Geography, it appeared, conspired against Amaia. She needed to inhabit a different continent than Michael. There was only so much solace a worn book could offer.
When they’d arrived in Warsaw, she’d set about the usual work to be done in a new place. She constantly maneuvered to establish herself in the court of King John III Sobieski, to gain the confidence of the political players. Zenas was serious about not letting the Ottoman Empire expand to engulf Europe, and Amaia enjoyed her work in Wilanów Palace, staying abreast of the latest developments and dropping her own counsel into listening ears. Then there was Lawrence’s mission. A new pool of energies for her to evaluate and match with suitable mates greeted them. Anytime she wasn’t working, she let Meg and Liam drag her around the country doing anything, so long as she didn’t head south. South was where her madness waited.
It didn’t work.
Michael consumed her thoughts, and it only worsened as the years passed. She tried meditating, seeking the inner peace that Cho seemed to possess so effortlessly. It never worked. When her mind blanked, those eyes appeared, calling to her, pulling her in a direction she could not go.
If she followed the siren’s call, she worried she would go crazy. But was this sanity? Could she claim to have hold of her senses when she spent most of her time buried in an ancient book, trying to exorcise the ghost of her past?
She was out of Warsaw, headed south to Greece, to Michael, before her mind acknowledged giving her body the order to move. She wouldn’t stop to think about it. This had to be done. She needed to see him. If she was going to descend into madness, she might as well avail herself of the salve of seeing Michael first.
She wasn’t sure of Michael’s exact location, only that he had to be in Greece given the strength and direction of his energy. It would be nearly a full day’s journey. Plenty of time to convince herself to turn back. She wouldn’t, though. With less than four months left, there wasn’t much time. She knew if she let his life pass her by, she would regret not seeing him. There would be no temporary peace after his death. She would torment herself wondering what he had looked like, who he had been. No, this was the better route.
The sun hung low in the sky when she reached her destination. The cliffs of Metéora rose tall and foreboding. She had never seen the monasteries before, though she had heard of them. They crowned the cliffs with a humble majesty, houses of God overlooking the surrounding land, safely separate from the world they inhabited. Amaia knew which of the two dozen monasteries housed her Michael. The fact that he was there, of all places, took a moment to digest.
She climbed the cliff with relative ease. All the energies were concentrated in one room. It appeared she had come upon them at dinner time. It would make it easier for her to watch without being seen. Warm yellow light poured from the dining room window into the empty courtyard, illuminating the well-maintained garden and pathway.
Amaia gripped the sill with her fingers and rose to her tiptoes.
And promptly crashed back on her heels.
Her eyes deceived her. Michael was nowhere in that room. In fact, nowhere in that room was a man.
Amaia lifted her heels from the ground once more and surveyed the scene. Nuns filled the room. Michael’s energy came from a nunnery. The pull came from her right. She examined the identical black-clothed heads. One of the nuns looked up from her plate, gray eyes catching the candlelight.
Michael was a woman. In this country surrounded by Muslims, Michael was a Christian nun.
Why it should surprise her was a mystery to Amaia. It wasn’t as if every experience with Michael that had preceded this one had been perfectly normal. Amaia watched for a few moments to verify what she already knew and then turned away. She had never supposed that Michael could come back as a woman. But what was it Cho had said? Reincarnation allows one to experience all facets of life. It only made sense that in order to experience all of life, one needed to experience it as both genders.
Still, it was difficult to process. She recited Cho’s book on the way home, and when she arrived, she buried herself in it.
Chapter 22
Metéora, December 1697, 3 months later
Amaia slowed her heart. She didn’t need its frantic fluttering adding to her already nervous state. It would have been helpful to talk to Meg about her plan, but she didn’t know how to even begin that conversation. Instead, she moved forward on her own.