Finishing the water, she curled onto her side and slept.
When she awoke, it was black as pitch inside the cabin, and stifling hot. Somewhere, the sound of breathing came from another bunk, slow and measured. Was it the Archer? Like as not, since the Dwarfs maintained a prohibition on men and women sharing quarters.
The thought of it made her stomach lurch. Moving silently, Lilias clambered from the bunk and made her way to the door. It was unlatched and opened to her touch. She exited onto the deck, closing the door quietly behind her.
Outside, the sea breeze blew cool and fresh against her face, tasting of salt. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs. For a mercy, her stomach settled in the open air. It was almost pleasant, here beneath the vault of night. The stars seemed to shine more brightly than ever they did in the mountains, and the waxing moon laid a bright path on the dark waves. Here and there, lanterns were hung from the ship’s rigging, lending a firefly glow. Dwarfish figures worked quietly by their light, tending to this and that, ignoring her presence.
It was bliss to have no keeper for the first time since Beshtanag. Lilias made her way to the prow of the ship, finding its swaying no longer discomforted her as it had earlier. To her chagrin, she found she was not alone; a tall figure stood in the prow, gazing outward over the water. His head turned at her approach, moonlight glinting on the gold fillet that encircled his brow.
She halted. “My lord Altorus. I did not mean to intrude.”
“Lilias.” He beckoned to with one hand. “Come here. Have you ever seen Meronin’s Children?”
She shook her head. It was the first time he had addressed her thusly, and it felt strange to hear her name in his mouth. “No, my lord. Until this morning, I had never even seen the sea.”
“Truly?” Aracus looked startled. “I would have thought … ah, ’tis of no mind. Come then, and see. Come, I’ll not bite.” He pointed as she came hesitantly to stand beside him. “See, there.”
In the waters beyond the ship’s prow, she saw them; a whole gathering, graceful forms arching through the waves in joyous leaps. Their sleek hides were silvery beneath the stars and there was a lambent wisdom in their large, dark eyes, at odds with the merry smiles that curved their slim jaws.
“Oh!” Lilias exclaimed as one blew a shining plume of spray. “Oh!”
“Wondrous, aren’t they?” He leaned pensively on the railing. “It seems, betimes, a passing pleasant way to live. The world’s strife does but pass across the surface of their world, leaving no trail. Though they will never be numbered among the Lesser Shapers, perhaps Meronin was wise to Shape his children thusly. Surely, they are happier for it.”
“‘And Meronin the Deep kept his counsel,’” Lilias quoted.
Aracus glanced at her. “You know the lore.”
“Does it surprise you so?” She gazed at the graceful figures of Meronin’s Children, describing ebullient arcs amid the waves. “I have never seen the sea, but I have lived for a thousand years on my mountain, Aracus Altorus, and the counsel of dragons is as deep as Meronin’s.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “But it is false.”
Lilias eyed him. “Do you know, my lord, that dragons number Meronin’s Children among the Lesser Shapers? They say their time is not come, nor will for many Ages. Still, they say, Meronin has planned well for it. Who benefited most when the world was Sundered?”
He frowned at her. “You know well it was the Sunderer himself.”
“Was it?” She shrugged. “Haomane First-Born says so, but Lord Satoris has lived like a fugitive upon Urulat’s soil with ten thousand enemies arrayed against him. Meanwhile, Meronin’s waters have covered the Sundered World, and his Children multiply in peace.” Lilias nodded at the leaping forms. “Meronin the Deep keeps his counsel and waits. It may be that one day he will challenge the Lord of Thought himself.”
“You speak blasphemy!” Aracus said, appalled.
“No.” She shook her head. “Truth, as I know it. Truth that is not found in scholars’ books or Shapers’ prophecy. Whatever I may be, I am Calandor’s companion, not Haomane’s subject. You spoke of lore. There is a great deal I know.”
“And much you will not share.” His voice turned blunt. “Why?”
Lilias shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “You speak of the Soumanië? That is another matter, and my lord knows why.”
His gaze probed hers. “You understand a woman’s life is at stake?”
“Yes.” She met his gaze without flinching. “Would you believe me if I told you Satoris will not kill her?”
He raised his brows. “Surely you cannot pretend to believe such a thing.”
She sighed. “I can, actually. Once upon a time, Satoris Third-Born, too, was much given to listening to the counsel of dragons; aye, and speaking with them, too. For good or ill, I know something of his nature. Although it is twisted, there is nobility in it—and pride, too. A Shaper’s pride. He will not slay her out of hand.”
“No.” Aracus debated, then shook his head. “No!” Beneath the dull, emberless stone of the Soumanië, his face was set. “Do you see that?” With one stabbing finger, he pointed unerring at the red star that rode high overhead in the night skies. “It is a declaration of war, Sorceress. I saw the innocent dead at Lindanen Dale. I witnessed my betrothed wrenched away in vile captivity, and followed into a trap that would have slain us all, save for Haomane’s grace. If the Sunderer spoke to you of mercy, he has ensnared your thoughts in his lies.”
“No,” Lilias said gently. “You declared war upon Satoris, my lord Aracus, when you pledged yourself to wed the Lady of the Ellylon. The red star merely echoes that deed. I do not absolve him of his actions, any more than I ask absolution for mine. Only … what else did you expect him to do?”
“It is Haomane’s Prophecy.” His hands gripped the railing until his knuckles whitened, and he stared over the waters, watching Meronin’s Children disport themselves with a mix of unconscious envy and fresh unease. “I did not ask for this destiny.”
“I know.” Lilias watched him. “But you accepted it nonetheless.” Moonlight cast faint shadows in the lines worry and weariness had etched into his features. He was young, yes; but he was a Man, and mortal. How would it be to watch his beloved endure, unaging, while his flesh withered and rotted? She, who had replaced scores of pretty attendants in her own ageless time, had the strangest urge to smooth his furrowed brow.
“What choice had I?” He turned his wide gaze upon her, filled with that compelling combination of demand and trust. “Truly, what had I?”
All things must be as they are, little sssister. All thingsss.
“I don’t know, my lord,” Lilias whispered, tears blurring her vision. Lifting one hand, she touched his cheek, laying her palm against it and feeling the warmth of his skin, the slight rasp of red-gold stubble. On his brow, the Soumanië pulsed with a brief, yearning glow at her nearness. It made her heart ache. “Tell me, do you love her?”
“Yes.” His fingers closed on her wrist. “I do.”
There were a thousand things he could have said; how Cerelinde’s beauty put the stars to shame, how her courage made him curse his inadequacy. How he understood the sacrifice she had made for the Rivenlost, and how terrible the cost would be. Aracus Altorus said none of them, and yet all were present in his simple, blunt words, in his wideset, demanding gaze. He was a warrior; oh, yes.
One who loved the Lady of the Ellylon.
“Well, then.” Lilias opened her hand, letting him steer it away, deflecting her touch harmlessly. “You had no choice, did you?”