Yet what was between them could not be denied. It was Sabran Berethnet who sang to her soul.
“I would visit,” Ead said. “Not … often, you understand. The Prioress belongs in the South. But I would find a way.” She took a cup. “I know I have said this to you once before, Sabran, but I would not blame you if you would prefer not to live that way.”
“I would live alone for fifty years to have one day with you.”
Ead unfolded herself and went to her. Sabran shifted up, and they sat with their legs intertwined.
“I have something to tell you, too,” Sabran said. “In a decade or so, I mean to abdicate the throne. I will use this period to ensure a smooth transition of power from the House of Berethnet to another ruler.”
Ead raised her eyebrows.
“Your people believe in the divinity of your house,” she said. “How will you explain this to them?”
“I will say that now the Nameless One is dead, the age-old vow of the House of Berethnet—to keep him at bay—is fulfilled. And then I will honor the promise I made to Kagudo,” she said. “I will tell my people the truth. About Galian. About Cleolind. There will be a Great Reformation of Virtudom.” A long breath escaped her. “It will be very difficult. There will be years of denial, of anger—but it must be done.”
Ead saw the steel in her gaze. “So be it.” She dropped her head onto Sabran’s shoulder. “But who will rule after you?”
Sabran rested her cheek against Ead’s brow. “I think at first it must be one of the next generation of Dukes Spiritual. The people will find it easier to embrace a new ruler from the nobility. But in truth … I do not think it well that the future of any country rests on the begetting of children. A woman is more than a womb to be seeded. Perhaps I can go further in this Great Reformation. Perhaps I can shake the very foundations of succession.”
“I believe you could.” Ead traced her collarbone. “You can be persuasive.”
“I suppose I inherited that gift from my ancestor.”
Ead knew how Kalyba haunted her. Kalyba and the prophecy she had made. Often Sabran would wake in the night, remembering the witch, whose face had been the mirror of hers.
After she was healed, Ead had taken Kalyba’s body to Nurtha. Finding someone who would row her to the island had been difficult, but eventually, when she had recognized Ead as Viscountess Nurtha, a young woman had sculled her across the Little Sea.
The few people who lived on Nurtha spoke only Morgish and hung wreaths of hawthorn on their doors. None had spoken to her as she made her way through the woods.
The hawthorn tree was felled, but not rotted. Ead could see that it had once been as magnificent as its sister in the South. She had stood among its branches and imagined a young Inysh girl plucking a red berry from its branches, a berry that had changed her forever.
She had laid the Witch of Inysca to rest beneath it. The only Firstblood that now remained was what lived in Sabran, and in Tané.
For a time, only the snap of the fire broke the silence. Finally, Sabran moved to sit on the footstool in front of Ead, so they could face each other, and laced their fingers.
“Don’t laugh at me.”
“Are you about to say something foolish?”
“Possibly.” Sabran paused as if to collect herself. “In the days before Virtudom, the people of Inysca would make a trothplight to the one they loved. A promise that they would make a home together.” She held her gaze. “You must do your duty as Prioress. I must do mine as Queen of Inys. For a time, we must go our separate ways … but ten years from now, I will meet you on the sand of Perchling. And we will find our somewhere.”
Ead looked down at their joined hands.
Ten years without being with her each day. Ten years of separation. The thought hollowed her.
But she knew how to ache for something far away. She knew how to endure.
Sabran watched her face. At last, Ead leaned close and kissed her.
“Ten years,” she said, “and not one sunrise more.”
75
East
The Imperial Palace was much the same as it had been the last time Lady Tané of Clan Miduchi had set foot in its halls. As the sun went down, she walked away from the Hall of the Fallen Star, past servants clearing paths with shovels, blowing warmth into her hands.
While she regained her strength in preparation for her formal return to the High Sea Guard, she had acted as an unofficial ambassador between Seiiki and the Empire of the Twelve Lakes. The Unceasing Emperor had been courteous, as always. He had given her a letter to take back to Ginura, as he often did, and they had spoken for a time about what was happening on the other continents.
All seemed quiet in the world, yet Tané was restless. Something called to her from a distant past.
Nayimathun waited in the Grand Courtyard, surrounded by well-dressed Lacustrine courtiers, who carefully touched her scales for a blessing. Tané climbed into the saddle and pulled on her gauntlets.
“Do you have the letter?” the dragon asked.
“Yes.” Tané patted her neck. “Are you ready, Nayimathun?”
“Always.”
She took to the sky and, soon enough, they were over the Sundance Sea. Pirates still roamed its waters. Although discussions with Inys were under way, the red sickness was not yet abated, and for now, the Great Edict stood, as Tané suspected it would for some time.
The Golden Empress was out there somewhere. She would live for as long as the sea ban did, and while she drew breath, the trade in dragonflesh would endure. Tané meant to make good on the vow she had made to her on Komoridu, in the shadow of the mulberry tree. Once she had recovered from her injuries, she had begun the climb back to strength with Onren and Dumusa. Soon she would be ready to return to the waves.
The Warlord of Seiiki had rewarded her for her actions on the Abyss. She had been given a mansion in Nanta and her life back.
Except Susa. That loss would remain an arrowhead in her, buried too deep to dig out. Each day, she expected another water ghost to come out of the sea. A ghost without its head.
Nayimathun returned her to Ginura, where she delivered the letter and returned to Salt Flower Castle. As she combed her hair, she cast her gaze toward the bronze mirror and traced the scar on her cheekbone. The scar that had set her on the path to the Abyss.
She changed out of her travel-soiled clothes and slung on her cloak. At dusk, she walked to Ginura Bay, where Nayimathun was bathing on the same beach where she had been captured. Tané walked into the shallows.
“Nayimathun,” she said, placing a hand on her scales, “I would like to go now. If you will take me.”
That wild gaze locked on hers.
“Yes,” the dragon said. “To Komoridu.”
Not long before, Tané had returned to the village of Ampiki—her first visit since she was a child—to search for any trace of Neporo of Komoridu. It had never been rebuilt after the fire. The only people there had been the young men and women who collected seaweed from its shore.
She had gone back to Feather Island to speak to Elder Vara, who had welcomed her with open arms. He had told her all he knew about Neporo, though it was precious little. There were records of her marriage to a painter, several more letters that pertained to the rise of a new ruler in the East, and some fanciful drawings of what the Queen of Komoridu might have looked like.
In the end, there was only one place to find her.
Light pulsed through Nayimathun as she flew. When Komoridu came into sight—a drop of ink on the face of the sea—she descended onto its sand, and Tané slid out of the saddle.
“I will wait here,” Nayimathun said.
Tané patted her in return. She lit her lantern and walked into the trees.
This was her inheritance. The island for outcasts.
One fateful day, as a child in Ampiki, Tané had followed a butterfly to the sea. Elder Vara had told her that in some tales, butterflies were the spirits of the dead, sent by the great Kwiriki. Like dragons, they changed their shape, and so the great Kwiriki in his wisdom had chosen them as his messengers from the celestial plane. If not for that butterfly, Tané would have perished with her parents, and the jewel might have been lost.
Hours she walked the silent forest. Here and there, she found glimpses of what must once have stood a thousand years before. Foundations of houses long since fallen. Shards of cord-marked pottery. The blade of an axe. She wondered if, beneath the ground, the soil was packed with bones. Unsure of what she was looking for, or why, she walked until she found a cave. Inside was a statue of a woman, whittled into the rock, her face weathered but whole.
Tané knew that face. It was her own.
She set the lantern down and knelt before the Firstblood. In her mind, she had thought of all the things she had wanted to say to her, but now she was here, she had only one.
“Thank you.”