Brot’ân’duivé debated going after her. He had little experience communicating with adolescent girls, and especially not with an emotionally shattered orphan. Much of the time she left him feeling like an overbearing guardian to be suffered at arm’s length, or perhaps like the less-than-desirable relative whom all families tolerated out of respect.
He did not wish to concern himself with such things, but he did.
Leanâlhâm was important to him, in part because Gleannéohkân’thva had been one of his only friends. He often found himself worrying, wishing to close the gap with the girl at least enough to help her find her place in this world.
Still reluctant, Brot’ân’duivé was on the verge of going to find Leanâlhâm when she came up the steps. She carried a book gripped in both hands, and stopped at the sight of him. Uncertain what to say, he sidestepped, gesturing into the room he had selected.
“Will this serve you? They are all quite similar.”
She stepped closer and looked in at the huge four-poster bed.
“I will sleep on the rug,” he added.
She hesitated for a few breaths. “Greimasg’äh, with so many rooms, perhaps I could have my own during our stay here?”
This had not occurred to him. Perhaps he—and not she—was the one who most viewed him as her constant guardian. He had no objection to her request, but it would be best if she took the next room so he could hear any trouble that might arise.
“Of course,” he said.
“My thanks.”
Her thanking him for such a small thing felt like another shove to maintain their distance. Before she walked off on her own, he went to the next open door and gestured inward as he gripped its handle.
The room had white lace curtains and a slightly yellowed white comforter. The water basin and pitcher depicted lavender-colored roses. He did not see much difference between this room and the others, so, holding the door’s handle, he waited there.
She looked inside, but her expression gave away nothing. He could not tell whether she was pleased or whether, like him, she found the place oversoft and overdecorated.
“I think ... I think I will rest a bit before dinner,” she said.
“Of course.”
She hurried in, and he closed the door before she could touch it. Turning, he reentered his own chosen quarters. He would still sleep on the rug rather than smother in one of these ridiculous beds.
Crossing to the window, Brot’ân’duivé still dwelt on the girl and their increasingly empty but polite interactions. This was partially his fault, but after all she had been through, formalities might be the only anchor she had left. Should she try to tell him how she truly felt, she might open a floodgate that would not close. How would he ever deal with that?
She had always been daunted by his presence when he visited Gleannéohkân’thva in earlier days. Now she had even greater difficulty tolerating his company.
When had that begun?
Gazing out the window at the city, Brot’ân’duivé did not need to ponder for long. It was the day at the enclave, the first time he took Osha away from her....
After only a short time at the central enclave of Coilehkrotall, Brot’ân’duivé became restless. Too many pressing matters, too many unknowns, could not be put off much longer. Every moment he lingered might bring another turn for the worse that he should have anticipated.
Leanâlhâm and Gleannéohkân’thva were in the worst stage of mourning. Somehow Osha’s presence and shared grief were helping to carry them through. Both Gleannéohkân’thva and Cuirin’nên’a had studied the journal in private.
A part of Brot’ân’duivé was now glad they had learned of its existence. Though he was a master of gathering information, the old healer and Léshil’s mother sometimes saw ways to use information that he did not. Until they did, he still had to deal with Osha.
He went to the guest chamber on the tree home’s main floor, tapped twice on the living wood of the archway, and brushed the curtain aside. Cuirin’nên’a, more beautiful than the woman he loved and had lost, sat cross-legged upon a bedding mattress.
There was not much of Eillean in her features, yet she had her mother’s determination for serving the people. If life had been fairer, kinder ... If it had been possible for him to have bonded with Eillean ...
“So he married—bonded—with that woman?” Cuirin’nên’a said quietly.
She was not reading the journal. It simply lay beside her as she stared at the room’s blank, bark-covered wall.
“Yes, Magiere, as you read,” he answered, though it had not truly been a question.
“Is he ... happy, do you think?”
It was not the question of an anmaglâhk but of a mother. All of the caste lived a life of service. This did not change because they and others had chosen a different path against Most Aged Father. Amid a purpose, anmaglâhk could not afford sentiment, though this did not mean they had none.
“For now,” he answered.
“Then he is beyond my ... our reach.”
“For now,” he repeated. “But we cannot afford to wait in present matters. There is another unexpected one.”
The barest crease marred Cuirin’nên’a’s perfect brow.
Brot’ân’duivé dug out the smooth, roundish stone and crouched to hold it out. When Cuirin’nên’a caught sight of it, the crease of her brow vanished. Her eyes widened slightly before turning to him. She could not read its marks, though she knew from where the stone had come.
“A sudden breeze,” he said.
Cuirin’nên’a slowly shook her head. It was so rare to see her baffled by anything as she glanced toward the room’s curtained archway. Osha was not even present inside the tree, let alone in the outer chamber.
“That is what it may say,” she whispered, “but what does it mean ... for Osha?”
“I do not know.”
“Then you have delayed too long. Act quickly!”
Perhaps sentiment and pity were the reasons he had delayed. Perhaps he had needed someone else’s assurance for the cruelty he would display to the few, including her, who meant something to him. Fate was often cruel.
Brot’ân’duivé had barely risen when he heard the home’s front curtain being pulled aside. Low voices rose in the outer area, and he heard his old friend, the healer.
“Set the plates,” Gleannéohkân’thva said, his voice lacking all its normal biting charm. “I’ll find the others.”
This was followed by the sounds of two other steps and the shuffle of plates and then Leanâlhâm’s shaky sigh. It would have been better if Brot’ân’duivé could have caught Osha alone.
“Now!” Cuirin’nên’a whispered.
Along with sentiment, pity had to be banished.
Brot’ân’duivé pulled the chamber curtain aside and stepped out to find Leanâlhâm sitting cross-legged, head down, as Osha spread wooden plates in a circle upon the moss carpet. Although still thin, he looked physically better. His forest gray cloak had been cleaned and mended, and several days of rest and decent meals had improved his color.
Gleannéohkân’thva was halfway up the curving steps along the wall and paused his climb to look down.
“I was about to look for you, but as you ...”
The old healer trailed off as Brot’ân’duivé turned to Osha, now crouched beside Leanâlhâm.
“Our stay is finished,” he said. “We must leave now.”
Osha started in surprise. “It has been only three days. Leanâlhâm is still ... Greimasg’äh, we cannot leave.”
Brot’ân’duivé held out the stone and displayed it in plain sight with his thumb and forefinger.
“This is a summons for you ... from the Chein’âs.”