A click.
He held his breath.
Silence.
He ghosted along the passage, ears straining, one hand in front of him, the other drifting along the wall. Nothing.
There were other exits from this passage, his fingers read the wood as he went past them, read the accumulated grit and tickling cobwebs. If any of them had been opened, whoever it was left no sign of his passing, no disturbance to tell Reyna he wasn’t dreaming.
He went down and down through the complex of passages, wondering if he’d begun imagining enemies, afraid he hadn’t. If someone had been outside the panel listening to them…
He didn’t• want to think about that. Warn Ju tomorrow. All I can do.
The lantern that he’d left where the passage became a volcanic blowhole cast a welcome light in the darkness. He wound the wick a little higher and went along the branch that led up to the Sibyl’s cave. His feet knew the way’ well enough after so many years of traversing it, but there were too many offshoots for him to trust himself without light to see landmarks. Besides, there were bats in here and other things; he’d stepped on a poison lizard once when he was late and the lantern had burned dry, escaped by luck alone a bite that could have crippled him.
There was someone sitting in the Sibyl’s chair.
He blew out the lantern, tucked it into the crevice where he kept it between visits, loosened the rungo in its loops, the polished arm-length club he’d taken to carrying the past weeks.
Fan looked up as he came around the chair. “Loa, Rey.”
She wasn’t doing anything, just sitting, perhaps thinking. She was thin, and worn-looking, dark circles under her eyes…”Loa, Fa.” Then, because he couldn’t help it, he added, “You could smuggle saisais in those bags under your eyes.”
“I don’t sleep much these days,” she said. “Bad dreams. I Dance for Abeyhamal and… kill people. And the Low City folk, they want Blessings. All the time. As if some potzy word from me would make anything better.”
“Well, you should really be in bed, sleep or not, at least you could rest,” he said. “Come, I’ll walk back with you to the Wood Bridge.”
“Still protecting me, Mamay?” She laughed and stretched out her hand so he could pull her to her feet. As they strolled from the cavern, she said, “None of your Edgers would lay a finger on me, they’d be afraid of getting it burnt off.”
Reyna flipped a finger against her cheek. “Then you can protect me.”
Faan took his hand, squeezed it.
They walked together in companionable silence along the twisty trail, turned at the black ruin of the ancient olive and started down the Jiko Sagrada.
Near the last flight of stairs, Faan touched his ann. “You love him, don’t you. What’s it like, being in love with someone?”
Reyna was startled; he felt his face grow hot. It wasn’t something he’d ever thought to talk about with his daughter, but… He glanced down at her. She was staring at the Jiko as her feet kicked out against her skirt. What he could see of her face was intent and serious. “In love,” he said slowly. “Nayo, that’s not it, Fa. That’s pretty pink pleasures, sweat and sweet agony. I went through that a few times when I found my first clients.” He went down the stairs thinking about it, his hands clasped behind him under the cloak; without questioning it, he was suddenly very happy so it was almost a dance he was doing. “Nayo. This is different. Love? I don’t know. There’s friendship and fondness, oh diyo, and passion. It’s not bad, you know. It’s not bad, friendship and fondness and passion.”
“Does he love you?”
“It’s hard to say with Juvalgrim. He’s a secret man. He needs me. That’s enough, I think.”
“Need.” She shivered. “I hate that word.”
They turned down a kariam, walked in wary silence between the dark towers of the Cheoshim, past the burnt and blackened gardens of the Biasharim, stepped into the silent starlit Sok Circle.
Faan glanced at the flogging posts clustered dark and ominous in the middle of the Circle. Small bluish flames licked along her hand.
“Nayo, Fa. You’ll just make things worse.”
She looked down at the little fires; after a moment they vanished. “I know.”
› › ‹ ‹
Faan leaned against the left-hand pillar on the Bridge Approach. “I want to stay here, Mamay. I’m sick of all that over there.”
Reyna grimaced. “I wish you could, honey. I hate not being able to… He slammed his fist into the pillar. “Gods!”
“My°. “
He caught her wrist, ran his thumb up her arm. “You’ve all that power, honey. Use it. Get out of this place. Once you’re over the border, SHE can’t…”
“Oh diyo, she can. Riverman says it was HER brought me here. I know he’s right and so do you, Ma-may, you told about Dikhan’s pipedream. Power, t’s, I’m as helpless as I was when I was a baby.”
He hunched his shoulders, scowled past her at the moongleams on the sluggish river.
“I’ve yelled and argued and tried everything I could think of, Rey, trying to get her to lift the Barrier for you. She won’t listen to me. She won’t do anything I ask. She just uses me.”
“Gods!”
She reached up, caught a strand of his hair, tweaked it. “You’re repeating yourself, Mamay. Getting senile, huh?”
“Kimkim! Respect your old ma, huh? Forgetting Abeyhamal, how’s it going Southside?”
She rubbed her shoulders against the pillar. “It’s a mess, Rey. Arguing all the time, fighting. People getting hit on the head, robbed. Farmers fighting Woodmen, cooks fighting brewers, everybody yelling. Pulling at ME.” She pushed at her hair; it was cut short, just brushing her shoulders, fine and black, blowing in the warm wind. “They all want me, all those factions. As if having me support them validates them.” She grimaced, brought Reyna’s hand up, rubbed the back of it against her thin cheek. “I’m so tired, Mamay. So tired.”
Reyna smiled, caught a strand of her hair, lifted it off her face. “I never thought I’d say it, but I miss your purple spikes.”
“Wasn’t much point keeping that up. No time for fun, can’t play or sass. The paint made my head itch anyway.” She leaned against him with a small sigh that squeezed his heart.
“You’d better get on home, honey. And be careful. I’ll still be watching. You’ll see me when you dance.”
She sighed again, her breath making a small warm spot on his ribs. “Mamay.”
› › ‹ ‹
“High One, High One!”
Something banged hard against the door to the Audience Room, there were more bangs and scrabblings; the door opened a crack, slammed shut.
Juvalgrim lifted a brow, set his tea cup down, and crossed the room. He pulled the door open, stood there with’ his arms crossed, startled by the scene unfolding in the anteroom.
Shouting, wriggling vigorously, kicking and biting the young acolyte who’d replaced Fitchon, a Wascram page was struggling to break free and get back at the door.
“It’s all right, lettin, let him go.” Juvalgrim grunted as the page cannoned into him. “Calmly calmly. Catch your breath and tell me what’s wrong.”
The boy lifted eyes the color of verdigris on bronze. “The Prophet, he’s gonna flog Sivvy. In school. Says he’s a blasphemer. Says he’ll have the evil outta him if it takes all day. You gotta stop him, High One.”
“I hear you… what is your name?”
“Houen, High one.”
“And who is Sivvy?”
“My friend. We came to creche the same day and they put us in the same cot.” Though his body shouted a terrible impatience, he spoke with the politeness that had been trained into him (it had taken better with him than it had with Fitchon; more than ever Juvalgrim missed his acolyte’s acerbic tongue). “High One…”
“If I’m to interfere, Houen, I have to know everything. The Prophet will scold him for a while, there’s no hurry. How did this get started? ‘Thll me the truth and no excuses.”
Houen was so frantic he was shaking; he tried to talk, but he couldn’t.
Juvalgrim scooped him up, stood him on the table where Tettin sat during the day, working on files and arranging appointments. “Now,” he said. “‘Bake a deep breath, look me in the eye and start at the beginning.” He held the boy’s hands in his, smiled at him. He spoke softly, “Deep breath, that’s right. Now let it out slowly slowly. Vema, Houen. How did it start?”