The Garden of Stones

chapter THIRTY-FIVE





“The wrongs that blinded soul and pride, you needs must forgive and forget. In death we find no final right, no way for us to ease regret. No way to catch the tears of pain, when sons and daughters rest in earth. There is no way in which we gain our peace of mind, or joy, or mirth.”—from the ballad “Red Morning,” by the war-chanter Shar-fer-rayn, 495th Year of the Shrīanese Federation


Day 335 of the 495th Year of the Shrīanese Federation


Femensetri stood on a balcony in the Hai-Ardin where it overlooked Amnon. The sky was filled with kites that shone like paper lanterns. They drifted on the sea breeze, each one painted with the messages of loved ones to the Ancestors, family, and friends who had journeyed before them to the Well of Souls. Her eyes were luminous, beautiful.

“Remembering those who’ve gone before?” Indris asked as he and Shar approached, Ekko and Hayden in their wake. Ekko loomed large in the armor and clothes of a jombe. He had resigned his commission with the Lion Guard. It was his preference to travel with Indris, now that he had experienced some of the perils he had thought were little more than myth.

“There are too many to remember,” she mused. She looked over the small group with a smile. “When you live as long as I have, some of the names get forgotten. Don’t let the poets fool you. It happens.”

“I saw Nazarafine speaking with Siamak earlier.” Indris came to stand beside his old teacher. “Is there anything we need to worry about?”

“Isn’t there always something to worry about?” Shar chuckled.

“We appear to be safe, for the time being,” Femensetri said with a sour tone. “Nazarafine is sponsoring Siamak for the Family Bey to be restored to the status of a Great House. It’s been centuries since the Bey have been rahns. He deserves it and Far-ad-din would be pleased, I think.”

“It’s been ten days. What news from our neighbors?” Indris asked.

“High Palatine Navaar professes friendship for now. As for the Iron League? They no doubt have spies, same as we have ours. I sent word to our own embassies in the Iron League countries, assuring them everything was under control.”

“I imagine they might find that hard to chew,” Hayden observed. “There ain’t a whole lot of trust there to begin with.”

“We’re nowhere near out of the woods yet,” Femensetri said darkly. “Corajidin is missing and still capable of causing us grief. We’ve two new and inexperienced rahns among the ranks in Roshana and Vahineh, who may not even survive. You never told me what happened with Corajidin, boy.”

“How fares Vahineh?” Indris replied.

Femensetri scowled. “Her personality was splintered by the Awakening. It’s difficult to understand who she is at any given moment. She may recover, but the woman was never intended to carry this burden. We could use Far-ad-din.”

“Far-ad-din is a good man, Femensetri.” Indris looked out across the night-lit haze of Amnon. “But he’s right. His own peers turned against him far too easily. Shame, he’d have made a good Asrahn.”

“Never happen.” Femensetri sounded sad. “Neither Shrīan nor the Iron League are ready for a Seethe to govern a nation. At least he won’t bring the Seethe down on us in retribution. Still fixing on this journey of yours?”

“To Avānweh?” Indris asked. “Yes. Sassomon-Omen needs a new body. Besides, the New Year’s Festival in Avānweh will be something. It’ll be interesting to see what happens at the Assembly of Peers, too. With Vashne gone and Corajidin in the wind, I’d not be surprised to see a lot of the Imperialist exiles trying to reclaim their places in society. As Shar said, there’s always something to worry about.”

“So, are you returning to the Order?” Femensetri hawked and spat.

“I think you’re going giddy with the moment,” Indris said drily. “I’ll stay my own man.”

“You did well, boy.” Femensetri rested her hands on Indris’s shoulders. “Though you should’ve killed Corajidin when you—”

“Wait a—”

“Let me finish!” She placed her hand over his mouth. “Letting him go will cause problems. He still presents a danger to us all. Yet your handling of the Ariskander issue, flying a galley across the Rōmarq, and capturing the Destiny Engine were masterfully done. You sure you’ll not come back to the Sēq? You could be the youngest master—”

“Thank you for your confidence, but no.” Indris bowed his head. There was much Femensetri did not know, could never know, about what Indris was capable of. “I can do real good as I am.”

Femensetri smiled. “Perhaps you are my greatest pupil.” She leaned forward and took him in her arms. Indris was surprised by the unexpected display of affection. When she spoke next, it was in a whisper for him alone. “Besides, I’ll always know where to find you, should I need you.”

“About my mother.” Indris leaned back from his former teacher. Something Ariskander had said still echoed in his mind. “What is it you’re not telling me?”

“There’s much I’ve not told you,” the Stormbringer admitted. “Some, because you don’t need to know. Some, because you need to find out for yourself.”

“And the rest?”

“Ah.” She sighed. “The rest I made a promise to your mother not to say.”





Indris walked up the gentle slope of Zephyr Hill. Hundreds of people knelt in the grass, their faces lit sepia by the flames in each alabaster and crystal flower on its plinth in the Garden of Stones. Some turned to look at him, a solitary wanderer in his threadbare over-robe, his sword sheathed across his back. The people of Amnon had become used to warriors in their midst. There were scowls as he passed, gestures to ward off evil. A few spat into the grass, to curse him and his violent ways as he passed them by. People had lost those they loved. He did not begrudge them their anger.

He crested the hill, then continued down the narrow stone path toward the Lotus House. He stopped when he reached the door. It was open, it was always open, yet as always his feet betrayed him. Truth was he had stood before the door many times, his hand resting on the pendant-shaped brass handles. He had listened, more times than he could count, to the wind chimes, white plaited leather stitched with beads of yellow glazed clay in the shape of bees that swung in the breeze. Each time he had walked away.

“I’ll come with you, if you like,” Shar murmured from behind him.

Indris looked over his shoulder at his dearest friend. He had asked so much of her over the years. She had never once complained or refused him. Though it meant risking her own life, Shar-fer-rayn had been at his side when there was no logical reason for her to be. A reflexive response started to shape his lips. Before the words could escape, never to be recalled, he closed his mouth.

“I’d like that,” Indris said. “Thank you.”

Shar took him by the hand, though it was Indris who took the first, tentative step inside.

Together they followed the spiral of the Memorial Wall, with its myriad names. There was only one he had eyes for: Anj-el-din. Like all the names on the wall, it was set with tiny slivers of ilhen, to shine in beams of pale blue-white light like a star.

“I hadn’t thought it would be so…” Indris’s eyes burned. There was an itch in the back of his nose and an ache in his chest he felt only when he was alone, when memory got the better of him. He squeezed Shar’s hand. “You know, I’ve never said good-bye to her,” he murmured.

“Perhaps it’s time you did,” she said gently. She took his face in both her hands; her beautiful jewel eyes stared into his. “You carry such a burden of grief for the lives you could never save, as well as the guilt for being alive when they’re not. You’re murdering yourself from the inside out, and I hate to see you do it. You’re the very best of men, Näsarat fa Amonindris, if only you’d see it.”

Indris quoted a poem he had written many years ago, yet never had the resolve to finish.


We tried to lead the lives we chose,

yet knew our dreams weren’t coming true.

I drowned in regrets the day you left,

obsessed with all things meaningless.

I bowed before the emptiness,

and empty-souled went penniless,

before all the shallow dreams I thought were me.


“I love her so much, Shar,” he murmured. “I think I always will. When we escaped and she was gone, some part of me knew she was…I denied it at first. I dragged you everywhere to search for her. But now, with Mari—”

“Don’t.” She hushed him. “Haven’t you learned anything from your time with the Seethe? Guilt and melancholy are the poison of the spirit.”

“Then I pleaded to the Ancestors,” he whispered. “Promised them anything if I could take Anj’s place in death…”

“I was with you.” She held him close. “Yet yours isn’t the only love to end before its time.”

“So much has happened.” He reached out to touch the glowing name with tender hands.

“Don’t tell me, Indris.” Shar backed away quietly. “Tell her.”

Indris sagged. He turned around to sit with his back to the obelisk. Softly batting the back of his head against it, he struggled to form his thoughts into words from those places that had been locked for far too long.

“I’ve missed you,” he began hesitantly. Indris cleared his throat, then began again. “There are times when it feels I can’t breathe without you. There’s hardly been a day gone by when I’ve not thought of you and hoped you’re happy where you are. It’s a shame you’re not here tonight, Anj. There’s dancing. It’s a great night to dance, and I know you love it…Remember when he first met? The smell and sound and taste of the revelry—I willed as hard as I could for dawn to never come.”

He stood, faced the obelisk. There was a sense of release in the words, something sacred in the outpouring. Indris recounted much of what had happened in his life since they had parted. He remembered laughing at the silly things they had done. Jokes that few other people would find funny. He apologized for old fights, when they had gone silently to their corners of the house to brood, until they each found the other in the center again, forgiveness on each other’s lips. And he cried. For all the things he should have said, yet did not. For all the things he should have done, yet never did. For the small and simple and innocent things she had needed from him, the things he had so wanted to give her, yet could not.

From time to time he would look over to where Shar waited, a treasure for her patience. Constant in her acceptance.

Indris leaned his brow against the obelisk. “From the moment I laid eyes on you, you held my love in your hands. Our world was hard on us, but that’s over now. I can’t be with you where you are, and I’m not sorry for that. I know I promised that if you walked away, I’d follow. But I can’t. So let me kiss you good-night, my beautiful lady, and wish you peace. Look kindly on me.”

He pressed his lips against the obelisk. Now he had said what he needed to say, he wondered why he had lacked the courage to say good-bye sooner. Perhaps he had not been ready to let go before now. He breathed deeply, blinked away the tears that had formed, surprised at how much lighter he felt.

Shar took him by the elbow and led him away, out of the Lotus House and down through the songs of joy that lifted the Garden of Stones. The familiar shapes of Ekko and Hayden stood at the base of the hill.

“Where to?” Shar asked.

“Avānweh. But first, I need to see somebody.”





“Where am I?” Mari asked. Her voice sounded fuzzy in her ears, the words slurred. She opened her eyes. The light seared her vision, sent sparks of pain shooting through her head. She screwed her eyes shut again.

“You’re in the Healer’s Garden of the Hai-Ardin,” came the crow-voiced response. “Though you’ll be moved as soon as we don’t think it’ll kill you.”

“How long—”

“Ten days.” Mari had felt hands on her body, her face, her arms and legs, yet the sensations were far removed. It was as if her body had been swaddled in thick silks and the softest of cotton. “Though you’re not out of the woods yet.”

“The Teshri—”

“Safe enough, thanks to—”

“My father—”

“Rest, Mari. You’ve been hero enough.”

Mari wanted to talk again, yet the effort of words, of which ones to choose, then to get her mouth to cooperate, all seemed too hard. Perhaps rest was the—





She smelled the lavender in the air first. On the edges of the lavender came the faint vinegar-like scent of antiseptic, jasmine incense, and the tang of the sea. Wind hummed somewhere nearby. There was the faint rattle of reeds. The susurrus of leaves. Music, distant, tinged with sadness, Seethe voices raised in breathy song over the metallic twang of sonesettes, the deep tones of theorbo, drums, and low-voiced kahi flutes.

Though she could not understand the words, the songs made her want to cry. Too tired to open her eyes, her body numb, she curled up once more and—





Mari opened her eyes to the soft ilhen light of her bower. Above her head the shadows of the leaves occluded more than half the sky. Much of the rest was strewn with the glory of the Ancestor’s Cloak, its long wide folds of misty yellow and red light stitched with starry beads of garnet, sapphire, amber, and diamond. From within the deep cowl, the Eye stared down at her with blue-white brilliance.

“You’re fortunate to be alive.” Indris gently closed the book he had been reading. “Though once the effects of the lotus milk wear off, you won’t feel like it.”

Mari tried to sit up, but she did not have enough command over her own limbs. Her torso was wrapped in linen strips painted with esoteric symbols. She lifted the sheet that covered her with trembling arms. Her legs were likewise wrapped, as was her right foot. Mari noted the skin on both her arms was similarly painted. A string of polished stones was wound about her wrist, each one glittering with faint carnelian light. “What treatment is this?”

“It’s something I learned from the Y’arrow-te-yi.” Indris grinned, a lopsided thing she found very attractive. The wind snagged the unruly tangles of his hair. She wanted to reach out and move it from where it fell over his eyes. “You should find your wounds will heal more quickly than expected, though you’ll tire easily for a couple of weeks yet.” He took her hand in his own, muscles firm under his skin. “You lingered on the rim of the Well of Souls for quite a while.”

“What happened?” she asked. “I remember getting an absolute thrashing from the Iphyri, then…blurs, mostly.”

“From what I understand, you and a small number of the Feyassin held the Tyr-Jahavān stair while Nazarafine tried to convince the Teshri of your father’s crimes.” He looked at her with admiration. “You stood against more than two hundred nahdi in your father’s employ, then you alone, wounded as you were, killed more than thirty Iphyri. It was Ekko and the Tau-se who came down to assist you. Perhaps I’m lucky we didn’t fight the Hamesaad after all.”

“It would’ve been a shame,” Mari said wryly. “My father and brother?”

Indris leaned back in his chair, expression thoughtful as he gazed out over Amnon. “The quorum was locked on the issue of your father’s guilt.”

“So, what happens now?”

“Nazarafine took a chance and vetoed the Teshri. She stripped your father of his post as Asrahn-Elect, as well as the governorship of Amnon. The Teshri is up in arms but has agreed to a ruling of the Arbiter’s Tribunal at the next Assembly of Peers. Your father is far from having his fangs pulled.”

“Where is he?”

“We don’t know.”

“What about me?” she asked quietly. “There’s nothing for me in Erebus Prefecture now.”

Indris laughed. It was a bright thing that rose into the air, easy and free. “Mari, after what you’ve done, I doubt there’s anybody who’d want you to leave.”

What about you? She wanted so much to ask the question. Would you like me to stay? Is there a future for us, now the dust has settled and we are who we’re supposed to be? Yet the words would not pass her lips.

“That’s a relief.” Though she had always wondered what it would be like to be set apart from her House, the idea of being truly alone was not something she thought she was quite ready for.

Indris looked deeply into her eyes. “Nazarafine was impressed with you. As was Femensetri. As was Rosha. There are a number of people who owe you a great debt, Mari. Let them repay it. You deserve it.”

“Good advice.” She did not care about a number of people. She cared about one. The one who truly did not want anything from her. She wanted to take him in her arms, to draw him into her bower and lie with him, exhausted and happy. The intimacy of two bodies, fingers rested upon skin, hair entwined. The resonance of his voice, her ear pressed against his chest. To hear his hearts beat.

“I’m needed elsewhere, for now.” He leaned forward to kiss her brow. Did his lips linger? Did his fingers become entwined in her hair? “But I’ll be back.”

She reached up to cup his head in her hand. Her lips moved to his. Parted, to taste him, made a memory for her to relish until the next time.

She watched him walk away, a shadow in the gloom across an ever-widening distance. She smiled. They parted how they had met, as two people in the dark. He waved, a hesitant thing that ended almost as quickly as it began, before he was gone.





Nazarafine and Ziaire came to visit her shortly after Indris left. Mari had trouble keeping her eyes open, though she did her best to be alert. She missed most of the opening of the conversation, but she managed to nod her head in what she hoped was a sage manner to their questions.

“You’ve not heard a word we’ve said, have you?” Ziaire leaned forward, green eyes vivid. “Would you prefer we came back later?”

“No,” Mari lied tiredly. “My apologies. Please, what were you saying?”

“We were talking about what to do with you, my dear.” Nazarafine sat back on the couch, cheeks red as apples. It might have been the effects of the lotus milk, but Mari caught a wicked gleam in the older woman’s eye. “You did an incredible thing here. Not that you would know, but the troubadours are already writing ballads in your name, poets are composing sonnets, and awestruck men are penning love letters to you.”

“Obviously the ones who don’t know me.” Mari chuckled, wincing at a stab of pain in her chest. “I did what I was trained to do.”

“Had that been the case, you’d have sided with your father and events would have turned out differently.” Ziaire smoothed the sheets around Mari’s feet before taking a seat on the cot. The courtesan looked radiant in folds of jade-and-emerald silk, embroidered with yellow butterflies. It was the first time Mari had seen her dressed other than in the pale robes of her order.

“We appreciate you took a great risk in helping us,” Nazarafine said. “You also sacrificed everything to bring us here. We can’t begin to thank you enough. We can, however, give you something back.”

“Pardon?”

Nazarafine placed a polished wooden box in Mari’s hand. Mari fumbled with the clasp. Inside, resting upon a bed of white silk, were two white-gold lotus flower insignia. The ones given to the Knight-Colonel of the Feyassin.

“But Qamran—”

“Agrees there’s no better person for the role,” Ziaire said. “As did the others. You’ll need to mend some bridges, but they all appreciate what you did. The honor of the Feyassin has never been greater, thanks to your final stand.”

Mari felt her hearts skip and her breath shorten. She touched the insignia with the tip of her finger, as if to prove they were real. When she looked up, both Nazarafine and Ziaire were grinning at her.

“You swore an oath as a Feyassin, Mari,” Nazarafine prompted. “It suited you well, I think. Perhaps you should see this as a more pure form of service, where more than one person’s life is at stake should you fail. Are you interested?”

“Interested?” Mari could not help the width of her grin.

Nazarafine grasped Mari’s hand in her own. “When you’re recovered, come to Avānweh. There’s a lot for you to do to restore the numbers of the Feyassin and not a lot of time to do it in. Try to make it sooner rather than later?”

“I will,” Mari promised.