forward to seal