The Arcana: Shadow Wars, Codex I

XVII

Council

In which they determine the nature of the enemy

Lady Nensela calmly replied, “Cool your blood, young one. To be swept along by passions is the way of youth; I do not count it against you. Edana loves you as a sister, and not easily will she part from you. Nor you from her, I believe. Love of family, and desire to avenge your people were enough to carry you both to Gagnon’s door—but no further. What comes next will test your soul. No shame falls upon you if you prefer to find your man instead.”

Bessa’s hands clenched around her scrying stone. Warm from lying next to her heart for days. Heavy. Not in weight, but in its burden, what it represented. In death she might meet the original bearer, her ancestor. Sorcha’s Tear served him well for a much lesser purpose than the one she intended now. What she did next would determine the nature of her meeting with him.

“On the contrary, my lady, there is nothing but shame. Unlike you, I will stand in judgment before the gods one day, and my dead will be right there to condemn me. In my own blood and theirs I cried out to the gods for retribution”—she clenched her teeth, annoyed at her penchant for crying in anger—“so facing the gods as an oathbreaker is the only fear that moves me now. Facing my dead if I break my oath will shame me beyond all redemption. Turn away? I am a Philomelos, and I carry no milk in my veins. No choice in life guarantees safety, as you well know, my lady. So why should I value my safety over my vows, my honor, and my duty?”

Cool her blood? Not possible, not while she was in the right. Wiping her eyes, Bessa girded herself for Lady Nensela’s counterargument.

To her shock, Lady Nensela visibly flinched. Papyrus crinkled in her clenched hands. “Ah. Seeing the gods. Reunion with your lost ones. Yes, you will know such joy in time.” She let out a shaky breath. When she spoke, the weight of her years echoed and resonated in her voice. “Accept my apologies, I beseech you.”

Reunion with your lost ones. The seer’s words pierced Bessa’s heart, down to the core of her soul. Now a coldness washed over her. Shame. Shame for hurting someone who only meant kindness. Even Edana was staring at her as if she’d never seen her before.

“Only if you will accept mine,” Bessa said softly.

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

Falling silent, Nensela of Ta-Seti went over to the kithara. Long did she stare at its splendor before at last she took the instrument in her hands, and carried it to a chair on the western side of her library. Dangling from the kithara’s right arm was a leather strap embroidered with a floral meander pattern. Inserting her left hand in the strap allowed Lady Nensela to comfortably position it behind the instrument.

Anticipation made Edana straighten and Bessa hold her breath; both fastened their gazes upon Lady Nensela as she began to play.

A melody filled the room, gauzy and pensive. Bessa tensed, overtaken. Visceral, unbidden, a memory came to her.

Sunset. Grandmother and Papouli in repose on the terrace one summer day. Below the slope of the terrace lay a profusion of violet and emerald, hyssop in full bloom. The minty scent of the flowers lent a spice to the soft breeze. Papouli’s eyes were closed to this serene vista. But Grandmother lay with her head on his chest, and her eyes were open, glistening. One tear rolled down her cheek.

Edana let out a small sound. Too late, she clapped a hand around her mouth and turned away. Still Lady Nensela played. But now she began to speak, and her tale unfolded.

“The Watchers in the Heavens had not yet changed their posts on the day when I attained the age you are now. On that day, I left my home and sailed the Viridian. Wind and tide brought me to a kingdom. There, I met a young prince who was blessed with two gifts from the gods: music, and prophecy.”

Changed posts? Oh right, Bessa recalled, the sages said the “fixed” stars moved. Albeit slowly, over a thousand lifetimes of mortals. The Ta-Setians famously reckoned eras based on which star had moved into the Guide Star position.

Fast yet subtle, Lady Nensela’s fingers appeared to caress the strings of the kithara. The notes deepened.

So also did the sensation of being possessed by memory. Arrested on the spot by her own conscience, Bessa could not look away from the scene in her mind’s eye. Once again, panic and sorrow beckoned to her, just as they did that day when she sensed Papouli would not open his eyes again.

His face is turned to the sun, but he can’t feel it, can he? Though the summer sun warmed her skin, Bessa only felt cold inside. Her sun had fallen from the heavens into a place where it would never arise again. Leaving her with anguish at the thought of life without Papouli’s love and protection.

“So gifted was this prince,” Lady Nensela was saying. “Were he alive now, you would call him a ‘Seeker’s Own,’ for all he prophesied came to pass. When he played music, he made himself master of all: tears would flow from his listeners, no matter how stony their hearts might be. Our common gift of prophecy bonded he and I together. How many days and nights did we walk together in the grove of the Dreaming Trees? How many hours did he spend teaching me to coax music from wood and strings?”

Closing her eyes, she sighed. With her left hand, Lady Nensela shook the rightmost pillar on top of the tuning bar. At the same time with her right, she plucked the strings. A mournful vibrato sounded.

In that moment, with her mind’s eye fixed on her own day of sorrow, Bessa was acutely seized by another emotion entirely. One so foreign, so ill at-ease in her skin that she shuddered.

Envy.

No other name fit; she admitted as much to herself. Papouli’s death was beautiful. And hard won, given all he had survived and endured in life. But by virtue of the fact that she was in this room, she closed the door not only on dying as Papouli had died, but on living the better parts of the life he lived.

No, not for her a death in the arms of her life-long love. Not for her the grandchildren to wail in grief and sorrow, or bear precious memories of her. Nor for her the triumph of looking back on past glories … the plays she might have written…

Seemingly from far away, Lady Nensela’s words came to her. “If you would learn no other lesson from an elder, learn this: when your days are sweet, savor them. Be thankful, even for small things. Dwell not on that which is bitter. Only learn, and move on.”

“And what have you learned?” Edana’s voice sounded strained. What was she seeing in her mind’s eye?

Lady Nensela opened her eyes, turning fathomless pools of obsidian upon them. “The importance of influence. Of credibility. Of having friends in high places and low, and everywhere in between. By the will of the Seeker the prince warned his people of their coming doom, and how they might avert it.”

“Are you speaking of Amathus?” Edana asked.

“Indeed.”

In days of old, Amathus ruled the seas. A mighty trading power even the formidable kingdom of Athyr-ai gave respect to. But their power made them arrogant, so much so they neglected to pay fealty to the Sea Lord. Thus, the punishment He inflicted upon them.

With her left hand Lady Nensela blocked and strummed the strings from behind. A tense, staccato beat sounded. With her right, she plucked her plectrum across the front of the strings to counter with a sweeter, softer sound. The harmonics were mesmerizing.

Any other time, Bessa would have been thrilled to devour the morsels Lady Nensela fed them. Glorious Amathus always fascinated her.

Shame kept her silent. Fiercely she’d boasted of her commitment to fight the giants. And while honor was enough to drive her—of this she had no doubt—she could not help the grief she felt now. For herself, for her dreams, and particularly for her grandparents, who sought only to preserve her life. All of that she must lay aside, because there was no other course except to fight this battle. Maybe, perhaps, she might live to see victory ... but victory might mean saving the world for everyone else.

Two gates appeared in her mind’s eye, each opened wide upon a road. One of them clanged shut. Bessa swallowed hard. Warily, she gazed anew at the dream spinner. Not for a minute did she doubt the instrument’s magic was responsible for her reliving so potent a memory … and the revelation it delivered.

Try my soul? Indeed. Well played, my lady Nensela.

“So young were we, the prince and I. All we had to do, or so we believed, was pass along what the Seeker said unto us. So young were we. The king and his men counted us as babes, though the prince’s beard was lush”—now Lady Nensela swept her plectrum across the strings all at once—“thus they did not heed our counsel.”

“And so they died?” Edana asked.

“And so they died. Learn: sound reason is not sufficient to move others to do what needs doing. Especially when doing what is right requires people to do a new thing they have no wish to do, or toss aside an old thing they wish to keep.” Another sweep of her plectrum, and Lady Nensela’s melody ended on a high note.

Bessa flinched, jolted by the breaking of the spell. Thoughts swirled in her head, but she focused for a moment on what Lady Nensela had told them of Amathus. “What didn’t the people of Amathus wish to do? Why didn’t they want to listen to you? The legend did not say.”

“Ah? So that part of the story is lost, then? Well. The Seeker assured us that those who left Amathus would be saved. The island was to become a desolation, a warning, a byword. To live, the Amathusians must leave. The solution seemed simple to me. A mere girl who had never built a life, or raised a family. This, I think is why the prince and I were dismissed: our lack of appreciation for what we were asking.”

Bessa tried to see it from the Amathusians’ point of view. All her life she lived on land her family passed down from one generation to the next; land she hoped to pass on to her children. To be uprooted and dispossessed of one’s birthright, and everything one’s family or oneself had built, and scattered to the four winds? No wonder Lady Nensela had trouble convincing the Amathusians to leave their country..

Now Lady Nensela stood, and stretched. Somehow she looked ... formal. Rested. As if she had cried out every drop of her tears, and now resolved to continue on.

Bessa bit her lip. Yes, she must also carry on.

So.

“What did the Dragon’s Den not want to do?” she asked, referring to the assembly of lawmakers, which included the emperor. “What exactly happens in your vision?”

Lady Nensela paused. “Ah, that. Understand, from the time I was a small girl I could see what was yet to be. In my dreams, in my waking moments. In the still quiet moments, in the middle of the market square. In all places and all times the voice of the Seeker would come to me. Yet in all my days, I have never seen the likes of what I saw when I dreamed my dream of giants.”

Restlessly Lady Nensela paced, the hem of her dress swirling about her ankles. Her fingers rhythmically tapped the coils around her arms.

“They will all come on a sunless dawn. In their arsenal is a green fire to light the heavens, and a noise to shake the ground we stand upon. Beyond that moment are evils I do not wish to see or endure. You understand?”

Inside, Bessa’s soul shivered. At Red Pointe she had wondered if Lady Aelia could foresee her own death, but Lady Aelia was a scryer. Lady Nensela was a prophet. If she were truly immortal she would not see her own death, but she would see the deaths of many others. How did she live with that?

“Please tell me we are not here for nothing,” Bessa demanded. “Can this vision be averted?”

“There is always a thread. There is always a path that leads to that which I see. Sometimes the end can be averted—if my actions are the key. Usually, it is a matter of my influence with the prime actors. It is my prayer that this is a time when I can act.”

Edana turned to the trunk she had asked the slaves to bring down. Now she opened it, and drew forth the weapon. She placed it on the table. “What of this, my lady? Townspeople and soldiers understood what this thunder mace meant, surely the Dragon’s Den would react similarly? The emperor would open Khratu’s Gates, at least?”

When Rasena Valentis was at war, the ceremonial doors of Khratu’s Temple were thrown open. The imperial provinces were placed on a war footing, and the ordinary people were put on alert that they may be called upon to serve their empire.

Raising an elegant eyebrow, Lady Nensela returned to her side. At first she didn’t touch the exotic weapon, only visually scrutinized it. Then she picked it up, and ran her fingers along the breadth of it. She paused, and canted her head as if waiting for something.

“Do you sense anything?” Bessa asked.

“I am no echomancer, so my abilities are limited. However. I do sense a foreign intelligence. Foreign in every way. The giant speaks no language I have heard, and this is disturbing in itself; trust me. He? Or it—has a fixed purpose, one it will not deviate from. The creature that held this weapon intended to destroy, but it is not a mindless being. It has a…governing purpose, but one that I cannot sense.”

Eagerly, Bessa leaned forward. “Can you tell where it came from?”

“Odd. Extraordinary, rather.” Lady Nensela frowned as she turned the thunder mace in her hands. “It’s as if it has no past. While I can only See the road ahead, I can always See that there was a road behind. The giant’s intended future was destruction of Red Pointe, which is obvious, but where it came from before then? It’s as if there was no before.”

“‘They come from nothing, and return to nothing,’” Bessa quoted. “Edana said you thought they had a portal. Do you think that’s why you can’t tell?”

With a sigh Lady Nensela set the thunder mace on the round table. Gates did not evade her senses, she replied. Arrivals and departures through the Karnassus Gate or the Cloud Gate were not hidden from her. However, she did not believe the giants arrived through those Gates, but rather a Gate, unknown to them.

“That is what I believe I am seeing happen. Without more information I cannot say for sure, let alone how they’re arriving now. As thieves do, they come amongst us in the night, but we have no basis to say their arrival is not by conventional means.”

Briefly, Lady Nensela allowed them to digest her observation. Then she added, “With regard to the Dragon’s Den, take heed: we must not present a body of politicians a problem without a solution. Leave no room for panic, political score settling, or well-meaning ineffectualness. Better for us all to give them a focus: where will the giants appear on the day of destruction? Concrete questions must be resolved before we involve any king or counselor.”

Now Lady Nensela took her seat at the round table; Bessa and Edana followed suit.

The shape of their mission emerged. According to the imperial astronomers, only a solar eclipse could account for the ‘sunless dawn’ in the vision. Thus, they knew when the giants would appear. Duke Gagnon’s list suggested who—or what—the giants’ allies were. As discussed, they must also determine where and how the giants would arrive.

Lady Nensela added, “We need to find out to what demesne this keystone goes, and what Murena has to do with it. May we access it as we please, or are there limits on when the ‘door’ can be opened? Once there, how do you return? While there, how do you keep an abyssal and its servants from killing you?”

Bessa shivered. Edana looked away.

Changing the subject Lady Nensela asked, “How would Lady Aelia’s Fire Lords help us? Most Salamandra do not live in Rasena Valentis, certainly none bearing such a title. Salamandra keep to the desert, and the vast majority dwell between Anshan and Xia, an extraordinary detour for our purposes.”

Indeed, a perilous journey of many months in the best of times, according to Bessa’s travel guides. Fortunately, she and Edana did ask the obvious follow-up question: When Lady Aelia came out of her delirium she elaborated that the Fire Lords were elders of her people. A combination of lorekeepers, priests and statesmen. More to the point, Lady Aelia had referred to the giants by a specific name: Atta’u. Creatures from out of an ancient aeon, and she suspected the Fire Lords could shed light on them.

“I will set Master Arcanus Ziri to that task at once,” Lady Nensela said. “Surely he must keep Star Dragons in Salamandra lands.”

Edana exhaled. “In the meantime, how can we deal with Murena? The corran insisted using the keystone was not a simple question of having the right amulet or spell. A priest is obviously necessary.”

Lady Nensela tapped her lips, deep in thought. “A priest I know may offer insight; little of the lore I gathered over the years concerns abyssals. Only one account speaks of an Erebossi giving a sorcerer a key to its … lair. Naturally, the sorcerer never returned; this tale was meant to caution any sorcerer who is unusually stupid. However, the story confirms the concept of keys to shadow realms is not implausible.”

“Which means that the first task, of finding out how to deal with Murena, is the prime task,” Bessa noted.

Lady Nensela picked up her wine cup, a cameo cup depicting Khratu, the Supreme Strategos. Immediately, her slave poured her more wine. After a sip Lady Nensela continued, “Let us discuss the role you, Bessa, will play in this matter.”

Only Bessa’s exhale betrayed her; she managed to suppress a smile of triumph. Passed your test, did I?

“Bessa’s role?” Edana gripped Bessa’s arm, eliciting a double take from her. “I told you, she is no arcana, and has no training for missions.”

“I told you we’re in this together,” Bessa said, nostrils flaring.

Arching an eyebrow Lady Nensela replied, “Count it foolish to throw away a sword tested and true before a battle. Whisper networks are also tested and true, in bringing down even the innocent. Those who intrigue in the courts of kings would approve of how Bessa brought down the duke. As do I.”

As the Red Daggers were looking for Edana, they might also be searching for Edana’s Siluran companion. Finding the Siluran might mean finding the Terebinthian, Lady Nensela pointed out.

“Thus, Bessa Philomelos is not in Kyanopolis. Not yet, anyway, not until the time that suits us best.”

Edana relaxed her grip somewhat on Bessa’s arm.

“Who shall I be?” Bessa asked.

“Lovingly, as a sister does, Edana has often praised your storytelling prowess to me. You speak Pelasgian, fitting for one with a Pelasgian name. Therefore, to the people of Kyanopolis you are a Pelasgian tavern-dweller who tells wondrous accounts of giants in Silura. Certain taverns here are frequented by the owners of theater companies. Attract their attention, and pass to them your story in the form of a play.”

A thrill went through Bessa at this last part. All her life she dreamed of writing a play, one that might win her wide acclaim. Very few women in history ever accomplished such, and none born in her generation. No Silurans, man or woman, ever accomplished such a feat at all. When would she ever have a better opportunity than the one before her now?

“And in the mean time, people will talk,” Lady Nensela continued. “Others will be uncomfortable. It is my hope that we may flush out the arcana who are working against us. They will likely protest the play, and try to silence the story. Keep watch on those who are ostentatious in their disdain of the play.”

Lady Nensela let that sink in. She looked at Edana, who at last withdrew her hand from Bessa’s arm. Edana nodded in apology, and Bessa nodded in acceptance. However, there was one other matter.

“Do you have a target in mind in Kyanopolis?” Bessa asked. “When we did our ‘tavern tour’ in Silura, the point was for it to be politically expedient for Gagnon to die, and for the authorities to focus on his activities, not Edana’s. None of Gagnon’s Five live here; dare I even dream my play would spread beyond Kyanopolis? Is there anyone here we need to flush out with my play? If not killed, then rather exposed, discredited and above all, removed?”

“An apt question,” Lady Nensela replied. “Let us revisit this plan when we have identified our prey.”

Images flashed before Bessa’s eyes of the piles of dead soldiers she had to walk through. Last time she flushed out an enemy, an entire fortress was destroyed. A theater company wouldn’t stand a chance.

Yet again the prophet reassured her: Killing all the play-goers after the fact would be impossible. So would killing everyone they spoke to about the play. For that reason, killing the actors would be just as pointless.

“On such grounds they gain nothing by killing you. By the time we put on this play, Edana will have dealt with the Red Daggers. We may be on our way away from Kyanopolis at that point, and on to our next target.”

Keymaster Hanno entered—Bessa would have said materialized, so silently did he seem to arrive, if she hadn’t still been a little on edge about Murena—and declared Bessa’s room was ready.

“May you find it to your liking,” Lady Nensela said. “In the coming days, it should serve as a pleasant place of respite for you.”

The meeting adjourned, Bessa followed the steward up the staircase where she had first spied Lady Nensela. As it turned out, the staircase led to a second tower. Inside the tower, bedrooms were divided into ‘day levels’ and ‘night levels,’ with the day levels being subterranean, as the library was, and the night level being above ground.

“By day we swelter, by night we shiver,” Lady Nensela warned. She regarded Bessa with an appraising stare. “Might you find it otherwise? Edana revels in the coolth of night, and says it reminds her of Silura.”

“What weather do you have in Ta-Seti? Is it like this?”

“Very much like Kyanopolis. Well, somewhat cooler in the capital, for the city is built on islands in the Gryphon’s Way. For Edana it took two years to adapt. We do not have so long for you. Let us hope it shall not be an issue.”

In contrast to the first tower, the second tower had windows. Its position on the estate was secure, by virtue of the formidably rocky foothill behind. Bessa thought of Red Pointe, and amended her assessment: it was secure so long as no giants threatened it.

As with the fortress at Red Pointe, the tower was carved from the hill itself. However, Lady Nensela beautified hers with hanging gardens, and friezes above the windows. The friezes depicted the Seeker and the five members of Her Alliance, the wandering stars: Aletheia, who bore a flaming staff, and Her twin sister Sorcha, who wore a sunburst crown; the Destroyer, who carried the Keys to the Abyss; Amyntas, armed with sword and shield; and Khratu, who carried a phoenix-feather quill.

The Seeker, who could see across time, appeared in the night sky as the Guide Star. Around Her neck a torque joined itself at both ends with a starburst between the horns of a sickle moon, for Her star never set, never abandoned the night sky as others did.

Bessa surveyed the night level of her apartment. Just like Papouli back home, Lady Nensela supplied reading materials even to her guests. Bound volumes lined the marble cabinets set into the walls. Bessa’s eyes lit up when Lady Nensela pointed out a tablet hanging near one shelf. If Bessa liked a manuscript, she said, then Bessa had only to write the title on the tablet. The servants would have Lady Nensela’s personal scribes produce a copy for her.

Late afternoon sunlight poured through the gauzy golden curtains, casting a dreamy haze on the parlor. Marble recesses in the walls alternated small statues of ebony or alabaster, with the central recess containing a cobalt glass bowl of fragrant bluebells, yellow irises and white myrtle.

Sumptuous goods furnished the bedroom. The bed was carved of a fragrant wood, spicy and sweet, and Bessa inhaled it deeply.

“Sandalwood,” Nensela said from the doorway. “A tree not to be found in any part of Rasena Valentis. But prevalent in the lands east of the Gold Sea.”

“It’s beautiful,” Bessa observed. “Thank you for letting me use it.”

“You are quite welcome. Now I must take my leave of you, and attend to other matters.” Pivoting on her heel, Lady Nensela left the doorway, her white dress swirling about her.

For a moment Bessa stared at the now-empty door, then turned back to the bed. Reverently she traced the intricate flourishes along the headboard. Did Lady Nensela give the bed to guests because she could not bear to use it herself, after her family was lost in the Gold Sea voyage?

Bessa darted back into the sitting room, to examine the codices on the shelves. To her delight, one of the volumes was a familiar collection of Pelasgian folktales. Tentatively, she examined a particular passage that many translators stumbled over. Bessa smiled broadly. Ahh. The passage was translated accurately and poetically from Pelasgian to Rasenan.

Lady Nensela’s scribes knew what they were doing; Bessa could now trust them for the unfamiliar works as well. The codex stalls in Asil’est annoyed her, for less than a third of their wares could meet her bare minimum standard.

“Ahem.”

Bessa turned. A slave girl stood in the midst of the room. Upon her person she displayed the wealth and generosity of her mistress via her linen chiton, dyed a pale pink and lined with beads along the hemline. A curtain of dark curls fell over her face when she bowed her head. She straightened quickly, and impatiently raked her hair back.

“O honorable one? My name is Mera, and I am at your service. Is there anything you require of me?”

Bessa looked her over. By her looks the girl was younger than Lenora, perhaps she was twelve? Nevertheless, the girl stood tall and exuded self-assurance. When Bessa asked, she offered to show her to Edana’s room.

“Shall I unpack for you as well?”

Bessa agreed, and Mera led her to Edana’s room. Edana’s door was open ajar, enough for them to see her standing in the middle of her room with a stack of documents in her hand.

“Come in,” Edana trilled.

Bessa stepped in. Immediately a feeling of cool serenity overcame her. Frescoes on Edana’s walls bathed the room in vibrant shades of green, with splashes of gold and red; scenes from a lush garden. Gradually, Bessa realized this was no ordinary garden. When she spotted the lamassu she was sure of it. There was one place famously associated with the celestial guardians, who possessed the wings of eagles, and the bodies of lions or bulls:

Qirû.

The cradle of life, where humanity first awakened. In that everlasting land, nothing died, and all was joy. So the songs said, and who could gainsay them?

Bessa walked along the walls, and tapped the image of a life-sized rose. “So lifelike. I feel I could just step into this.” She glanced back at Edana, who was fetching a letter opener from her desk.

“Sometimes I wish I could step into the painting,” Edana murmured, twirling her letter knife. Another elegant example of her silversmiths’ handiwork, the handle terminated in the same sort of bird Edana used in her seals. A peacock, did she say? Yes.

Aloud Bessa joked, “Well, that would be the safest way to get there. Your father was right about how impossible it is.”

Caught by surprise, Edana froze in the act of opening a letter. “How do you know?”

Tantalizingly enough, everyone knew Qirû to be in the midst of the Ethereal Sea. All of the holy scrolls said so. But getting there…

“Grandmother said when she was our age, some stupid youths left town, bragging they’d be the first humans to set foot there since the Expulsion. Supposedly they created a device that would let them see through the mists that cover the sea. She asked them if they had a plan to deal with the lamassu, but they refused to tell her. ‘It’s a secret,’ they said.”

“Right…do the lamassu speak to people?” Edana cocked her head, and she looked amused as she pondered the idea. No one had ever made such a claim of the creatures. “It never occurred to me they might talk. But then, they have human heads, so they should be able to. So what happened to the expedition?”

“Failed, like all the others. But their boat wound up on the far side of the Gold Sea, past Xia. And Xia is what, nine months east of the Ethereal Sea, right? And Xia’s eastern shore would be even further out. Only one of the voyagers made it back to Silura, and that was four years ago. Grandmother was amazed, and she told me about him after she ran into him in town.”

“The Gold Sea, hmm? So Papa was right.”

As her father told them, anyone who tried the mist-shrouded waters of the Ethereal Sea always wound up scattered to the corners of the world, as though the sea were a wayward portal.

For a moment Edana looked pensive, far off. Then with a slight smile, she came to herself again. She sat down on a luxurious red bench and placed certain letters next to herself. Bessa took note of how they were addressed: to the Hon. Edana Nuriel, at the House of the Sphinxes in the pine boughs. As the daughters of veterans, she and Edana both shared the title of honorable, or optima. But now Bessa knew how to direct any potential correspondences she herself might receive while in Kyanopolis.

“Who are those from?” Bessa asked, curious about Edana’s life in the city.

Vigorously shaking her head at one letter, Edana frowned and held it out for Bessa to take. When she finished reading it, Bessa whistled.

“Who is this fellow? Competition for Captain Asher? Or I should ask, does he hope to be competition?”

Edana’s mouth fell open. “Tell me you’re joking!”

Bessa laughed, and collapsed on the couch across from Edana. Eyes twinkling, she quoted the parts that amused her most, while Edana made a show of looking for something to throw at her. She settled for a pillow, but Bessa’s reflexes ensured she escaped contact.

After a little while they composed themselves. A now-wistful Edana listened closely as Bessa spoke to her about the dream spinner, and what it revealed to her.

“Going forward with this mission is the only path I can travel. Please don’t think I can let you cut me out, just to ‘protect’ me,” Bessa said. “You yourself pointed out Lysander will want to help. Or he better, if he’s the man for me. Finding him, not finding him—either way I’m in this to the very end, do you understand?”

Edana hung her head. “The dream spinner showed me a possibility for my future ... no knife could ever cut me as deep.”

The tremor in her voice made Bessa put an arm around her. “Was it so horrible?”

“Quite the opposite. A glorious future! But I’m still sorting out how I feel about it.” She cleared her throat. “From now on I must be honest with myself. About my life, and how I have lived it until now.”

“You make it sound as if you ought to be ashamed. Surely you’re too hard on yourself?”

“Perhaps,” Edana replied. “But it doesn’t matter. Like you, I can only walk one path right now. What comes after ... well, I pray there is an after. For all of us. In the time we have left, let us savor the sweet, as Lady Nensela would say.” Though her eyes were fixed upon fabled Qirû, Edana appeared not to see the fresco at all.

“And dwell not on the bitter,” Bessa reminded her. Something told her Edana brooded more than she savored.

For a moment they sat in silence. Then, Edana smiled and tapped her suitor’s letter, which Bessa still held in her hands.

“Forget him, Bessa. I, too, prefer a valorous man. One who would drop everything to fight by my side, as you have done. This man wouldn’t, so why would I settle for him? Even putting aside that he’s Rasenan, and does not know the Sayings. Unlike our people and my father’s, Rasenans will discard a spouse if a better arrangement comes along. He’s only interested in my dowry; I could be a lamia for all he cares.”

“Certainly the Rasenans are odd for divorcing for no particular reason,” Bessa ventured. “But is that how he is? Is he nothing more than a fortune hunter?”

Edana reclaimed the letter, and placed it on the floor at her feet, apparently the beginning of her discard pile. She picked up another letter and used her knife to break the seal. This message was brief, only one page.

“Fortune hunter, no,” she said with a little laugh. “To hear him tell it, his grandfather’s grandfather acquired such wealth that his own grandchildren won’t be able to spend it all. And his family is so distinguished, quite respectable, don’t you know? But—he already has an ex-wife, and he’s only twenty-three. I will not be his next ex-wife. Enough about him. I must felicitate and replace my secretary.”

“A secretary? Personal or business?” Bessa joined her on the bench, moving the pile of letters to her lap so she could read over Edana’s shoulder.

Business, Edana answered. Entering her arrangement with the silversmith’s guild led to discovering a temple of the Sower, which she eagerly began visiting. A matron there earned her trust and vouched for a pair of orphaned siblings, who became Edana’s secretaries.

“When I can, I hire people, or find ways to create opportunities. Or I simply pass along opportunities I know about. Keziah and Isaac live above my shop, and in exchange they help manage the place.”

The arrangement lasted three years, long enough for Isaac to save up for the apprenticeship fees to become a portal keeper at the Karnassus Gate in Athyr-ai. However, the siblings didn’t know anyone they trusted in Karnassus, so Keziah remained with Edana.

“But now, she is getting married, and will go with her betrothed to live back in Eitan. She says she’s lined up choice candidates for me to choose from. Hmm. I better make sure the oraculum is free, this may take a while.”

Bessa smiled. Edana always had a strong sense of duty, and Bessa admired her habit of seeking the maximum good from a given situation.

The two of them sat side by side, going through the letters. They discarded a few, reserved a few for Edana’s personal attention, and set aside the ones Edana’s secretary could deal with. Her sorting task finished, Edana sighed in contentment.

Bessa asked, “What will you miss the most?”

“Ah. What indeed? Swoons and squeals, from my clients when they see the finished pieces my smiths made for them, is one. Outings to comedy plays, or concerts is another one. Also, a marvelous harpist lives next to my shop. Sometimes, when I relax on the rooftop, I can hear him practice.”

“Marvelous, did you say?”

“Divine. But somehow, he sounds best when I am drinking hot water infused with myrtle leaves. Keziah makes it; it smells citrus-like, and tastes refreshing.”

For the first time since their reunion, Edana looked relaxed, with a lopsided smile on her face as she recounted her joys. “In those moments on my roof, I think of what I’ve already accomplished, and what I look forward to accomplishing, and I thank the Speaker I am alive to enjoy all of it.”

Gratitude. Swiftly the thought came to Bessa that she, too, had cause for gratitude. Though she was still unsettled by the dream spinner’s magic, she reflected on the life she did get to live, the triumphs she did earn, and the loved ones who would mourn her if the giants obliged her to die a heroic death. Not all could say this for themselves, even if they lived to Papouli’s age.

“I already put my affairs in order,” Bessa began. “What of yours? What will you do for those you care for? Keziah? Atreus? You have my help if you need it.”

Edana’s tone became soft, dreamy. “A few things come to mind...”