The Shadowglass (The Bone Witch, #3)(115)
“Do you think to stay long, milord?” the lady asked me, smiling brightly.
Representatives of the seven kingdoms had traveled far and wide to Ankyo, to celebrate the marriage between Princess Inessa and her royal consort, General Fox Pahlavi. I was still unused to the dazzling displays of courtiers and ornate coaches as noble guests and emissaries clustered around the palace entrance, offering well wishes to Kion officials. Conscious of my simpler garb, I excused myself and retreated to the nearly empty royal gardens, seeking a few minutes’ respite. The gardens were open to those curious enough to explore, though the fanfare at the castle gates proved more popular. I could sing before a crowd without fear, but to mingle with the nobility as one of them was distressing.
Without thinking, I sought out the twin statues at the center of the carefully manicured garden. It had been completed only a month before, though a few elder asha still protested its inclusion on palace grounds. But General Fox had insisted, and Princess Inessa seconded his wish. She was the reason, she had argued, for Fox returning to her against all odds, even after magic had ebbed away from the lands. The bone witch—no, Lady Tea—was right. The loss of the runes would not stop the tide of politics, but they no longer had the poisonous bite they once did when they came armed with spells.
I liked the monument. Even the best sculptors could not completely copy her true likeness, but it was a beautiful attempt. In it, I could see the familiar contours of her lovely face, her black hair whipping behind her, frozen in time by metal and bronze. The rendering could not accurately portray her flashing, dark eyes, alive with anger or grief or warmth or whichever mood took her, but no likeness could. Her lover stood silently beside her, clad in black, with his fingers wrapped around hers. He gazed down at her, and it softened the inexorability of his countenance.
A girl stood at the foot of both statues, gazing earnestly up at them. She was still dressed in an asha’s hua, though it was rapidly growing out of fashion in the wake of the runebinders’ waning influence; still, it suited her well.
“I wish I could have said good-bye to them,” she mourned. “Khalad says they were happy in the end, and that’s all I could’ve ever hoped for. But is it selfish of me to wish for more?”
She was a miracle, they had told me. On the day Lady Tea and Lord Kalen died, she had woken from her months-long sleep, disoriented but healthy, no longer blighted. When the news from Shadi first reached us, Lord Khalad had broken down in King Kance’s arms and wept like a young child.
I looked up at the Lady Tea’s statue and felt my own eyes fill. “It’s never wrong to wish for more happiness,” I said hoarsely.
She knelt and pressed a chaste kiss against Lady Tea’s foot. “We miss you every day. Wherever you two wander, I hope you are at peace, as we are.”
“Likh?” Lord Khalad idled in the garden, King Kance by his side. “Are you keeping His Highness from Inessa and Fox? They’ve been searching for him.”
“Acting regent for Prince Jakova,” I corrected him. My distant cousin would make a better ruler for Drycht. My time with the asha made me realize I had neither the patience nor the aptitude for politics. “And I arrived here of my own volition but found Lady Likh ahead of me.”
“I wanted to pay my respects,” the beautiful girl said.
Shadows crossed both brothers’ faces. “But of course,” King Kance assented, smiling sadly at the statues.
“Of course,” Lord Fox repeated, arriving behind them. There were no more heartsglass left, but emotions were easy to read on his face nowadays: wistfulness, sadness, pride, love. “Inessa is going to kill me if we delay the ceremony any longer, and I would like the wedding over and done with before I lose more of my sanity.”
Lord Khalad laughed and linked arms with Lady Likh. “The princess’ll kill you if she hears you now.”
The friends moved away, heading toward Ladies Shadi and Zoya, who were about to enter the castle with Councilor Ludvig and Lord Rahim waiting for them by the entrance. General Pahlavi stayed. There was a faint cut on his chin, barely noticeable.
“Shaving,” he said, a wry smile. “I’m still remembering how to heal properly, like a normal man.” He looked up again at his sister. “Do you know,” he asked, “where the term ‘seven hells’ come from?”
“Not quite,” I confessed.
“There are no legends about seven hells. Not even an epigraph or a footnote. No one seems to know its origins, though we use it often enough as a curse. And yet Lord Garindor tells me it was a common expletive even among Vernasha’s contemporaries. I’d like to think that there are more stories than we can ever know in our own lifetimes. Perhaps there really are seven hells. Or perhaps there are seven heavens. Perhaps they’re in one of them.”
I nodded silently, not trusting myself to speak.
The man leaned his forehead against his sister’s likeness. “I miss you. I’m getting married today, Tea. Married! You should be here with me and Mum and Dad and the others. You—you gave me everything. You were always the stronger of us. So why am I the one standing here, with this the closest we’ll ever get to be? I’ve never been able to keep you from doing what you wanted, and I know you’re with Kalen, and I know with him you’re happiest. I didn’t show my love as well as I should’ve, but—” He swallowed. “I’ll find you again. I know it. What’s one more impossibility when it’s you?” His eyes traveled to the statue beside her.