She longed to see Criston, and she had to face him. He was alive after all these years, yet he seemed to be a ghost in her memory, a wisp of a pleasant dream from long, long ago. Her husband…her true husband, in the eyes of Aiden, as she had always believed. Though her heart was torn, Istar quickened her step. She had not told Omra where she was going, but she didn’t have to.
The ground had shifted beneath them all, Tierrans and Urabans alike. Istar had seen Queen Anjine struggle with similar shackles of hatred. Over the past day, she had watched Omra reel from so much loss, with the fall of God’s Barricade and the defeat of his armies. But worse than any defeat was the obligation to forgive. He was like a man with broken legs learning how to walk again.
The soldan-shah had a land to rule, a people to command, but Istar sensed he was as worried about this Tierran sea captain as about the crises across Uraba. When he saw her depart for the harbor with Saan, he knew. She could see it in his eyes: one more crushing loss for him.
But she could not simply toss him aside. Omra was part of her life now, and he had been most of her life. Nevertheless, she had to go to the ship. She needed to have a private reunion with Criston Vora; they deserved that chance. Istar swallowed, but her throat remained dry. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest.
“Captain Vora promised to wait for us at the end of the pier,” Saan said brightly, startling her tangled thoughts. As they walked along the scarred streets toward the waterfront, the young man spilled his adventures and his excitement about Ystya in a flood of words. He was pleased to accept both of his fathers, and now Omra, Criston, and Istar herself had to deal with that. Ondun had commanded them all to resolve their differences.
The new Arkship dominated the docks of Ishalem harbor, a tall vessel that looked as if it had been carved out of precious metal, far superior to anything a Uraban, Tierran, or Nunghal shipwright could construct.
Istar’s legs felt wobbly, and each step seemed mechanical, as if her body was moving of its own accord through a great wind that pulled her forward and pushed her back at the same time.
She looked up. There, at the end of the cobblestone street that ended at the docks, a man stood at the edge of a pier. Though she hadn’t seen Criston for more than twenty years, she recognized him instantly. He’d been a young and dream-filled man who sailed off aboard the Luminara—her husband, the love of her life, the man to whom she had given her heart so many years before.
Ciarlo told her that dear Criston had waited for her, never forgotten his love, refused to remarry, dutifully written her a letter once a year, cast each bottle into the sea in hopes that the merciful tides would deliver it.…
Oh, Criston!
She found herself running without even realizing it, pulling away from Saan, who stood back, grinning. At the dock, Criston perked up like a wilted flower revived by a quenching rain. “Criston!” she cried. “It is you!”
He opened his arms and swept her into a great hug. “Adrea, I never thought I’d see you again.”
Then they were talking in a rush of words, and she let the warmth of his voice blanket her. It was as if she had crossed over a bridge that led twenty years into the past, and she was barely nineteen again, recently married and madly in love. Because her sailor husband had been so passionate about exploring the world, Adrea had let him go away so that she could keep his heart. When he’d sailed from Calay, heading west, she never guessed it was a nearly permanent farewell. She never had a chance to tell Criston that he had a son. But he and Saan had found each other anyway.
Criston was telling her about the sinking of the Luminara and how he had clung to the wreckage, holding on to his memory of her and surviving just so he could get back to Windcatch…only to find it burned and devastated, his mother dead, his wife gone.
When Adrea thought back to the raid, nightmare memories returned with the pain and hate she had buried over the years. In those memories, Omra was a monster who killed her friends and relatives, a man who seized Adrea and wrenched her away from her happy life.
She felt the strength of Criston’s arms around her, inhaled deeply of the scent of his shirt, his hair. Behind the beard and the weathered skin of his face, she still recognized the young man she had married. The two of them had sworn their vows and linked symbolic fishhooks in the Aidenist kirk, with Prester Fennan blessing them.
That past was like a fireside tale, and she had lived it over and over again in her dreams. But this was no song or story. She had truly lived it—and all those things had indeed been taken from her. She’d been lost and off course for two decades. And now he had come back.
“I know you didn’t forget me, Criston,” she whispered. “I received one of your letters. It…saved me. And I’ve kept it all these years.”
He caught his breath. “One of them made it to you?”
“Yes, and—” She couldn’t talk anymore as tears streamed down her face.
Saan came up to them. “Are you two just going to stand there all day?” He glanced at Criston with a mischievous smile. “I thought I told you everything you needed to know about her?”
“Oh no, not by far.” He kept holding her. “We have more than twenty years to catch up on.”
“Twenty years…” she said. “You’ve met Saan, but I also have daughters. They’re here in Ishalem, they came aboard the sand coracles. And…” Istar braced herself. “And there is someone else I need you to meet.”
The provisional governor’s villa in Ishalem had been ransacked during the Tierran army’s invasion. Many of the silken hangings had been torn down, the curtains trampled, floor tiles cracked, marble pillars chipped, statues toppled. Soldiers and citizens, including a contingent of uneasy Aidenists that Queen Anjine had assigned to the duty, made quick work of the mess, sweeping away the debris and erasing the most prominent marks of the battle.
When Istar led Criston into the main chamber that the soldan-shah had claimed as his administration office, Omra set aside all of his business and fixed them with his dark eyes.
“So, this is your sea captain—the one you never speak of.” Omra looked at her with a mixture of jealousy, sadness, and regret. She actually read defeat on his face. She had never seen the man so…lost.
Criston tensed, but she drew him along, facing Omra. “I have brought you together for a reason.”
“I never pretended that you had forgotten about him,” the soldan-shah said. “I’m not that naïve.” Not only had his whole world changed with the return of Ondun and the imposed cessation of hostilities between Tierra and Uraba, but now he seemed convinced that he would lose his First Wife as well.
Criston straightened as if drawing strength from the very ground beneath his feet. He had sailed around the world, fought storms and sea monsters, discovered Terravitae, and delivered Ondun to Ishalem. But this challenge seemed even more difficult for him. “You are the man who took Adrea from me. Your raiders burned my village. You killed my mother.”
Omra met his gaze and did not deny the accusation. “I did. And you, personally, did nothing to me. Now Ondun says we must all forgive…but I have no right to ask it of you.”
Criston faced the man, and Istar knew they were both thinking of the decades of life, and love, the soldan-shah had had with her that he didn’t deserve. “You also raised and protected my son. You gave him a chance, treated him as your own,” Criston said, his voice cracking. “You didn’t kill my wife when you could have. Because of what you did, Soldan-Shah Omra, they are alive before me now, however different they may be from what I expected.” Tears hung in his blue eyes. “That is far better than weeping by a grave marker on a hill.”
Omra rose, looking at Criston with tremendous respect. “I can see why you have loved this man, Istar. I can see that he truly meant all those words he wrote to you.”
Istar’s cheeks were wet, but she did not wipe the tears away. Suddenly she blinked, startled by what he had said. “You…know about the letter?”
Omra nodded. His voice was leaden. “You didn’t think I ever found it…but I read this man’s words years ago. For a long time, I have known who Criston Vora is.”
She felt as if the tiled floor had dropped out from beneath her feet. Omra had known all this time?
He lowered his head. “I understand how much you still love this man, and that you only tolerated me. I inflicted terrible harm on your village, and I took you away as a spoil of war. As soldan-shah, I had the power to hold you prisoner in Olabar, but I could never force you to love me.” He stepped forward, close to them, and rested a hand on Saan’s shoulder, squeezed it, then let go. “Even so, I hope I treated you well enough. I did my best, but how can I compete with your true husband and Saan’s true father?” He drew a deep breath and bowed. “Ondun commanded that I wipe the slate clean.”
Criston looked at her with surprise and hope, and Adrea—Istar—felt her heart swell. She looked at him, reeled for a moment…then turned toward the soldan-shah.
He had been her husband for two decades. Though he was not Saan’s biological father, Omra had raised the young man as his own and loved him as much as any father possibly could. And he was the father of Adreala and Istala. She couldn’t simply discard her daughters.
Criston was a distant, romantic dream she’d clung to, but Omra had been there for her, year after year. Though he was proud and powerful, he sought her advice, gave her a home and safety. Omra had been her reality, a solid anchor, a man who respected and revered her, even though it caused him many political difficulties.
She stood between the two men now, unconsciously stretching her arms out as if to hold on to both. “You are tearing me apart, both of you.”
“Adrea—” Criston began, then stopped, letting his eyes say everything that was in his heart.
She found herself weeping. “Criston, you will always be my first love, and I will always love you. We can imagine the perfect life we would have had.” She straightened. “But that didn’t happen. To be truly whole and alive, a woman must have dreams, but she must also have reality. Life is life, and it has been twenty years. I have moved on—though not of my own accord, that is the way the currents carried me.
“I spent years with Omra. He protected me, took care of me…and, yes, loved me. We have two beautiful daughters and an adopted one.” She felt dizzy, but forced herself to go on. “I did not choose this man, but fate gave me a life with him.”
She reached out to stroke Criston’s cheek. He seemed a mass of despair. “You’ve lived with the dream of me all this time, but I am more than a few strands of golden hair. Omra has lived with the reality, as have I.”
Criston closed his eyes against her words and remained silent for a long moment. “I was…ready for this. I understand. I’ll always have a part of you in my heart and my imagination—and I still have a few strands of your hair left.”
Saan, who had watched his mother struggle with her decision, lifted his chin and spoke loudly. “Well, I don’t have to choose between you. You’ve each been my father in your own way, and I accept you both.”