Taelin felt angry at the setting. Furious that the little lights and warm food could go on sparkling and steaming and celebrating in spite of her. But she also felt touched by Specks’ smile. He was clearly proud to be serving them their food. “Thank you, Specks,” Taelin said. His pale, slender face beamed.
“I doubt you’re a disappointment,” Caliph said. Then he looked at Specks and winced at the lights. He leaned forward and whispered in the child’s ear.
“They’re fine,” interjected Taelin. “We could use some cheer … don’t you think?”
Caliph paused. “Well, it’s not that I don’t appreciate the crew trying to make things comfortable but … don’t you think it’s out of context considering what just happened? We’re not on holiday.”
Taelin looked at the floating boy who was clearly waiting, uncomfortably, wondering what he should do. She felt embarrassed for him, angry at Caliph, angry at herself, as if her own disapproval had somehow tainted the High King’s thoughts and precipitated this reprimand. Looking shaken, Specks said to Caliph, “I’ll turn them off right away, your majesty.”
“No!” Taelin said. “Please, leave them on! I can’t bear thinking about what’s happened today. I just—just leave them on.”
Caliph smiled uncomfortably and pulled his napkin into his lap. “She wants them on,” he said. He fanned his fingers.
In response, Specks offered a submissive shy look. He bowed and then promptly drifted toward the kitchen, armband ticking.
“That poor child,” Taelin said.
“Yes. He’s a good boy. He lost his mother—”
“I know.”
Caliph resumed his previous line. “Anyway, I’m sure your family would be relieved to have you back.”
Taelin had been slipping down in her chair; now she scooted her butt back, trying to sit up straight. “No, they won’t. You don’t understand.”
“Are you willing to explain it to me?”
“Not really.”
Caliph blew a sigh. “Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to give me something. Because otherwise I’m going to drop you off at the nearest town.” (You callous, selfish, horrible—)
“I see. You’re going throw me off?”
“This isn’t political. (Bullshit) Yes, I’m guilty of planning all sorts of ways to use you to my advantage with regards to your father’s government.” Why did he call it that? she wondered. Her father’s government? “Right now I’m talking about your safety,” he said.
“I’m not getting off this ship.”
“Why?”
“It was an arranged marriage!” she blurted out. She couldn’t help it. “And I know you won’t understand, but I wasn’t rebelling. It was supposed to be a gift from my parents to me. I wanted it.”
She locked her arm straight up and down in front of her, knuckles buried in her lap, face hidden partly in the hollow of her shoulder. She wanted to hide. “There was a baby. The wedding was called off.”
Caliph looked stricken, confused. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I—” He didn’t know what to say. Clearly. Clearly he had no idea where this outburst had come from, why she was telling him this seemingly unrelated thing. Wasn’t it obvious?
“I can’t go home,” she said tearfully. “They don’t want me. They gave me money to go away. Don’t you see? I don’t have anywhere else to go.” She reached immediately for her wineglass and drained it. Her whole mouth puckered. Then she risked a look at Caliph’s face. His expression didn’t read as apathetic. He wasn’t rolling his eyes or looking evasively toward the floor.
“What happened?” Caliph asked.
She sniffed. “After the wedding was called off I spent my days down at the park, at the library. Thank you.” She took the napkin he handed her and wiped her nose. “There was a statue there of Emperor Vog. His widow came every day and just sat there, in her dead husband’s shadow, feeding the birds, moving when the sun changed. We talked.”
“Then you had the baby?”
“Yes. My parents pressured me into leaving it with Aviv. Which I did. But he was Despche. And it wasn’t political, you know, to be with one of the slavers … no matter how rich his family was.”
“Do you keep in—”
“No,” she interjected fiercely, then softened. “No, I haven’t spoken to Aviv since the birth. His family owned an archipelago, so he probably went there. I stayed at the hospital after the delivery. For depression, you know? Nothing serious. When they released me I decided I needed a fresh start. My family practically threw me out the door. I decided to build a church.”
“From your grandfather’s journals.”
“Yes.”
The last breathless rays of sunlight blazed an oblique trail through the railing and over the deck, the end of which trailed across the arch of Caliph’s boot. She saw his foot flex inside the leather, which probably indicated he was thinking furiously. “I think my church days are over,” she said.
“Why?”
“Just a feeling. Nenuln doesn’t answer when I pray. Maybe she never did. What if it was all me? Making it up?”
Caliph didn’t smile. “A friend of mine, scientific type, says we’re constrained by our five senses. Enlightened, he says, but also constrained. He says we’re like a blind newt in a cave, doing the only things we can, trusting in the senses we possess. But that there are things out there, beyond the cave, red flowers we will never see or smell. We can only hear stories about them and trust or disbelieve that they are there. I haven’t made up my mind about any of that, but I think it’s a nice metaphor. I don’t blame you for believing in your goddess—whoever she is.”
Taelin was stunned. She had hardly expected such a thoughtful reaction to her admission of doubt. “Your friend sounds a bit factious for a scientist. I mean if he’s advocating for whatever’s out there.” She glanced at the sky.
“I think he’s a good thinker … he’s also a good friend. Theories’ll change in twenty years where I feel his friendship won’t.”
Taelin felt her lips screwing into a slow smile. Why am I making eyes at him!
“Please,” she said. “Please don’t take me home. You don’t know my family.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then you won’t take me home?”
Caliph gestured to the tinkling strand of lights. “Did I leave the lights on?” He was not a bad person, she decided earnestly. He was a good person who, like many good people, had taken the wrong lover. It was clear to her that he was genuine. He cared about what had happened back at Sandren. She could see the fretfulness, no: the foreboding in his face.
“I saw pictures of what you were reading … in my head.” She plunged into the matter that had brought them to dinner. “I saw your uncle,” she pressed her lips together, afraid of sounding crazy, “the horrible things he said to you. And what Sena wrote—that you need to figure something out.”
She had to force herself to watch his face. What if he laughed? What if he … but his face had gone slack. His eyes were wide now and staring at her. It was true. She had really been inside his head. She couldn’t explain it, but it was there—between them—substantiated and undeniable.
“You have to take me with you,” Taelin said. He had gone so pale. Vulnerable almost. “She doesn’t love you,” Taelin pressed. “It’s a trick. Something horrible is going to happen and we have to stop her.”
His mouth opened and for a few moments his lower jaw shifted as if he was trying to fit it over an invisible object. He seemed to give up. A potentially complicated answer never emerged and instead he said, “I know.”