The challenges for my Draconean friends were tremendous. They remained miserable in the heat, especially when we visited lowland regions; and Zam even expressed grudging sympathy to me at one point, saying, “Now I think I understand how you felt when we were chasing the yaks.” Taisên agents made eight separate attempts to assassinate them, none successful. Thu told me it was a sign of desperation, that they would risk being blamed for such an act; but this of course is small comfort when one cannot sleep with both eyes closed. (They also tried to assassinate me, I think out of spite. I was far less of a threat to them than either the Draconeans or the new emperor.) It was a relief when I could finally install myself in a room in the Imperial Palace, safe behind a cordon of both Scirling and Khiam Siu guards.
By then my thoughts and Tom’s were increasingly bending toward Scirland, despite the grand events occuring around us. “Will you come with us back to the Sanctuary?” Ruzt asked one day. Their exile had ended; the elders, well pleased with what they had done, were permitting them to go home.
A part of me wanted to say yes. We had been through so much together; it was strange to imagine being parted from my Draconean friends. But not only was the Sanctuary not my home, I had little desire to return there—at least, not so soon. I wanted the company of my own countrymen, the ease of speaking my native tongue, the comforts of my home in Falchester. I could not have any of these yet; but I could have my husband.
“Suhail is in Tser-nga now,” I said. “Your elders will be negotiating with the Tser-zhag king soon, and I should like to be there for that. It will be a good deal faster if I sail to the other side of Dajin, instead of tramping through the mountains—and a good deal safer, too.”
Ruzt’s wings fluttered. “And you do not want to go back.”
Before I could frame a response to that, she waved it away. “I understand, Zabel. Isabella. For you, it is a difficult place. But you will always be welcome in our house.”
“And you in mine,” I said reflexively. Then I laughed. “Though I will understand entirely if you decline to sail to the far side of the world to visit me.” The sea had been even more daunting a sight than the plains of Khavtlai; it would be a very long time before any Draconean ventured out upon it.
Thu accompanied Tom and myself to the port of Va Nurang, where a Scirling naval ship was bringing a set of proper ambassadors to establish relations with the new emperor. That same ship brought a letter, addressed to me. I went boneless with relief when I saw it was from my son—for he would not write to me unless word had reached him that I was alive.
Its contents, however, were most startling.
Dear Mother,
I am very glad to hear that you are not dead.
You may have noticed that this letter was not sent from Scirland. I fear you shall be very cross with what I have to tell you, but please understand that I did not mean it to happen this way. I had every intention of waiting until you came back from the Mrtyahaima before I made any decisions, so that I could talk to you first. (Like the good and obedient son I generally fail to be.) But then word came that you had died in the mountains, which put paid to any notion of talking to you—unless the spiritualists are to be believed, which I doubt. And it put me in the mood to do something rash besides, so I went ahead and did it. Now I’ve learnt that you aren’t dead after all, but it’s too late to take back my decision. Even if I wanted to, which I’m quite sure I don’t.
All of that is by way of preface to telling you that I am no longer at Merritford, nor do I expect to ever go back. You see, my school chum Millpole has an uncle who sails with the Four Seas Company, not as a merchant, but as a scientist, studying the oceans. Right after you left for the mountains he gave a lecture at Merritford, and he and I fell to talking afterward. Well, the long and short of it is that he offered to take me on as his assistant—I think he meant after I graduated, but I ran away from school and joined him. So I’m writing you this letter from the deck of the Osprey, in port at Wooragine. Who knows how it will get to you, or even where you are now. Somewhere in Yelang, if that revolution is going well? I doubt we’ll put in at any Yelangese ports—but, well, stranger things have happened, and quite recently, too.
I hope you aren’t too angry at me. It isn’t that I disliked university, I swear. But I don’t see that there’s anything I could learn about the ocean while sitting in a lecture hall hundreds of miles from the nearest salt water that I couldn’t learn much faster at sea. Millpole senior is a splendid fellow, really quite brilliant—reminds me of you, honestly, except with fewer wings and more water. And male, of course. I’m sure you’ll meet him eventually, whenever both of us contrive to be in the same place at once. I’d say in Sennsmouth the next time we call there, but for all I know you’ll be out in the plains of Otholé or at the North Pole or something. But I promise I will write. If nothing else, I have to meet a Draconean in person. (I can’t believe you truly found them! Or is that just wild rumour? Logic says it’s rumour, but I know what my mother is capable of.)
Please do not die again, even if it turns out not to be true.
I stared at this some time before dissolving into laughter and showing it to Tom. How could I be angry with my son? It was the sort of thing I might have done, had I been born a boy. And certainly I have done many more foolish things in my life, so I was hardly in a position to throw stones.
We sailed from Va Nurang on the same ship that brought the ambassadors. Thu saw us off: a very different farewell than the one we received when we were deported from Va Hing. “Thank you,” I said to him. The phrase was wholly inadequate, but I had no better alternative; there were no words to express the true depth of my gratitude. “Had you not discovered those remains—had you not chosen to dangle them before me as very excellent bait—”
Thu bowed, in the manner of someone who knew the gesture was wholly inadequate, but had no better alternative. “It has been an honour and a pleasure, Lady Trent.”
Tom went back to Scirland; I disembarked in Vidwatha, proceeding back to Tser-nga by less covert means than we had used the first time. There Suhail and I served as interpreters for negotiations between the council of Draconean elders and the Tser-zhag king. Letters between the two of us had been infrequent, owing to the difficulty of conveying them; when we were not carrying out our official duties, we talked ourselves hoarse telling stories of the things that had happened while we were apart. I told him of the dancing dragons; he told me about how he won over Esdarr and her sisters, which I thought was by far the more impressive achievement. He also showed me the modern Draconean syllabary, which he had learned from Habarz.
“So,” I said, “we will finally be able to read all the inscriptions?”
Suhail laughed. “We will be able to pronounce them, at least. And we can certainly make a much better guess at their meaning. I intend to ship a set of the most recent edition of the inscriptions to the Sanctuary; Habarz has shown a great interest in reading them.” His smile lit up the room like a sun. “I thought it was impossible for you to find me a second Cataract Stone. Instead, you found me something far superior.”
We left Tser-nga as soon as the negotiations were done, despite pressures to stay. Neither of us could endure the thought of living through another Mrtyahaiman winter, and by then there were others who could communicate to an acceptable degree—humans and Draconeans both. Moreover, my desire to be home had passed “overpowering” and reached a level for which no adjective could suffice.