Heirs of the Blade_ Shadows of the Apt_ Book Seven - Adiran Tchaikovsky [211]
Her kinden’s magic is of light, not these shadows, came his response to her outburst. The voice sounded fondly amused, and that, more than anything else, broke her reserve.
‘Salma . . .’ And she turned, but he was not there. ‘Salma, speak to me, tell me . . . Tell me how to help you.’
Help? Ah, I need no help now. Now that you have called me.
‘But you weren’t called. She called for Tisamon, then for Achaeos, and neither of them came.’
But you called me, Tynisa. Not the mystic. You.
His hand settled on her shoulder, a comforting and familiar pressure that scared her half to death. Again he was behind her, and she could feel his breath on the nape of her neck.
‘You’re dead,’ she got out, her voice barely more substantial than his. ‘You know you’re dead.’
It seemed likely, he agreed wistfully. But you live, so we can’t have done so badly.
‘They . . .’ She was helplessly reminded of her audience with Felipe Shah, when recounting Salma’s history for her friend’s mentor. ‘They named a town after you. Your followers built it, after . . . Please let me see you, Salma.’
I cannot. Tynisa, I have to go. I’ve stayed so long, this shadow of me, just for this purpose only.
‘For what? Why do this at all, if you just have to go again?’ she hissed.
Because of you. Because we parted badly. Because I never did get to speak to you again, before . . . She came between us, I know, and I loved her, but do not think I did not love you also. In all the world, against the tide of death, this scrap of me stays on to ask your forgiveness, and to say goodbye.
‘That’s cruel.’ The words barely emerged. She could not stop herself reaching out for his hand, and when she touched it, invisible as it was, she felt a living warmth there. All she needed to do was turn around. She could practically see him now at the edge of her vision. ‘Please, Salma.’
You’ve met my brother. The words sounded less fond now, and she could only nod, thinking, What now? Am I betraying you with Alain, is that what you mean?
She heard him sigh, the breath rippling her hair. Do not return to Leose, Tynisa, please. Leave there and never look back.
‘Salma, I . . .’ She could not have said this before any other listener. ‘I’ve nothing left now. Too much blood on my hands, too little reason left to live. I’ve nothing else. If you have to go, show me how to come with you, please.’
Not yet, not soon either – or so I hope. I do not know the country I shall be travelling to, but if it were pleasant, why would the wisest of us take such pains to stave it off. Do not wish that, Tynisa. Bid me a good journey, and let me go.
A thousand protests came to her then, but she felt a clarity of mind that she had not known in a long time. And in a way it does not matter if I am mad or not.
‘I love you, Salma,’ she told him – or perhaps her memory of him. ‘But you know that. You cannot ask me to forgive you for having loved another woman, or for dying as you did. But, even so, because I love you, I forgive you it all. Go in peace.’ Her voice was shaking almost too much for her to form the words now. ‘Go with my love. And when you get where you’re going, wait for me. I’ll be following along. There’s no place so dark we can’t face it together, just like old times.’
She felt him lean closer, and then his lips brushed her cheek. The hand beneath her own was cooling rapidly, and she now realized that she held only a fold of cloth from her cloak there, and the only sound was the rain, and she stood alone in Gaved’s inner room, and the incense had stopped smouldering. Inside, she felt like a tower of glass that one knock could shatter into a thousand pieces.
The rain seemed to be passing. Indeed, as she listened, it pattered to a halt almost as suddenly as it had begun, leaving only a sporadic dripping from the eaves.
Avoid