But no. It had been eight years for her; but she had been offworld, and lost five more years in the lives of everyone she loved to the effects of time-dilation during her transit. For Gran it had been almost fourteen years since Moon had left the islands, following Sparks into the unknown.
Joy filled her grandmother’s face now, as she saw her granddaughter again, as her great-grandchildren ran to hug and kiss her. “Moon—” She raised her arms, struggling up from the cushioned bench. But as she rose her expression suddenly changed, and she bowed her head. “I mean. Lady—”
“Gran,” Moon said again, finding her voice, moving forward quickly to take her grandmother’s arms and straighten her trembling body upright again. “Oh, Gran. …” Moon held her tightly, feeling the fragility of bird bones, not the remembered solidness of her grandmother’s body; the proof of what her eyes had shown her. “It’s me. You don’t have to bow to me.” Suddenly she felt seventeen again, no older than she had been on the day she left home … feeling twelve again, or five….
Gran’s arms took hold of her with a firm strength that the old woman’s body belied, and held her at arm’s length. “You are the chosen one of the Lady, you speak for Her,” she said, meeting Moon’s gaze with eyes that had lost none of the clear intentness that Moon remembered. “And I raised you myself, child. I am proud to have been so honored. You will certainly give me the honor of allowing me to show you proper respect.”
Moon nodded silently, still caught in the void of time and distance that had separated them tor so long. “I’m so glad to see you,” she whispered, feeling the room slide back into focus, hearing the squeals and chatter of her children. She hushed them absently, ineffectively.
Gran hugged them close again, beaming but unsteady under their eager assault. “What a wonderful surprise you and Sparks have given me, to warm my old age, to ease the Change for an old woman.”
“Gran, you aren’t old,” Moon said; hearing the worjs ring false, wishing she had said nothing, as she guided her grandmother back to the settee. “Are you hungry? How long have you been here? Have they been taking care of you—?” Hurrying on, stumbling through the awkward moment of her grandmother’s painful smile.
“Yes, yes,” Gran said. “A good Summer woman, a sibyl—”
“Clavally—”
“Yes, she was very kind, bringing the children in. And the—what do you call them, the hands—?”
“The servants,” Moon said, glancing down.
Gran’s eyebrows arched. “Yes, well, they were very thoughtful, for Winters. Are they all Winters here? Why are you here, surrounded by these people, instead of our own?”
“Winters are just like Summers, Gran,” she answered, feeling the prick of impatience. “They’re just as human as we are. They’re sweet and sour together, just like islanders. They’re even sibyls—”
“So Clavally said to me,” Gran said, shaking her head. “Her own pledged is a Winter sibyl, she said! I’ll believe that when I see it.” She folded her knob-knuckled hands in her lap, worrying the folds of her heavy sweater.
“Yes, Gran.” Moon smiled again, in surrender, watching her children climb onto her grandmother’s lap, giggling and shoving, struggling for position. Seeing herself and Sparks there … feeling the memory start an ache inside her. “Gran … how is Mama? Where is she? Why didn’t she come here with you?” She forced the question out, afraid of the answer, as she had been afraid of it for the past eight years. She had come to hope that her family believed she was dead, and Sparks too; so that they would never know the real cost of this new life, this place of honor she had achieved. But in her darkest nights, she had been sure that somehow her mother did know.
“Moon,” Gran murmured, looking up from the two small, contented faces pressed against her, “I don’t know how to say this, but badly—”
“She knows, doesn’t she?” Moon said, unable to stop the words. “She knows everything, and that’s why she wouldn’t come here, even to see my children—” Her children looked up at her in surprise, at the sudden change in her voice.
“Moon,” Gran interrupted, her eyes filling with a sudden pain that aged them to match her face, “your mother is dead.”
“What?” Moon said. She felt her knees give. “What? No. How? When—” She sank down onto the Empire-replica recliner that pressed the back of her knees as she reached out for support.
“An accident, a fall … about three years ago. She slipped on the quay while they were unloading the catch, and struck her head on the stones. We thought she was all right, but then at dinner in the hall she grew sleepy… . They knew it was a bad sign, and they tried to keep her awake. But they couldn’t keep her from going to sleep. And she never woke up.” Gran’s eyes grew moist with grief, and she held the children closer; they gazed up ai her with wide eyes, half-comprehending. “And so the Sea Mother has taken both my children back to Her breast….”
“A concussion?” Moon said, the harshness of her voice startling even her. Now three sets of eyes were staring at her without comprehension. “All she had was a concussion. She could have been saved—”
“It was the Lady’s will.” Gran shook her head.
“It wasn’t!” Her own voice rose, as grief and frustration triggered her anger. “It we had the technology of the offworlders for ourselves, neither of your children would have had to die. Sparks’s mother didn’t have to die in childbirth—”
“Stop it, Moon!” Gran’s frown deepened the lines of her face. “What are you saying?” Her own voice quavered. She shook her head. “So, it is true. …” Her face filled with a different kind of grief. “You no longer follow Her will. But you are the Summer Queen, Moon—the chosen of the Goddess. It isn’t too late for you to hear Her voice again—”
“You don’t understand.” Moon shook her head; her hands hardened into fists in the lap of her robes. “Who told you that, Gran? Who brought you here? How did you make the journey here from Neith, if my mother didn’t—”
“I brought her to the palace,” a voice said calmly, behind Moon’s back.
Moon turned, pushing to her feet as she found Capella Goodventure framed in the scallop-form doorway like a portrait. Her graying braids circled her head like a crown, her face was drawn up in a witch’s knot of spite and satisfaction.
“I sent my people out into the islands to find some of your clan who might still be able to reach you, and remind you of your proper duty as the Summer Queen.”
“They have been very good to me, Moon,” Gran said, with gentle firmness, “bringing me here, all this way, to be with you. You should think about her words.”
Moon pressed her lips together. “That must have put you to a great deal of effort,” she said to Capella Goodventure. “I’m sure the Lady will grant you your just reward.” Her gaze was as cold as the sea.
Capella Goodventure’s frown deepened. “Perhaps you have already been shown the reward for your heresy committed in the Lady’s name.”
Moon stiffened. “What do you mean?”
Capella Goodventure bent her head. “Your mother’s accident. Perhaps it was a judgment.”
Moon felt herself go dizzy as the blood fell away from her face. “My mother’s death was not my fault!” Even her grandmother pushed to her feet, leaving the children tumbled wide-eyed on the settee.
“I didn’t say that.” Capella Goodventure lifted a hand, in protest, in warning. “I only meant to suggest—”
“That it was my fault! Who are you to push yourself into my life, where you’re not wanted? Get out! Leave me alone!” Moon’s hand found a smooth iceform sculpture on the table beside her; her hand closed over it, and she hurled it at the doorway. It shattered, sending bits of crystal flying. The children shrieked in surprise and fright. Moon turned back, seeing that they were all right, before she looked again at the doorway.