“To be serrin is to be one, Sasha,” he murmured, gazing into her eyes. “To be one like this.” He moved against her. Sasha retained barely enough dignity to feel embarrassed that her only reply was a half-muffled squeal against her bitten lip. “This is the vel'ennar. It is the oneness. We do not know each other's thoughts, and we cannot read each other's minds, but it is close. When King Leyvaan invaded, serrin from everywhere came immediately. They did not wait for a message, they simply knew something was wrong. They felt it, Sasha, as you feel me.”
Oh dear spirits, she certainly did. She kept her mouth shut, not trusting herself with words.
“To feel the vel'ennar is to never feel alone. It is to never feel insecure in company. It is to never hate those who think differently. That is why we don't kill each other, Sasha-or not for a thousand years, at least. That is why we are collective, as humans are not. That is what makes us different from you.”
“Except that you…” Sasha managed, with a struggle for composure. “You don't have it?”
“No.” His eyes gleamed, though whether it was from anger, or arousal, Sasha could not say. “I am the throwback. I am what serrin were, a thousand years and more ago, back when we did still kill each other. Sometimes I think they fear me. The entire, collective philosophy of the serrinim rests on the assumption of vel'ennar. They depend on it, especially in this conflict with humans. They look to our differences, and cling to them. They see the likes of me as threatening the balance. So they send me out into the wilds, like they sent poor Dahlren, before they made her so bitter that she abandoned them entirely to seek a solitary life and death in the foothills.
“That's what made me so mad, Sasha. I grew to love Dahlren, but I feared that this wretched, bitter person would be me, given enough time. I want to feel the vel'ennar, I've always wanted it, as badly as I want you now, so badly it hurts. But I could not. Other children would exchange smiles at the unspoken humour, and I wanted to know what the joke was. Others would form bonds, the nature of which always baffled me. They knew I was different, and they were kind, but their kindness smothered, as though they thought I suffered from some terrible, incurable disease, when, as far as I knew, I was perfectly healthy.
“In time, I learned to turn it to a strength. I debated the philosophies in councils in ways that few had ever heard before. All judged that my differences gave me a unique insight and I became valuable to them. I joined the talmaad and was posted here to Petrodor. But Rhillian, for all her kind words, never respected my insights, nor understood them. And if she cannot understand one of her own kind, how can she possibly understand humanity? Vel'ennar is a blindness, Sasha. It makes serrin safe from themselves. But it is the sword that humans shall use to strike off serrin heads.”
Sasha put a hand on his cheek and smiled at him. “Thank you,” she said. “But Errollyn…tell me what you feel. What does it feel like? I want…I want to get inside you. I want to know who you are.” Even as the words left her lips, she knew that she was falling in love. It wasn't wise, she knew, but like the passionate lust that drove them to such craziness beneath this blanket, there was nothing she could do about it.
Errollyn kissed her, long and lingering. “Right now,” he said softly, “I feel only you. And in truth, I prefer it that way.”
Rhillian leaned upon the ship's railing and watched the small boat struggle against the wind and swell. Two men worked the oars, and a smaller figure waited in the bow. That would be Adele. Adele was good at sneaking. Like Aisha, she'd been running messages at the time of the attacks. It was the main reason she was still alive.
The wind blew the smoke from Dockside's pyres back onto the slope, wreathing the city in the ashes of the dead. An orange sun set upon the ridge, shrouded in black. Yethel would have thought it a magnificent image, and sought his easel and paints. But Yethel was dead. Feshaan. Ylith. Reshard. Terel. All her friends. Her talmaad. Her responsibility. Rhillian wanted to cry, but the tears would not come. Her heart had broken. Crying now would break her soul. She had to be strong. The storm was coming.
Adele climbed over the railing and made her way along the rolling deck. Several of the human staff watched blankly from where they sat about the mast. They had come from properties in Angel Bay, the only places to have survivors. Some had nothing left, and departed their home with the only family they'd ever known. Adele's blue-black braids tossed in the wind, her lean face worn with lines that had not been there a few days ago.
“Neither Patachi Maerler nor his people would see me,” she said tautly as she reached Rhillian's side. “It's over. Patachi Steiner will take command of the Torovan army and march on Saalshen.”
“I believe the human word is ‘cowardice,’” said Kiel, in Torovan. He had appeared out of nowhere, but Rhillian barely blinked. She was accustomed to that. Kiel's calf was heavily bandaged, but he walked well enough, and held his balance on the rolling deck.
“Cowardice,” Rhillian corrected in Lenay, gazing at the smoke-wreathed hills. “It sounds better in Lenay.” With all its inflections of honour and blood. It suited her mood. Sasha would know what she meant.
“Patachi Maerler feels he has nothing more to gain, and everything to lose,” said Adele. “With the priesthood standing so clearly against Saalshen, he cannot side with us any longer. Not if he wishes to avoid displeasing the archbishop. The balance has shifted.”
“This archbishop's days are numbered,” Rhillian murmured. “One way or the other, he has overestimated his power and has become a liability, for everyone. For the priesthood most of all. But the new archbishop, when he comes, will not be able to undo what has been done. His favour now rests with Patachi Steiner, and the coming war shall make Patachi Steiner even more powerful than before. Or so he hopes.”
“So it's over,” said Adele, with what sounded something like regret, and a lot like relief. “Do we sail?”
“Soon,” said Rhillian, faintly. “Very soon.”
“We cannot just run away,” Kiel said firmly. “We cannot let any human see Saalshen so easily defeated.”
“Soon also, my friend,” Rhillian assured him. She took a deep breath. “Very soon.”
“We must stand firm,” Kiel insisted. “There is a storm coming.”
“No,” Rhillian said softly. “The storm has arrived. And it is us.”
“Enough,” Sasha gasped, pushing weakly at Errollyn's shoulder. “Dear gods, enough.” Errollyn nuzzled at her ear, kissed her neck and then finally slid off her. She turned away from him, and he pressed close against her back, pulling her to him. Sasha bit back a happy grin…it felt improper to feel so good, when so much else was bad. But it had always been her philosophy to take her pleasure where and when it came, and devil take the consequences. A lamp flickered on the table by the door and their clothes lay together on the floor where they'd tossed them. Their weapons arrayed carefully against the wall.
“You appeal to the gods now?” Errollyn murmured in her ear.
“What?”
“Just now. You appealed to the gods. And several times before. Somewhat more loudly.”
Sasha tried to frown at him over her shoulder, but that was hard. She knew he was teasing her, again. Errollyn found these things amusing. “I was born Verenthane, they won't mind.”
“That implies you're no longer Verenthane, in which case they probably will.”
“You can be quite annoying sometimes, do you know that?”
“You don't seem to mind too much.” His hand strayed down her flat stomach. “If you prefer my less lucid thoughts, we could make love again.”