"I've not had a chance," he said, "to tell you how much it meant to me, what you did for Daeren. I think of him as my own brother."
Speechless, she nodded slightly.
"You understand that he is still very sick." The doctor's lips produced perfect speech. "His brain needs time to heal. The house takes care of that. You need do nothing, except stay here."
Andra approached, also in gray. Her hand brushed his back. They looked like a couple off to a gem-trading convention. "It's been hard for Sar," she said, "these past two weeks."
"And hard for you," said Chrys, recovering her manners. "I'm sorry."
"We're glad we can depend on you." Andra looked backward, toward a passage lined with chandeliers. "Daeren's treatment facility is down the hall."
From the ceiling, the house voice added, "There's a suite for you, Chrysoberyl. Whatever you need, just ask."
"Listen to the blue angels," added Andra. "But be considerate; they don't yet take visitors. They're sensitive about their condition."
"I understand." She warned her people, "No visiting."
"But the blue angels—it's been generations since—"
"Stay dark, lest you lose the sun." Down the hall, false windows hung with valances produced a soft light. There stood Daeren.
He did not speak; though if he had, she might not have heard, for the blood pounding in her ears. She whispered, "Day."
Daeren's eyes were dark, not a hint of light. Without a word, he turned and walked away, down the hall. Chrys followed. At her left, the arched windows came gradually larger, until at some point their light became real, the windows expanding into open archways above long, cushioned seats, as inviting as Olympus. The archways looked out onto a swimming pool, a headball court, and a virtual hiking trail leading up into distant mountains.
Daeren was sitting in a seat beneath the arch. From the wall by his shoulder extended a small table, holding two cups of orange juice and a dish of AZ. Chrys sat beside him. He seemed relaxed, one leg up on the seat, hands clasped upon the knee. The minutes passed. "Daeren, can you talk?"
Daeren met her eyes, his own still dark. "When I have something to say."
She let out her breath. Glancing at the juice and AZ, she asked, "Shouldn't I stay objective?"
"You needn't be a saint."
Chrys reached past him for the cup of juice, her heart pounding to feel him so near. She raised the cup to her lips.
"Chrys . . . what did you give them?"
Her throat tightened. "No arsenic."
"I would have. For you."
Her face burned. For the first time, she realized, she saw him without any micros chatting along. Just the two of them, alone.
"I just want to know," he said, "what to thank you for."
With difficulty she swallowed. "You'll see it at my show." Recalling the Leader, she shook her head. "What an egomaniac— to give up a world for her starving billions, just to see her own damned portrait preach Endless Light to the stars."
"Of course," he whispered. "That would be worth a world." For a minute, he was silent. Then he held out the plate of AZ. "Reward them, for me."
She eyed the blue wafers warily, fearing the Eleutherians would think it meant chatting time. "They haven't done anything good yet."
"They did for me. Let me feed them." Picking out a wafer, he raised it slowly to her lips. Chrys thought, if his finger touched her lips she would faint. She took it into her mouth.
"Oh Great One, we don't want azetidine. We just want to see the blue angels."
Seeing her face change, he asked, "What's wrong?"
"I told them they can't visit."
His eyes widened as if in fear. "Are they angry? I'm sorry," he half choked, "I'm sorry, I—"
"No, Daeren," Chrys insisted. "Of course they're not angry, not anymore. We're the ones to blame; we're all dreadfully sorry." But he looked away without answering. Chrys felt frustrated. "Would you let Forget-me-not visit? She used to be yours."
He looked up. "So that's what you call her." His head nodded slightly. "All right."
Chrys put the patch at his neck. Her hand felt reluctant to leave.
Closing his eyes a moment, Daeren took a deep breath. "All right," he said at last. "Let the others come."
"Take it easy," she told them. She placed the patch again at his neck. This time her hand stayed. He leaned into it like a cat.
Then he looked at her, surprised. "Why, you're right, Chrys. They're not angry at all."
She remembered what they had said they would do, when she told them how she felt for Daeren. "Saints and angels," she muttered. "Don't take them too seriously," she warned halfheartedly. "You know what tricksters they are."
"Oh, but I like what I'm seeing."
She burned all over, full of confusion.
Daeren smiled, almost like he used to at Olympus. A faint flash of blue in his eye, then red and green. "Shall we return the favor?" He placed the patch on her neck, and his hand stayed. If there were a heaven, Chrys thought, it would feel like this.
"Forgive us," came the words, another shade of blue. "Forgive us our complicity in genocide."
"Forgive me," returned Chrys. "Forgive me for deserting you. From now on, I will protect you always, as my own people."
"Oh Great One!" The yellow words of young Lupin. "We must praise your greatness in restoring these good people. Can't we reward the god as you deserve? We have new technology—"
"No," she said aloud.
Daeren's hand came down.
"Sorry," she explained, "they still ask now and then."
He looked down. "You are strong."
"I would have slipped once. But they remembered the Watchers."
He looked up again, his face suffused with delight. "The Watchers. Your people still remember, after a hundred generations." Leaning toward her, he caressed her neck and her luxuriant hair. "Chrys, they can't—but I can. I can make you happy."
She blinked twice. "I'm afraid."
"Why?"
"I'm afraid I'll be your slave."
"I've been yours," he said. "For a long time. Chrys, have mercy."
Her lips parted in surprise. Everyone loved Daeren, they said, but it never occurred to her what she might mean to him. His eyes were again dark, dark and pleading. She closed her eyes, and her lips met his. Lightly at first; like a butterfly at a flower, she still half expected him to flee. Then she caught his head between her hands and pressed hard, her tongue exploring what it longed for.
Daeren stroked her hair from head to shoulders. Then he pulled her to his chest, head against her cheek. "I've dreamed of your hair," he murmured.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"I told you, you could have anything you ever need."
"I thought you said that to everyone."
"What?" He drew back, looking her in the face. "Don't they wish." He stroked the hair at her shoulder. "There's been no one else. Not since I met you."
"I'm nothing like Titan."
He shuddered. "Thank god," he said. "Thank god you're not like Titan."
"But you loved him."
"I was captivated by him," Daeren admitted. "His people, and the miracles they made—I could never get them out of my mind. I tried to hide it, when I had to test him, but they knew. When we warned him of the risks he took, they laughed." He looked out to the virtual wilderness. "One night, as I turned to go, he asked me to stay."
Chrys listened, barely breathing.
"The next morning, as I left, he told me to come back to him— as a woman."
Titan, his work so modern, his desires so medieval. She stared without seeing.