Prince of Storms (42 page)

“And if the other realms deny us?”

Inweer kept his dark gaze on her. “You know better than to ask what I would do.”

Sen Ni turned to her father.

He whispered, “Best to ask someone else. I am a partisan of the Rose.”

“No one believes that is all you are.”

He paused. Then: “If you can accept Lord Inweer's proposal—and Venn's—I would be at peace.”

Sen Ni considered what she had heard. Inweer offered some hope, as did Venn. But even with such prospects, the life of the Entire was not assured.

Riod surrounded her mind with his thoughts.
The gathering does not wish to commit murder in the Rose. Most of them do not wish to.

Her father murmured to her, “It's always hard, Sydney. Always.”

For a moment she was envious of his position on the sidelines. Right now she longed for a long, hard ride across the steppe on Riod's back.

She turned to Venn.

The Jinda ceb spoke. “I think Manifest would support this idea. We will, I am sure, help you.” She cut a quick glance at Titus. “This time we will.”

Sen Ni looked at each of them in turn. “I will bring this to the Entirety. It will have my support.” She smiled at her father.
Each realm sovereign
, as he had urged.

Looking at Lord Inweer, she was struck by the thought of how much they owed him. Of how terrible had been the Tarig reign, and yet…how impossible it was at this moment to condemn the lords. They had left the land they created, left it in peace. They were terrible and weak, with moments of beauty. How like herself. How like her father.

She gave him a slight bow, shocking even Riod.

Outside, Prime of Day waxed hot, infusing the tent with a golden haze. Sen Ni was alone with her father. Riod had gone to join Emka.

Titus sat next to her, and they were quiet for a time as he gazed at the glowing walls of the tent.

“Do you still have visions?” she asked.

“Only in the binds.”

“Please stay out of the binds.”

He turned to her. “There are things I've meant to say to you. For years, Sydney. May I tell you now?”

She nodded.

“Some things…I had to do. For the Rose. Other things…” He shook his head. “I don't know.”

He didn't know. What
could
he know, now that he had undergone the navitar process. But
I don't know
wasn't enough. She was relieved when he began again.

He stared beyond the tent walls, summoning his words. “I came back to the Ascendancy to get permission to travel to the Inyx sway. I didn't know how I'd free you, but I was coming for you. Then I uncovered the conspiracy against the Rose. I had to go back to warn them. It tore me apart to leave without you. I don't know if you can believe me.

“I couldn't come for you earlier because Su Bei had taken my memories and I didn't know where you were. More time passed here than for me. It was
years here, but in the Rose, only months.” He shook his head. “I hate how this sounds. Like excuses.”

He continued. “When I came back again it was to destroy the engine. But when I found that it would be catastrophic against the Entire, I thought of you. And I chose you, Sydney. I chose the Entire because you were here. I threw the weapon away.”

She turned to him. This was the first she had heard it had been for
her
.

“When you aligned with Helice and later with Geng De, I had to oppose you. But it was all for the Rose, to keep it safe. We were set against each other. But even then I knew how you loved the Entire, that you were trying to protect it. We were both pawns in something larger than ourselves.” He put up a hand to stop her from speaking when she took pity on him and would have said
I know
.

“That's when I began to fear becoming something other than myself. Becoming a leader. A hero. A god or monster that other people wanted and created.

“And when I became a navitar, I saw that it had already happened.” His face hardened. “The future. It was there. I wanted it. I had become…become that thing already.”

She whispered, “And when you were a prince?”

She knew it would cut him. But in those years, before Riod, before she found a place to be, it was the thing that had most deeply wormed into her heart.

His voice broke. “They kept me. I didn't know where you were. But I let them keep me. A prince. I could have been in a cell or walking freely. God help me, I chose to walk free.” He looked down at his hands. “I've done things. I don't trust what I might do. But yesterday, I gave back to you what I could.”

He turned to her for the first time. “If I could do it over....”

She took his hands in hers. “We both would do things differently.”

He shook his head no. “Maybe I had some good reasons. But those reasons never gave me permission in my own mind. It's been my private hell. I love you, Sydney. I always have.”

“I made it hard to love me.”

“No. Please don't excuse me. But if you can, forgive me.”

She had forgiven him the moment that Geng De betrayed her, and if not
in that exact moment, then the moment when he ran toward Mo Ti's sword because he could not live as a navitar, and had become one because of her. “I forgive you. For everything you did and everything you're afraid you did.”

He stood and raised her up with him. “Thank you—”

She broke in: “And for everything
I've
done against the Rose, Father, I'm sorry.” She stepped into his arms and closed her eyes against him.

“The Rose lost you a long time ago,” he whispered. “You did well, Sydney. And will do.”

Mo Ti drew aside the back tent flap. “Master Inweer is leaving,” he announced.

“Thank you, Mo Ti,” Titus said. “I'm coming.”

Holding Sen Ni at arm's length, he said, “About your mother…”

“It was all so long ago.”

“But the blame endures.”

She found her voice. “If you contact her, tell her I understand. I hope I do. I'll try.”

He nodded. “Having Tiejun will help. He's a fine boy. Children teach us things.”

She smiled. “Go to Inweer. Before he slips away.” She knew they had matters to discuss.

Mo Ti held the tent flap open, and her father ducked away.

As he emerged from the tent's back door, he spied Venn by the orphans' tent. Approaching her, he said, “Will you wait for me a moment?”

She nodded. Then she glanced in the direction of Inweer, who was standing alone on the shoreline.

Quinn walked down to join him.

They looked out on the river, static and silver, and for Quinn, haloed with colors. He wondered if all navitars saw those glimmerings.

Inweer said, “You are a stranger now, like me.”

“I think I always was.”

“There was,” Inweer said, “a time when I did not favor you. But perhaps not for the reason you suppose.” He paused. “For Johanna's regard of you.”

Sydney's words came back to him.
That was all so long ago.
“No need, my lord. All her…regard…was for you. I am convinced of that.”

Inweer fell silent, watching the Nigh. Then: “Walk with me, Titus Quinn.”

He did so. The two of them made their way toward the Inyx herd, where they felt a level of comfort. Quinn was going to learn where Johanna was. He hoped his visions were true—that she was in the Rose. She deserved to have that, had earned some happiness. He hoped with all his heart that she had found it.

When he came back to the orphans' tent an hour later, he stood with Venn, watching as Inweer's ship departed.

Venn murmured, “He will always oppose our counsels to Sen Ni.”

Quinn nodded. “Perhaps a counterbalance is best.”

She seemed to bristle at that, but made no response.

He glanced at the pavilion. “Don't let them see her sick. Tell your healers to be discreet.”

“I thought the future was safe now.”

“It will be, once I'm gone.” He turned to her. “A travel slit, if you please, Venn.”

She opened one. They stepped through.

“A
NZITAJ
!” One of the juveniles caught up with her as she was walking out of lessons. Covilmon was one of the older juveniles, almost to adult status, and the one who'd been helping her the most.

“Covilmon. You knew I was going to be away a few days.” She had not yet seen Su Bei, and was eager for the reunion.

“Yes, but some of us still want lessons.”

They weren't used to being told no or having anything closed to them. Manifest, after all, was always open. “Make a list of questions. I'll be back in a few days.”

“Can I make the lessons?”

Anzi considered this. She'd only been conducting lessons for twenty-three days; Covilmon's understanding of the Entire was still piecemeal. But the few things she had so far taught them—about the culture of the sways, the geography of the primacies, the history of the Entire, the idioms of Lucent—had been recorded in Manifest. The students could cross-check Covilmon, and ask questions when she returned.

“Yes, if you like.” Some students might even show up in the commons garden for Covilmon's efforts. So far meeting in person for teaching was still considered rather novel. Anzi hoped she could sustain interest.

She was pleased with lessons. The little school had grown to a group of one hundred students. Even as small as it was, the challenge was to keep the
interest of so many. Some days Venn and Sideree came to help, but their knowledge was imperfect. An arc ago Iritaj had dropped by and sat at the edge of the classroom, listening, and then drifting away looking if not pleased, at least not unhappy.

The best hope was with the juveniles. Adult Jinda ceb were not only traditionalists, but isolationists. Despite their intention to come home, they did not have much interest in matters beyond Manifest, beyond their minoral. That must change. If they were going to send out ships into the far realms, they should be grounded in the world they would represent. But beyond that, if the Jinda ceb were ever to find acceptance from the sways, they needed to understand the Entire. They should understand that although the Entire did not have a Manifest, the All was a commons nonetheless, a meeting ground of the primacies and the sways connected by the Nigh.

She was developing friendships here again. With Titus gone she needed them. Her life was assuming a calm pattern of lessons and Manifest, and that was good. A little routine, a little calm was good.

It gave her time to discover who she was.

She had learned to stop being curious about her life art. After all, Complete One Venn did not gaze at herself in mirrors. It was considered bad form to do so, and Anzi believed she knew why. Life art was a representation of what most people already knew about you. It was not the art that mattered; what mattered was what you
were
.

Hoisting her knapsack, she bid Covilmon good-bye and set out on the long hike to Bast.

“What took you so long?”

Su Bei looked up from his writing desk. He had aged. Thinner than she remembered him, he wore gray silks and a square cap over his hair, now completely black. His face was a mass of lines leading everywhere at once. “Master Bei, I only learned a few arcs ago that you were alive.” “Oh. Did you think I wasn't?” He frowned in confusion, and the greeting ground to a halt.

His domicile was full of scrolls, but it was a simpler room than he'd kept at the Reach. He called down a few forma and opened a chair for her. “No doubt you've had a lot on your mind, what with the navitar business.” He glanced away. “That is, Geng De. That navitar.” He shook his head. “I'm sorry, Anzi, for what you're…” His words trailed off.

He was finding it hard to refer to Titus. She could empathize. She turned the conversation. “Why didn't you tell us you'd survived?”

Reluctantly, he put down his stylus. “Why?” He looked around. “It's peaceful here. The Jinda ceb bring me my meals. No reason to go out. I've been getting a lot of work done. Writing work. I think you could agree that's very important.”

She sighed. “The treatise.” His obsession with the cosmology of the Rose was so much a part of him she could not imagine him without it.

“No, not the treatise!” He frowned. “Why does everyone think I'm still working on that?” He narrowed his eyes, gazing at her critically. “You're doing Jinda ceb art these days, I heard. That's a project for the young. Too much change for me, I'm afraid. But I did the next best thing. The Jinda ceb gave me access to their viewing screens, not only into the Rose, but into the seven kingdoms. I spent years on it. Very productive years. I was able not only to map the present relationships of the kingdoms but also changes through time. One can dial up the times of interest, and the places. So you see, the Rose cosmology—that was just the beginning. The Jinda ceb gave me access to so much more. To the whole local cluster of kingdoms. Relationship, internal views. All written up now. Quite a while back, actually.”

Anzi listened to this recitation in surprise. Su Bei had found a scholar's heaven—and he had been in the correspondency world, just like her. He had probably not missed his old friends at all.

“These days,” he went on, “I don't have the old fire for research. I'm slowing down. What I'm working on now”—he looked around his hut—“is a less scholarly work. Decidedly less scientific. I hope you'll approve.”

“Why would I not?”

He fingered his pen. “Well. It has to do with you.”

“Me?”

“Somewhat.”

“What are you writing, Master Bei?”

He cleared his throat. “Actually, it's the story of Titus Quinn. Titus in the Entire. It's taken me four books, but by the bright, I'm done. Or nearly. I took many liberties, of course, filling in people's thoughts and motivations, for example.”

Anzi stared at him. “A biography?”

“With flourishes.” He waved at the finished scrolls. “The provisional title was
Annals of a Former Prince
. But I think I like something simpler.
The Entire and the Rose
might suit. What do you think?”

“But how can you know all that happened? You weren't here....” Then she realized he had already told her how.

“Well, Anzi, I was counting on you to fill me in a bit. I'm almost done now, except for perhaps an epilogue. I'd like to know, for example, what happened at the end to Titus.”

Anzi's gaze fell to the floor. “We don't know. He left.”

Bei's eyebrows went up. “The Rose?”

She tried to answer. Could not. For one thing, she didn't know.

“Oh, and another thing,” Bei went on. “What happened to Johanna? You will let me know when you find out?”

Anzi stood up and went to shelves along his wall. She trailed her hand over the scrolls. “How did you know…the more personal details?”

He glanced away. “One takes a few liberties. Then, too, I had Titus's daughter's book of pinpricks. Old Venn gave it to me, apparently a gift from the girl. So I had quite a bit from her perspective. She's in charge now? Remarkable. In any case, if one isn't sure of how it went, and one can't dial it up on the screen, one is inclined to just go by what one
knows
of people.” He shook his head, “It isn't proper scholarship. It ends up being, of course, a
story
. Would you like to read it sometime?”

She nodded.

“Then I shall have to finish it, won't I?”

It took her a few moments to figure out that he wanted to get back to it.

Before she left, he put a restraining hand on her arm. “I'm very glad to see you, Anzi. Once I heard you were safe, a great burden lifted. For the
rest…” He waved at the thin air. “I always knew Titus would work things out. He was clever that way.”

He bent over his scroll, murmuring, “Tell him that if you ever see him again.”

She stood under the ebbing sky, trying to decide whether to spend the night in Bast or make her way to Tir, Venn's village. She had been strangely moved by Bei's efforts to write Titus's story. There were times in the last twenty-three days when she'd had the sense that everything that had happened was not quite real, that it was all slipping past her, out of memory, out of her grasp—that it in fact was becoming a more brilliant sphere of her life, one that would shadow and dwarf anything that she would ever experience again.

Thinking of Su Bei's story made her smile.

It was with that smile on her lips that she turned and saw Titus standing on the edge of the commons garden.

He wore a simple padded jacket and trousers tucked into boots. With his hair pulled back into a clip, he looked a little thin. He came toward her, since her feet were glued to the ground.

“They said you were here.” He looked up at Bei's hut. “How is he?”

“The same as ever,” she managed to say.

They looked at each other for a long moment. He broke the silence. “Perhaps we could walk.” He tilted his head at the commons garden.

She got her feet under way.

Once they had entered the garden, they walked in silence for a time. He seemed to be having a hard time making a beginning. It was enough that he was here; it was everything. She bit back tears.

He said, very low, “I asked the Jinda ceb to let me stay. In the minoral. If you agree.”

She hadn't realized she had not quite been breathing. She pulled in a life-giving breath. And then another. “I agree.”

She remembered—painfully remembered—everything she had said to him on board Ghoris's ship. If he felt uncertain of his reception, it was
because she
had
been uncertain. All that vanished. She felt a delirious happiness, a vast and physically weakening sense of relief.

Titus said, “I thought I could help you with lessons.” A quick glance at her. “If you want help.”

“There's a lot of work.” She turned shyly to him. “I need a lot of help.”

He swallowed. Tried to say something. Failed.

They passed several Jinda ceb who frankly stared at them. Everyone knew who she was. Everyone knew who
he
was. As they walked, Titus unconsciously rubbed his arm.

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

“I had a mole removed. It's nothing.” He stopped in the middle of the path, turning to her with a sudden intensity. “Anzi, I'm still working on all this.” A Jinda ceb walked by, having to move around them. Titus seemed oblivious of being in the middle of the path.

“I wake up at night, seeing things, or remembering them. And I don't always seem to know what I'm thinking. What to say.” He took her by the arms, gently but deliberately. “Anzi. It won't be easy for you.”

Well, she had not had
easy
from the moment she'd met him.

He went on. “Iritaj says I can learn to accept it—all that I am. In time.”

“Iritaj is teaching you?”

“I'm not sure we'll get on.”