We live! We live! The Lights Above sing of our lives, and we live!
“Cren Cru is dead,” said Nidawi. “And I, in gratitude to the King of Here and There, have seen to it that no more Faerie beasts will enter the South Land from the gorges below. I and my people have built great, strong bridges as locks, and I have placed wards upon them that will prevent all . . . save perhaps dragons.” She shrugged. “But what can be done about dragons?”
“You are very kind to my people,” said Imraldera. “I thank you for this service on their behalf.”
“Will you then be kind to mine?” Nidawi, shifting the cub into one arm, reached out the other, cupping her hand so that more of her children could sit upon her palm. Then she extended it and all those little lights to Imraldera, as though offering a gift. “Tadew is gone. They have nowhere to go. I cannot take them with me through the Wood, for they will not be safe. I would lose some, and others would die, and others would fall sick, and . . .” Her brow puckered with worry, which did nothing to mar her beauty.
Imraldera put out both her hands. “I will keep your children here,” she said. “They will be safe in the Haven with me, and they may help me in my work if they wish.”
Nidawi smiled and poured the lights from her hand into Imraldera’s. As she did so, the other lights around her rushed to Imraldera as well, whirling around her, pulling her hair and her garments teasingly, laughing and kissing her with the tiniest of kisses all over her face and neck. Then they streamed past her through the door, into the Haven. And soon all the windows were bright with colored glows as they explored up and down this enormous new home that was as a kingdom to them.
The Haven would be a lonely spot no more.
A few lights remained hovering around Imraldera’s shoulders and the top of her head. Nidawi, pleased, smiled at them and melted into the form of a girl just on the brink of womanhood, neither child nor adult but something in between. The cub climbed up onto her shoulder and chewed on her ear.
“I will leave you, then,” Nidawi said. “I have many Paths to explore, and Lion here will keep me company. When I have found a home for my children, I will return.”
“We will wait for you,” said Imraldera. Then, though she hesitated, she reached out and stroked the lion cub’s ears, which were so soft as to be irresistible, even though he always tried to bite in response. A fitting companion for the Everblooming, Imraldera thought, backing away again.
So Nidawi left, the cub gamboling at her heels. And when she went, the colored glows of her people winked out, one by one. But Imraldera could still feel them and hear them around her, as bright and lively as ever. They simply could not shine as they might wish to without their mother’s presence.
Imraldera stood awhile watching the place where Nidawi had disappeared into the Wood. She tried to think of something to say, and she could feel Eanrin watching her, could sense him also trying and failing to come up with a fitting word.
“That was kind of you,” she said at last.
He didn’t respond. When she dared glance his way, she found him idly pushing at the cuticles of his nails, like a cat grooming his paws. His face was as placid as a calm sea and equally unfathomable.
“To bring Nidawi here, I mean,” Imraldera continued. “I am sure she was grateful in her own way. And I was glad for the opportunity to introduce her to the cub.”
Eanrin nodded and, without looking at her, said, “Once in a while a kindlier instinct takes over and, despite all my best efforts, has its way with me.”
“Oh, come!” said Imraldera, trying to laugh, to make things natural. But a laugh wasn’t natural, and she knew it. Rather, she should have a curt reprimand for him, some sarcastic remark and a scowl.
But nothing was natural now. She wondered if anything ever would be again.
“You’re kinder than you like to let on, Eanrin. Why don’t you come inside and tell me what has happened, for I—”
“I couldn’t save him, Imraldera.”
She felt her heart sinking down to her stomach, to her feet. “I . . . I did not expect you to,” she whispered. Then she watched as Eanrin turned his hands over, and she saw the blisters lining each finger, ringing his palms. Faeries heal far more quickly than mortals can dream, and Imraldera knew that these wounds should long since have vanished. Yet Eanrin held on to them and allowed them to continue giving him pain.
She reached out and tried to take his hands, but he drew them back, tucking them under his arms, his shoulders hunched and his head down.