Verse XIV

  Like any young mer leondra raised in the lee of the Mother's Temple and destined to service, Nehemi min Noemi was well accustomed to pomp, pageantry, and pretense. The grand entrance to the city was filled with all three of these things. As they had expected. As they had practiced. But, for all that expectation and practice, she was finding the actual experience to be lacking. Here in this place, light shining from the firmament as if new on the first day, a prestra sacrista could not help but focus on the important matter, which was the sacrament itself. Though she led the sisters in sacrament both in song and in stately procession behind the metal icon of cooperation and friendship between their tribes, Nehemi had to squelch the urge to scream, 'Just be done with it, so we may get started!'

  Such an outburst would not do, no matter how well-deserved she thought it to be, so Nehemi turned her mind to the mers of this strange city, to the future mothers whose daughters she would help bring into the world.

  The faces were not as she had expected. Of course they were not manoa, nor leondra, with those long beakish mouths and the crests of scales in place of hair or fur. It would not do to expect the same sort of expression out of the mer galda, but she would at least think to see more excitement in those eyes... No matter the tribe of mer, the eyes spoke the same language. And while there was happiness and joy to be seen, other emotions flowed warm and chill through the emotional waters around the parade.

  Did no one else notice? Surely the elder prestra knew; they would have visited Valden many times ere now and seen this same scene play out with its pageantry and response. Why then had no one mentioned it directly, in more open speech than the occasional insinuation.

  She must focus on her strokes, on her song, on leading her sisters. Long practice defended her from misstrokes, but only for so long. With greatest care, Nehemi made sure that they arrived up the slope to the front walls of the House of Hillia without error.

  Their welcome to the viceroy's House was loud, effusive, everything the sisters of the sacrament could wish as scores of brightly colored manoa clapped shells and sang their gratitude. Their faces, their eyes were simple to read, with none of the strange undercurrents to the city below.

  It was happier, nicer... but perhaps, she would come to think in later days, not better.

  Verse XV

  It was impolite to stare. That numbered among the first lessons of etiquette that a princess would ever learn. Impolite, uncouth, beneath her dignity as the highest-ranking—and thus most interesting—mer in the room.

  Rhia stared anyway. Those etiquette lessons had mostly been night-wash in her recent experience.

  The workshop of one Tefira min Alfasia was a treasure trove of new sights. The great worktable was now clear, with room around it for the galda, her daughters, and all four guests with no fear of bumping elbows, but the shelves on each wall were heavy with decorations of carved stone, of worked metal in colors she had not known possible, of carefully shaped gemstones the facets of which caught the lamp-light and scattered it in many-hued currents of muted brilliance.

  The twins had said that their mother was a maestra of her craft, but this... "Who buys such beauty?" The words escaped before their second thoughts could catch up. "Who could afford it?"

  "A few to the Crown." Maestra Tefira was no conversationalist, but she was making the attempt. "Most to the Temple."

  Rhia had need to bite her lip before any more words slipped free. To the Crown? When? She had certainly never seen aught like this, and if she had not, then who? A hand rested upon her fluke—Sera's. The red mer's face showed none of its usual contempt, merely a wary understanding that Rhia mirrored in her nod.

  The rest of the table chose to ignore them completely, staying on the topic of the jewelry itself.

  "There's an annual tithe," Jumilla explained. "A certain number of swords to Bryndoon, tools for Tessra?, assorted other items for other seas."

  "Pretty things for the mers on the rim," said Jumella. "Maestra-work for the Temple. We have little need for such things down here, so the maestras tend to stock up their best work over time, in case a particular request should appear."

  "Treasures for the prestra," said their mother. "Ten necklaces in thanks for their efforts."

  "Their..." It was a muddied picture Rhia was seeing in her mind. "You mean bribes for continued access to the blessed sacrament."

  "Would not say that." Maestra Tefira's face remained inscrutable.

  "No galda would," said Jumilla. "Just like none would speak up when the leondra waved around one of the old relics of the Stone Temple for all the seas to witness."

  The Stone Temple? Rhia was about to ask, but the maestra motioned for an end to the topic with a sweep of her clawed hand across the table. "Old business. Old history. Over and done. What is new? What is now?"

  Ardenne lifted her spear free of its kelpen wraps and placed it upon the table. "The now is older still, I am afraid. How old, we cannot say."

  "It's a real mystery, Mom," said Jumilla. "Look, see? This thing is no sort of metal we've seen, but it won't tarnish, chip, bend out of shape, or anything else."

  "The runes on it are odd as well," said her twin. "Not only in the sense that we cannot read them, but they almost appear too deep into the metal. I cannot imagine how this was cast."

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  "Perhaps it was not?" Maestra Tefira pulled herself up until she floated freely over the work table. Her hands sculled over the length of the spear but never touched it. "Metal. Strange. Correct you are in that, my daughters." The galda settled back into place. "Need expert of the forge," she declared. "A few days, that may take."

  "Why so long?" asked Ardenne.

  "Busy time. Too many quotas due. Festival. Preparations for coming daughters. Convincing Metal-Making Sept to allow strange manoa into sacred forges. A few days at least. A month, possibly. Never, also possibly."

  "Would Ser Gillian be able to help?" suggested Jumella. "If we asked? And... there are other things which she should be apprised of."

  The princess thought perhaps she knew who that mer was, or who she might be. An important mer, for certain, and there was only one thing they could likely tell a mer of importance that could not be heard anywhere else. Two things, if she were to include herself. But the first... her body wanted to shudder again at the fate of Mezzegheb. "We... we should certainly tell someone about that," she said to no one in particular. "They... those mers deserve remembrance."

  "Will send a message," said Maestra Tefira. "May still take a few days, but faster. Until then—Jumilla? Jumella? Clean guest rooms, now."

  "Yes, Mom..." Jumilla rolled her eyes, but the twin's mouth curled at the corners with some measure of delight. Rhia could understand. However annoying it may be at times, home was home.

  She hoped that her own home was doing well without her.

  Verse XVI

  The royal chamber sat atop the great cliffs of the harbor of Bryndoon, first to be touched by dawn's light as it filtered down from the firmament, and last to be kissed goodnight as the day faded. The shellwork walls caught every last mote of radiance and diffused them into a gentle glow. It was Marai's favorite chamber in the entire palace, save for its occupant.

  Queen Anyis lay along the curved stone couch in the center of the chamber, the one whose shape had been fitted exactly to her lines. It must have been most comfortable, as Her Majesty rarely left it, not even to eat. The royal head tilted to the approaching form, and an elegant hand received the bowl of sweet pods with a minimum of energy spent. Words were slower in coming, and Marai waited several beats before a "Thank you" skipped through the water.

  "You are welcome as always, Your Majesty," she replied. "May I be of any other assistance?"

  This offer was considered carefully and at great length as the queen chewed upon a sweet pod. "I am fine, but my gratitude goes to you for asking, Marai. You have visited more often as of late."

  "With Rhiela out of the palace, I've fewer duties," she said. A flicker of the old darkness slipped across her heart, but she floated in place, resolute and trusting that no sign of weakness now showed. Her mother's training was of great benefit.

  Queen Anyis could have done with some training of her own. The royal mother's face fell glum at the mention of the wayward daughter. "Yes, she has been off on her tour of the seas for quite some time now."

  She'd been told the truth, Anyis had. Marai knew that for a fact. The idea, however laughable, that Rhiela was on an official tour of the domains under Bryndoon's protection had proved to be the only tale that stuck in the royal heart, and so all who knew the truth now humored her.

  "It is a pity that she did not take you with her," continued Anyis. "You have always been so good for her, Marai."

  A depth of darkness was opened beneath her. she kept her head up and eyes on Her Majesty. "It is good for her to be on her own as well, I would think. And I have my own studies to attend to, if I am to follow in my mother's work."

  "Yes..." Queen Anyis leaned back against her couch. "I cannot complain about your mother, but..." Another sweet pod was royally chewed. "I... I might hope that you are not as, shall we say, disquietening as she, once you are of age. It is something that seems to happen to the daughters of din Linnea, given time. The Marhyd of my youthful memories was so happy and light of spirit..."

  "She still is," said the dutiful daughter. A measure of independence let her add, "Light of spirit, if not of body."

  There was almost a laugh from the queen. "That is true enough. Still, the stresses of the position have changed her over the years, and especially the demise of your grandmother. Just... be good to Rhiela, please? The two of you were always so perfect together."

  "I shall try." The depths had opened to a gulf, then to an abyss within her heart, hidden behind a well-trained and friendly demeanor. The words of politeness welled up, making the appropriate excuses and farewells so that the part of her that now refused to think straight could escape in peace. Currents upon currents in the waters of her mind swept through the abyss, finding her and netting her and pulling her in to be swaddled in memories of happy moments.

  The thought of the princess, of Rhiela, returning to the palace was the light in the darkness, the singular ray of hope descended from the firmament to reach her in the depths. Marai clung to it, lest she suffocate in the heaviness of the dead waters.

  She awoke to darkness, to the normal absence of illumination that was the night. The firmament still sparkled gently, and glow-lamps shone upon the walls, though tired and sputtering. Marai lay in the hammock which she had so often shared with Rhiela, so wide and empty now with but one mer in it.

  Blup? One mer and an octopod. Little Tilly crawled across the expanse of kelpen weave, weird eyes filled with concern. A single, boneless arm caressed her forehead.

  "Thank you, little one," she said to the kind mollusc, who blooped once again in contentment at the skritches she now received along the span between her eyes. "Good girl, yes..."

  Her own words echoed in the still chamber, surrounding her with "good girl, good girl" for several beats. To her ears, the voice was distorted, stretched, more her mother's than her own, and only the force of her shudder broke the spell. Once more did wriggling arms caress as the octopod snuggled into the crook of her collarbone.

  It was company, at the least, and for the while it would suffice. Yet it was not enough to help her sleep. It was still in the first hour of the evening that Marai quit the bed and the sleepy octopod to search the shelves for one special whorl of shell. Running her finger across its topmost spiral in a complicated pattern, Marai waited five beats before whispering into it. "Rhiela, are you there?"

  There was no response. There had been none for several days now. The last time the connection had clicked, and their paired conches echoing words across the vast distance, Rhiela could hardly spare the time, and some great commotion of raised and angry voices had filled the backwaters. The princess had apologized, had warned her that terrible things were a-stroke and that it was not safe for her, Marai, to know any more.

  How wonderful was Her Highness, her love, for caring so, but this new absence only fed the growing depths, the gulf, the abyss of feelings in her heart.

  Marai let the shell return to its place. No answering call would there be this night.

  It was not so much sleep that claimed her when she laid her head to rest upon the kelpen pillow, but the darkness in its stead. Tilly settled in beside her, happy and content for the next hour of the evening, at which time the hammock shook and swayed. Marai's mind still lay within the clutches of slumber; the rest of her body did not. The octopod watched in concern as her friend with the food and the clever fingers once more got dressed and made hr way out with never a word of farewell.

  The mer would return by morning, Tilly already knew. She always did. The octopod settled atop the abandoned pillow and let her arms splay over its interesting textures. The chime of the shell from the shelf did not rouse her, nor the questioning words to flow from it. This happened every few nights, and the octopod had grown bored with the thing that made noise but no skritches.

  Bloop. That was all there was to say on the matter.