At the first opportunity, Reivan slid out of bed. Her legs were shaking and for a moment she didn’t know what to do. Seeing her robes on the floor, she decided she would feel better dressed. Those were torn now. She moved to a chest and drew out another set.
“What’s wrong?”
She looked back at Nekaun. Lounging naked on the bed he was so beautiful it was painful. It took her breath away, but she made herself straighten her back. Stand up to him.
“That was unpleasant,” she told him.
His eyebrows rose. “Oh? You didn’t like it?”
“No.”
“You usually like it. Aren’t I welcome here any more?”
“Not if it’s going to be like that. You…you nearly choked me.”
“Some women like that. They say a little fear makes it more thrilling.”
She turned away and drew the robe around herself. “I don’t.”
“Don’t be angry. How could we know that until we tried it?”
She felt her anger weakening. “You should have asked me first.”
“Then you would be expecting it. Surprise is part of the pleasure.”
“It wasn’t. And the rest wasn’t much fun either. It was like…” She grimaced. Her insides felt bruised.
“Like what?”
She frowned. There was something in his voice. Almost a smugness. Almost as if he liked seeing her discomforted.
Turning to face him, she held his gaze. “It was like you were punching me with your…Surely, with your background in the arts of lovemaking, you would know that is not pleasant for a woman?”
He laughed. “You’re hardly the goddess of love. You’ve got a lot to learn. I think you could come to like a bit of rough play.”
“I don’t think so.”
He grinned. “Oh, I think you found what we just did more than a little exciting.”
She stared at him. “You can’t be serious. It was nice at first, but later…what part of ‘Stop, you’re hurting me’ didn’t make sense to you?”
He laughed. “You didn’t mean it.”
“You know I did.” She shook her head. “I think you enjoyed hurting me. You had that same look in your eye you’ve had since you chained Auraya up. I almost expected you to call out her name.”
His smile faded, then his eyes narrowed. Rolling to the edge of the bed, he stood up. She watched as his robes rose from the floor to his hands and he began to dress, his movements quick and angry.
She felt her anger ebb, leaving her numb. “You’re leaving.”
“Yes. If my efforts aren’t appreciated,” he said, “I’ll go where they are.”
Stung, she felt tears spring into her eyes. Stop it, she told herself. Stop being a fool. He meant to hurt you, so don’t let him see he succeeded.
He marched out of the bedroom. The sound of the door slamming echoed through her rooms. The silence afterward thundered in her ears. His words repeated over and over in her head. “You’re hardly the goddess of love.”
I’m not good enough for him. That’s why he was rough. He got impatient with me.
She moved to the bed, thinking only to curl up and give in to her misery. Then she saw the bloodstains. Her blood. A few drops only, but enough to remind her of his body slamming against hers, the manic look in his eyes, the hand about her throat and the way he had laughed when she had protested. Anger flared again. She rose and stalked to the bathing room.
I will scrub every last bit of him away, she told herself. He can bed every woman in Glymma. He can bed Auraya for all I care. If that’s what it takes to satisfy him he can find it elsewhere. I’m done with him.
If it weren’t for the constant nagging thought that Auraya was suffering in her prison under the Sanctuary, Mirar would have considered the day to have been particularly satisfying and enjoyable.
He had met with over a hundred of Glymma’s Dreamweavers to discuss their role as healers after the coming battle. Dreamweavers were travelling to the city from all over the continent, and Arleej had asked him to oversee all accommodation, food and travel arrangements. Though most of this work was organized by Dreamweaver House leaders, they all needed someone to make decisions where there was disagreement, and mediate with the Voices and Servants.
The Dreamweavers had joined together in one large mind link, and he had learned much from them. He let his mind shield slip only long enough to confirm his identity. He wanted to tell them of his “death” and survival, but Auraya featured too much in the story and he couldn’t afford chancing that the Voices would read their minds and discover that he didn’t dislike her as much as they believed.
From the Dreamweavers he had learned that they had suspected that he wasn’t really Mirar, that the Voices had recruited a Dreamweaver willing to pose as Mirar in order to influence Northern Ithania. Arleej had assured them this wasn’t true, but some were still shocked to discover, through the link, that he was their legendary, immortal founder.
After dining with Glymma’s Dreamweaver House leader, Mirar had returned to the Sanctuary late and immediately received an invitation to meet with Second Voice Imenja. A Servant escorted him to a balcony overlooking a courtyard, where a fountain glittered in the light of several lamps. Imenja was sitting in a reed chair and rose to greet him.
“Dreamweaver Mirar,” she said. “How did your meeting with your people go?”
“Very well,” he told her. “I still can’t get used to seeing Dreamweavers living without the constant fear of persecution. I’m heartened to see that they can exist in harmony with a religion of dominant power.”
She smiled. “Just like old times?”
He shook his head. “Yes and no. In the past there were so many gods that few dominated as completely as yours do. A single god might rule in small nations like Dunway, but never an entire continent. And never united with other gods.”
“I would like to hear more about those times. What do the Circlians call them?”
“The Age of the Many.”
“Yes, and now we live in the Age of the Five. Or should that be the Age of the Ten?”
Mirar shrugged. “At least when I tell you tales of the past, it won’t be your gods’ evil deeds I tell of.”
She chuckled. “No. I gather Circlians aren’t aware of their gods’ past, then?”
“No. Only Dreamweavers know, passing down experiences and stories through mind links.”
“So perhaps that is the reason your people are badly treated there and well treated here. Our gods have no need to fear the stories Dreamweavers might tell.”
Mirar looked at her, impressed. It made sense, though he was sure he would have come to the same conclusion eventually.
Imenja looked out at the courtyard. “I have to warn you, the closer war comes the more we will want you to commit to helping us in some way.”
As she turned to look at him he met her gaze steadily.
“Dreamweavers do not fight.”
“No, but there may be other ways you can assist us.”
“We heal the wounded. What else can we offer?”
She shifted in her seat to face him. “If someone attacks a patient you are healing, what do you do? Allow them to be harmed, or protect them?”
“Protect them,” he answered.
“If someone attacks a friend—or a stranger—what do you do? Allow them to be harmed, or protect them?”
He frowned, suspecting he knew where this was leading. “Protect them.”
She smiled and turned back to regard the courtyard. “Nekaun might be satisfied with a compromise.” Her smile faded and she sighed. “I can’t promise that he won’t punish you or your people if you don’t offer him something. That something doesn’t have to involve your people. He wants it to appear that we have you, the legendary Mirar, on our side.”
Mirar shook his head. “That may endanger Dreamweavers in the north.”
She looked at him, her expression sad. “I know. It is a choice I don’t envy you for.” She stood up and smiled. “But if you join us, there’s a good chance we’ll win, and that will probably be a better result for Dreamweavers than the alternative.”
He nodded. “You have a point.”
“Consider what I’ve proposed,” she told him. “But it is late, and even Voices need to sleep now and then.”
“And immortals,” he said, rising. “Good night, Second Voice Imenja.”
“Good night.”
The Servant who had escorted him to the meeting appeared and guided him back to his rooms. Mirar stared out of the window for a while, thinking about what Imenja had suggested.
A compromise. One that doesn’t involve my people, just me. I protect the Pentadrians with magic. That frees the Voices to put more of their magic into fighting. With Auraya locked up below the Sanctuary, surely the Pentadrians will win this time.
How would his people feel about that? Would they lose respect for him for choosing a side? They might, but the southern Dreamweavers would feel betrayed if they knew he could have prevented the Circlians conquering the southern continent and subjecting them to their habitual prejudice.
Sighing, he retired to bed. As soon as he reached a dream trance he sought Auraya’s mind, but the only response he got was disjointed and reluctant, and he decided to let her sleep. He called another name.
:Emerahl.
:Mirar, she responded without hesitation. I was just talking to The Twins. How is life in Glymma?
:Good for me; no different for Auraya.
:Poor woman. Have you found a way to free her?
:No. She is too well guarded, as am I, but I am hoping that may change as the war begins to distract everyone. If I show any interest in her Nekaun starts asking if I want to be present when he kills her. When I ask why he’s delaying he just says “when the gods decide.” Imenja made a suggestion to me tonight. He told her what the Second Voice had proposed. What do you think I should do?
:Don’t get involved. But since you’re already involved then don’t take sides. But since these Voices probably won’t let you, then do what she suggests. But not straightaway. If you give in now they will start asking for more. Wait until the last moment. And if you can, make Auraya’s fate part of the deal, even if it only means delaying her execution.
As always, she was a source of good advice.
:That sounds like a good plan. How is the Quest for the Scroll of the Gods progressing?
:We haven’t figured out what the symbols mean yet. I haven’t had much time to work on it. The Twins want me out of Southern Ithania, in case the Thinkers track me down. I’ll be coming through Glymma. She paused. Could we meet safely? I’d like you to look at the diamond.
:I’d like to see it, but I think it would be too dangerous. Though I’m free to come and go from the Sanctuary, I don’t know where we could meet safely and I’m certain they have someone following me when I do go out.
:The Twins probably wouldn’t like it. Not only would we risk the Voices finding us, and then taking and destroying the diamond, but the last thing we need is the Pentadrians blackmailing me into joining them, too.
:No, Mirar agreed. The Circlian gods would just love that. According to Auraya, they’ve been hanging around the Sanctuary quite a bit.
:The Pentadrian gods don’t chase them off?
:She hasn’t said anything about sensing them.
:That’s odd. Maybe they fear the Circlian gods.
:Maybe they are so different in nature that Auraya can’t sense them, Mirar suggested.
:Maybe they know she can overhear gods, and are avoiding her. I guess we’ll never know.
:Not unless they decide to tell us.
:I can’t see that happening any time soon. Any other news?
:No.
:Good luck, then. I will let you know when I’ve reached Northern Ithania.
:Good luck.
Her mind faded from his senses. Fighting off a niggling weariness, he embarked on his last task for the night: sending his mind out to skim the thoughts of the people around him.