Afterward he had taken her to his favorite restaurant; the owner had brought them a bottle of imported Lilander, from her private stock. Later they had discussed art and politics in the comfortable darkness of a back-street tea shop, sitting with a handful of Pandhara’s old friends. They were all creatives, Nontechs who sat smoking spicesticks and making no concession to her new highborn status, or even to his. They had called him “sibyl,” and he had known that, coming from them, it was honor enough.
And now the sun was going down on the last day he would ever spend on his homeworld; and as faint music drifted out through the open doors, he sat gazing up at the wife he would never see again, feeling as though he had never really seen her before. “Thou look beautiful tonight,” he said, with difficulty, as she lifted her hand to him in greeting. He touched it with his own, feeling the warmth as their palms met, his eyes never leaving her face as the words brought out her smile. “I am grateful to thee, for today.” He looked away at last, toward the sea. “I’ll cany it with me for a lifetime, after I’m gone.”
“As will I,” she said, turning her own gaze to the sea. “BZ … last night I thought a great deal about all the things thou told me. And about things thou said thou had not told me—”
He looked back at her.
“Some of the things,” she said carefully, “I think were there all along, between the words. But—”
“But thou need to know the rest.”
She nodded.
“I—” He pressed his mouth together. “Ask me. I’ll tell thee everything I can.” Realizing that what he did with the rest of his life could very well affect her, even half a galaxy away.
She rested her hands on the stone-capped top of the wall; he saw the fingers tighten. “When thou asked me to marry thee, thou said thou did not want a—a marriage in fact, but only in name. Was it because of this woman on Tiamat, the one who became Queen? … Are thou still so much in love with her, after so long? Is that why thou’re going back?”
“Yes,” he whispered, looking down.
She leaned against the wall, her eyes still on him, her face uncertain. “Thou said that she had a husband?”
“Yes.”
“That thou had only one night with her?”
“I only slept with her once. But it was more than that—”
“I know. I …” She glanced away, lifting her chin. “But thou haven’t seen her nee. It must have been—”
“Twelve years. More than eighteen, for her.” He looked up again. “How do I know she still wants me? I can’t know, for certain. But Fire Lake showed me glimpses of my future … it showed me her. And—” He took a deep breath. “I’ve spoken with her, since I left Tiamat.”
She stared at him, incredulous. “How? No one can even send a message—”
She’s a sibyl, and so am I. It’s possible … and that’s all I can tell you. I Shouldn’t even say that much.” He glanced down. “I’ve communicated with her several times since I left. She knows what’s about to happen. She’s afraid of it. And she has every right to be. The Hegemony wants only one thing from Tiamat—the water of life. The Summers consider it a sacrilege to kill the mers, and the mere have m hunted close to extinction as it is. There is even evidence in the sibyl net that mers may be sentient. …”
“What?” she said, in disbelief. “But that means—”
“Genocide.” He nodded. “If it is true, we’ve been committing genocide for centuries.”
“Have thou told anyone about this?”
He laughed bitterly. “I tried. No one on the Central Coordinating Committee wants to hear it. Pernatte made it very clear to me that further argument, or any public protest, could ruin my career….” He shook his head. “If the Queen resists new hunting, which she will, that will give the Hedge the excuse it needs to trample them into the mud, the way it’s done for a millennium. That’s why I had to become Chief Justice. I have half a chance now to keep control of the legal system, to draw the line between government and exploitation.”
“Are thou so sure that will happen, without thee?”
He nodded, tightlipped. “The signs are all there. Everything I hear. No one’s talking marriage upstairs, they’re all talking rape. The pols want easy profit, the Blues want an excuse to flex their new weapons technology, and everybody wants more power. The time lags were all that kept them from doing anything about building a new Empire, until now. Exploiting Tiamat is a perfect first step.”
“But with the stardrive, the Hegemony will become a meaningful political and economic unit anyway.” Pandhara gestured with her wine glass, glancing up at the sky. “Even a marginal world like Tiamat will become a valuable resource; there simply aren’t that many habitable planets. Without the Old Empire’s starmap data to show us other inhabited systems, it could take generations to find even one world we aren’t already in contact with.”
He nodded, pushing restlessly to his feet. “I know that. I make that point at every opportunity, upstairs. But it may take years before the Hegemony’s leaders see the big picture clearly. By then it will be too late for the mere, and maybe for the humans on Tiamat as well.”
“Does Moon know that thou’re returning?”
“Yes.”
“How does she feel about that?”
“I think… it makes her afraid, too.”
“And thou—?”
He looked back at her for a long moment without speaking; turned away, averting his eyes to the view of the land falling into shadow, the distant, gleaming sea. “I’m afraid,” he murmured at last, “that I don’t want to give this up, Dhara. I’m afraid that, after all I’ve gone through to reach this point, I don’t want to go back to Tiamat.”
He felt her come softly up behind him where he stood, felt her arms slip beneath his and circle his chest, holding him; felt her warmth against his back, her hair gently brushing his neck as she rested her head on his shoulder. She said nothing more, did nothing more, only held him.
Slowly, uncertainly, he lifted his own hands to cover hers. “I could stand here like this, looking out at this view, for the rest of my life,” he whispered, “and be perfectly happy.…” Thinking that he could run for the World Parliament, and be elected: work to redirect the fate of this world, his own world, instead of one whose people would probably only hate and resent him for it. “Right here, right now, I have everything that I ever dreamed of having—more. I feel respected, honored …” He moved inside the circle of her arms, turning until he faced her. “Even … loved?”
Her arms tightened around him, as his own arms closed her in.
“Sathra, bhan, your guest is coming in—”
Gundhalinu jerked guiltily as the estates manager stepped onto the balcony with a brief bow, found him embracing his wife, and hastily departed. Gundhalinu took a deep breath, realizing that he had every right to be found embracing her; realized that somehow he was no longer touching her at all.
The compassion in her eyes as she took his arm to go in and greet KR Aspundh was, for the moment until she looked away again, more painful than the sorrow that lay below it.
Aspundh looked at them both a little oddly, when they greeted him like a pair of mourners; but he made pleasant, innocuous conversation as they waited for dinner, and gradually Gundhalinu felt the tension leaving the air, letting go of his body. They all drank a great deal of lith, and somewhere in the middle of the main course Pandhara began to tell off-color jokes, which Aspundh unexpectedly found hilarious. Gundhalinu watched Aspundh laugh, in silent astonishment, too preoccupied to find anything amusing himself except the sight of the old man’s obvious pleasure.
“Delightful, PHN—” Aspundh gasped, still short of breath. “And my compliments to your chef, my dear.” He lifted his glass to her, and washed down the last of the spicy, unfamiliar stew with another swallow of lith. “Best meal I’ve had in years.”