The Summer Queen (81 page)

“Did I hurt thee?” he whispered, and remembered his
brothers. He shut his eyes, sick. “Oh, Dhara, thou must think I—”

“It’s all right—It is .... Hush ....” She drew him into her
arms, rubbing his back, holding him close. “We have all night.”

He breathed in the scent of her, absorbed the sensation of
her skin against his own. And then he raised his head, finding her lips,
kissing her again, deeply, lingeringly, as if tonight meant forever. He used
his mouth, his hands, the touch of his weary, contented body pressed close
against hers, to give her all the pleasure he had meant to give her, to make
love to her as he had wanted to make love to her, to give her the release he
had taken from her so unexpectedly .... Until at last he knew from her sighs
and her cries and the way she clung to him that she had found her own joy at
last.

He held her for a while, until her breathing slowed, falling
into the rhythm of his own. And then her knowing, skillful hands began to do
their work again, caressing him, guiding him with a sensual skill that he had
never known before, exploring him more eagerly as he began to respond .... But
there was no urgency this time; the pleasure of their intimacies went on and
on, rising to meet in a peak of dizzying sensation, falling away again into
warm dreaming valleys, and finally into sleep.

The sun rose, the light of the new day shone in on two
sleeping forms, husband and wife twined together into the illusion of one; and
in their separate dreams, for a time, a separate peace

Moon Dawntreader sat gazing out across the circle of
gathered sibyls, entrepreneurs, and landholders, holding the expressionless
mask of the Queen firmly on her face. She had had to face these people, or
others like them, virtually every day for over eighteen years, listening as she
did now to the cacophony of their voices as they settled into their seats. Once
most of the voices had been full of enthusiasm and new ideas. The arguments had
been petty and annoying then, and the sense of hope and progress has always outweighed
them.

The arguments had gotten louder and the complaints more bitter
in the years since she had turned her back on the pursuit of progress, to
devote her time and resources to the mers. Because she could not tell anyone
the whole truth, most of the Council members reacted as though she had gone
slightly mad ... until sometimes, facing them like this, even she had wondered
if maybe they were right.

BZ—She closed her eyes, silently reciting the name like an
unwilling prayer. Remembering his voice speaking to her, as it had done again
yesterday; calling her away into the shimmering sea of light/sound/absence that
had been their secret meeting place for nearly four years now—calling her away
for what would be the last time before he arrived on Tiamat in the flesh, with
the Hegemony. Their fragile, fleeting contact, his encouragement and reassurance,
her memories, had given her solace and strength through these increasingly
difficult bureaucratic ordeals, the endless testing of her resolve and her
faith. And now, at last, he was returning—

And what did she want ... hope for ... expect, when they met
again ... ‘ She let her mind fall inward, the cacophony fading around her as
she tried to picture his face, imagine how it had changed, in what ways;
wondering whether she would even recognize him when they met again. She had
known him for such a short time, so long ago. It was hard after so long to
remember his face, even though—or perhaps because—it had been so unlike the
faces that had surrounded her all her life, and through all the years since
then. His voice, his smile, the gentleness of his touch ... did they belong to
a real man or only the dream of a shadow? When his return had been impossible,
or even years away, his memory had been a refuge from the burdens and disappointments
of her life, her secret fantasies of remembered passion had been a release and
an escape. But now that he was about to become a part of her reality, suddenly
she found that she had no refuge left ....

She shook her head, shaking free the images that were
choking out the present of things that must be faced down and lived up to and
dealt with today, whether she had the strength to deal with them or not. Sparks
turned in his seat to look at her, his eyes questioning and impatient. She met
his gaze, as the last tendrils of someone else’s image faded across his face.
Looking at him she felt a final, disorienting slip of perception, as if his
face was the stranger’s, as if she barely remembered who he was.

She looked away again, realizing with sudden sorrow that it
was not her imagination that had made her husband into a stranger, or driven
her to seek solace from a shadow The tragedy in the Pit had only been the blow
that had finally opened the fractures in something that had once been whole and
perfect, and as precious to her as life. She did not understand how they had
let this happen to them ... even though she had watched it happening, for
years. She did not even know at what point this moment had become inevitable—or
whether it had been inevitable all along, from the moment she had heard the
sibyl voice calling her away.

She looked at Tammis sitting across the room beside Danaquil
Lu, his new father-in-law; at the trefoils that lay against their shirts like
shining eyes, gazing back at her. Tammis’s tragic calling had not only split
the cracks of her marriage, it had done something equally painful to the son’s
relationship with his father. Even Tammis’s wedding to Merovy had done nothing
to help the situation; afterwards Sparks had seemed more remote and unapproachable
than ever. His eyes had turned her back when she would have asked him why; and
so had her son’s.

She glanced at Jerusha PalaThion, sitting on her left;
sitting with an empty seat beside her, as she always did, marking the absence
of the man they both still missed so often, and so deeply. Moon saw in Jerusha’s
face the price of her loss, the loneliness and doubt she still held fiercely
inside. Jerusha had never shared her emotions easily, after a lifetime spent
among strangers—first her own people, and then the Tiamatans. Moon studied the
depths of sorrow in her eyes; wishing that there was something she could do for
the woman who had been her steadfast and unexpected friend for so many years ...
wishing there was something she could do to help herself. Jerusha looked up and
smiled, more a grimace, as Moon gathered herself at last to speak the
unavoidable words that would open the Council meeting.

“Summer and Winter—” she said, her voice surprisingly even.
She folded her hands on the tabletop before her in a white-knuckled imitation
of control, waiting for their silence and attention. “I have received another
message through the Transfer. Preparations are complete for the offworlders’
return to Tiamat. They are ready to send their ships—and a new Hegemonic government—here
from Kharemough.” She waited again as the flood of excitement, wonder and
consternation rose around her, and drained away; waiting until at last there
were coherent questions to be answered.

“How long will it be, then?” Sewa Stormprince asked, asking
for them all. Moon saw the mixed emotions on the woman’s face, a reflection of
the expressions all around the room.

“A matter of weeks,” she said, feeling the spin of her own
disbelief make her dizzy, as if hearing the words spoken aloud had somehow made
them more real. “I can only tell you that 1 believe the new government will be
more just toward us, and that all we have done to develop our resources has not
been an exercise in futility. But there is the matter of the mers—”

She broke off, as the faces that had brightened with relief
and sudden interest turned annoyed, or turned away, already lost in speculation
about the Return. The resentment against the changes she had made, redirecting
the resources of the Sibyl College toward her study of the mers, had cost her a
loss of support that Capella Goodventure and the traditionalist Summers had
scarcely made up for. She had angered and alienated the Winters and even the
Summers she had fought so hard to win to her original visions of a new Tiamat.
She had done her work too well, all those years, driven by the same compulsion
that now drove her to redirect her vision; so that redirecting it had proved
twice as difficult.

If the future meant the death of every mer on Tiamat in exchange
for the easy comfort of citizenship in the Hegemony’s new empire, most of the
people sitting in this room would make that sacrifice—some guiltily, but most
without hesitation. “The problem of the mers has not been resolved,” she said,
raising her voice. “And that is important, to your future, and to the Hegemony’s
future as well!” She was almost shouting, to make herself heard above the
rising murmur of voices. “If the Hegemony destroys them, if we allow that to
happen, in the end we will be losing everything we thought we had gained—”

“Why?” Flan Redstone said flatly. “Because they’re an intelligent
race? Then let them look out for themselves.”

“If they’re so intelligent,” someone else murmured, “why
have they let the offworlders kill them for so long, anyway? How smart can they
be?”

“They are the Lady’s Children!” Capella Goodventure called
out. “If you abandon them, she will abandon you—”

“She never took as good care of us as the offworlders, anyway,”
Flan Redstone answered.

“It’s wrong to stand by and allow the mers to be
slaughtered, whatever you believe,” Clavally Bluestone said sharply. But she
looked back at Moon. “But what can we do to stop it, Lady? You said yourself
that we can’t fight the Hegemony and win.”

“That’s true. So we have to find some other answer.” Moon
rose to her feet, leaning on the circle of table.

“Well, you keep saying that this is bigger than all of us,
that the future depends on it,” Sewa Stormprince said. “What does that mean? It’s
only a tragedy for the mers—and they don’t seem to be concerned about it. What
difference can it make to the future of Tiamat or the Hegemony if they kill all
the mers? Then a few ultra-rich offworlders won’t be able to live longer than
all the rest of us. That hardly seems like a tragedy to me.”

“That isn’t the point.” Moon shook her head, feeling the
heavy plait of her hair slide against the back of her robe. “They are part of
something far more important I know that ... I know that—” She felt her face
convulse with frustration, felt her throat close, paralyzed, over the words
that could never be spoke. “I know ... what I know,” she finished, looking
down, her voice faltering, defeated. She sat down again, feeling too many eyes
watching her with morbid curiosity, filled with doubt—even Jerusha’s, even her
husband’s.

Her hands clenched together on the table surface. She
studied the pattern they made, clinging to one another; feeling isolated in a
way that she had never imagined possible—surrounded by people, people she knew
and trusted and even loved, but people who could not help her ....

“Maybe we should all consider this,” Jerusha said abruptly. “The
Hegemony functions on trade. They’ll give you what you want—but not for free.
They’ll want the water of life in return. But if you let them kill all the
mere, there won’t be any more water of life. And what will this world have to
offer them, when the mers are all gone—? Think about it.”

The tone of the muttering around the meeting table changed,
more thoughtful now, but still querulous.

Moon looked up again, glancing gratefully at Jerusha, but
still aware of the growing restlessness and noise. Surrendering, she opened the
meeting to general questions about the Return and spent what seemed an eternity
attempting to answer them all, hoping that her mind would stay focused on the
matters at hand for long enough to provide a coherent answer when one was
needed. Her gaze drifted to Kirard Set Wayaways, and she felt her face freeze
as the images of her grandmother and Borah Clearwater blurred his face into an
inhuman mask. Inhuman—

He looked up suddenly, as if he felt her gaze touch him. He
looked mildly curious as her expression registered; but then something came
into his eyes that looked like recognition, and he smiled. She felt herself
turn cold inside as she realized that it was someone else’s expression that he
was acknowledging ... the Queen he had known in Winter.

“Lady,” he said, with the irritating, slightly mocking drawl
that most of the former Winter nobles—even the ones she liked—seemed always to
have, especially when they spoke her Summer title. He leaned forward, with a
sudden intensity showing in his eyes. It’s coming now, she thought, feeling
tension pull her taut as she waited for his words. “I think we have said all
that can be said about the subject of the offworlders’ return. I would like to
touch on local matters, if I may .... Specifically I would like to pursue my
bid to buy out the rights to the Clearwater plantation, now that ... the
required time has passed since the tragic accident that claimed the life of my
kin and yours—” He dropped his voice, and his gaze, in a show of regret and
loss. She sat silently, her own face settling into a rictus. “As no relation
has laid any first claim on it—”

“You’re wrong about that, Kirard Set Wayaways,” she said
softly, and watched his own face freeze, midway into a look of smug
anticipation.

“What do you mean?” he asked, in the sudden, perfect silence
that fell around the room.

“I have decided to place a kin-claim on the land myself, as
nearest surviving relative.”

He stared at her. “What?” he said again, and then, “Gods
....” His eyes darkened. “You’re a Summer. You’re no kin of his or mine!”

“He was pledged to my grandmother.” Who died with him. And
was it because of you? Was it—? She pressed her mouth together, holding back
the words—the accusations that she could not prove, the loss and the suspicion
that still burned insider her like live coals.