“Ah,” he said.
Her face was a mask of tragedy. She twisted her hands together and didn’t look at him.
“That must have been difficult,” he said.
“I didn’t see my own death; Somnire was kind and edited the recordings. But I saw the ruin of all that I loved.”
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“I’m telling you this because I want you to know that I can feel, just a little, the things that drove you to be a murderer. I know a little of how it must feel to know that no matter what you do, it can never be enough, can never balance the scales, can never make your life right again.” She again gripped his hands in hers and pulled them into her lap. Her eyes searched his. “I know a little, just a little. If you showed me every Roderigan hetman, bound and helpless, every Roderigan neck stretched on a block, I couldn’t cut their evil throats, as much as they deserve it. Though I’d cheer if you could; I’d weep for joy.”
It seemed a charming picture to him, and he must have smiled in a way that disturbed her, because she looked aside and shivered. She didn’t push his hands away, however, and he began to feel a bit overwhelmed by pleasant sensations. He could feel the hardness of her hipbone against his wrist, the softness of her belly, the resilience of the thick curls that covered her mound.
This is foolish, he told himself, and would have drawn back. But she wouldn’t let him go. She gazed fiercely into his eyes. “Listen, Ruiz,” she said. “None of that really matters, not anymore. You’ve been the knife in so many hands, for so long — but you don’t have to be, not anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” he asked roughly. “You don’t want me to hurt the Roderigans? Somnire wouldn’t like to hear you talking like that. Would he?”
“No, he wouldn’t. But I think you’ll hurt the Roderigans sufficiently to satisfy me, just by denying them your use. Never mind that; I promised I wouldn’t go into it… my point is, you can stop. You have your salvation, if you’re smart enough to seize it.”
“Salvation?” It seemed a ridiculous word to apply to his situation, and he had no idea what she meant. “Will you let me stay here and listen to your fountain, forever?”
She shook her head and smiled a bittersweet smile. “No. You can’t stay here. But you have a better refuge. You have Nisa.”
Now he did jerk his hands away from her. He was filled with a formless frustrated rage. “Really?” he asked, almost shouting. His eyes watered and his voice shook. “Do you think so? ‘The love of a good woman,’ is that what’s going to save me? What a lovely romantic… maudlin, pitiable, pig-stupid idea. You know nothing about it — she doesn’t trust me and I don’t trust her. For all I know, she’s a Gencha puppet. And we’re both going to die on Sook.”
Leel seemed undisturbed by his outburst. She picked up the memory square that held the night on the barge. “I know whatever you know about it, Ruiz Aw. And it doesn’t really matter what she thinks of you — though I can’t believe she’s as cold as you fear. It doesn’t matter whether or not you trust her. What matters is, do you love her?”
He shook his head, unable to speak.
“Well, I didn’t really need to ask,” said Leel, smiling, as she laid the square aside. “Love is far rarer than most people suppose, but also more easily identified.”
He stood and went to the glass doors, looked out over the white slopes, down to the sunny sea. All imaginary, he thought. I’m listening to an imaginary minddiver, who’s telling me that love conquers all. The sad futility of it made him want to cry, and all his anger seeped away.
A few silent minutes passed, during which Ruiz noticed a curious regularity to the surf that broke around the roots of the great buttresses. Of course, he thought. The simulation is limited, after all. He wondered if every semblance of sanity in the universe was as unreal as the Compendium. Somewhere, he was sure, people lived lives of peaceful fulfillment, going through their days in safety and contentment. Surely there were such people; but in his present state of mind they seemed as bizarrely unnatural as the monstrous Shards, who rode their weapons platforms above Sook, who enforced their alien laws on the pirates, the slavers, the cannibals — and the innocents — who struggled over the surface.
He pushed open the doors and went out into the sunlight and sea breeze. He stood gripping the balustrade, between two terra-cotta urns full of pink cinnamon-scented flowers. The next palace was far below; three sarim with iridescent wings wheeled in the lucent gulf.
He felt Leel’s presence at his back, then her arms went around his waist and she pressed her thin body to his.
After a while he spoke musingly. “What would happen if I jumped off?”
“You’d fall for a while — until you’d passed from my domain. Remember, I cultivate realism here. But then I suppose Somnire would catch you. Knowing him, he’d probably appear as a mighty angel, and bear you aloft in a cloud of glory.” She hugged him a little tighter. “He has an odd sense of humor.”
Ruiz took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He rubbed at them with the heels of his hands. The pressure felt as real as it ever had; he felt as firmly held in this imaginary body as he ever had in his real one. Leel continued to hold him tight, and he became uncomfortably aware of her warmth, of the long thigh touching the back of his leg, of her slender hands crossed over his belly.
“Come back into my bedroom, Ruiz,” she said, in a different voice. She slipped her hands under his shirt and slid them upward.
He wanted to, very much. To lose himself in her handsome body, her cleanliness and sweetness… to drive all thought from his aching head, submerge his anguish in lovely imaginary sensation. But some bitter hardness in his heart made him laugh and say, “Part of the therapy?”
“No,” she answered, without any apparent resentment. “No. You’re a beautiful man, and I want you. Please.”
She pulled him around to face her, and he looked into her face. Her cheeks were flushed and a dew of perspiration glittered above her mouth, though it wasn’t warm on the terrace. Her eyes seemed unfocused with desire. She pushed off the straps of her shift so that it fell to her waist. She guided his hands to the soft buds of her breasts. “What does it matter to you?” she asked breathlessly. “It’s all pretend, anyway. I’m a ghost, a dream. No different from a joygirl in a pornsim.”
“You’re different. Very different,” he said. Her breasts seemed to burn his hands.
“Then let’s give each other this gift,” she said, and kissed him, hard enough to bruise his lips.
He was about to say, Why not? But then he just shut his foolish mouth and let her draw him inside.
Chapter 11
Leel was sweet and fierce and tender. She made love with such a desperate intensity that Ruiz forgot his suspicions, finally convinced that there was nothing merciful in her passion. She was everything a lover ought to be, and Ruiz burned away his sadness in her fire.
When they eventually drew apart, resting in a tangle of sheets and pillows, he felt a small healing begin in his heart.
She rolled her long sweat-slick body over his and took his face between her hands. She looked into his eyes and smiled. “So, did we please each other?” she asked, in a voice like winter sunshine.