Idol of Glass by Jane Kindred Page A

of Rhyman who’d hoped for his attentions. And who could blame anyone for falling for Ahr? Jak had, after all.
    In the morning, Merit breakfasted in his room. Jak didn’t see him until almost noon, while preparing to depart, when Merit appeared at the arch of Jak’s room just as Jak had finished packing up.
    â€œ Midt Jak. Ludtaht Ra, ” he said, indicating the temple. “ Ludtaht Ra ischtene. Kasischmene, ischaht Jak. ”
    Jak’s head shook. “I don’t—”
    â€œ Ludtaht Ra ischtene ludt. ” Merit took Jak’s bag and put it in the wardrobe.
    Jak searched his eyes. Ludt was “place”. He’d said “your place”. Was he asking Jak to stay? Merit was bereaved, as Jak was, and his eyes were full of need. Jak was now the only link Merit had with the two he’d loved and lost twice over. Temple Ra offered a respite, as it had offered to Ahr, and Jak was tired.
    With a sigh, Jak closed the wardrobe with the bag inside. There were so few Deltan words Jak knew, but it was important to make sure Merit understood. AhlZel, that terrible city on the mountain—its name meant “always”.
    Jak patted the ebony cabinet. “ Nai ahlzel .” Hopefully, the words made sense.
    â€œ Nai ahlzel ,” Merit agreed. “ Durrh zelfaal ?” he offered.
    â€œ Durrh zelfaal .” Jak nodded. “Until winter.”
    At first, only the pain was available to Ra in the darkness and silence of Shiva’s tower, the blood of her punishment for her crimes against Jak hardening on her lacerations. The pain throbbed with a life of its own, and Ra could think of nothing else, but as light rose and fell at the thin crack of the door—mornings and evenings, days and nights—the pain became less important than the isolation. She was without Ahr, without Jak, to which she’d become resigned. But suddenly, to be without Shiva seemed unbearable.
    Ra wept in desolation, knowing this loneliness was nothing to what Jak must now be feeling. She had robbed Jak of Ahr, as well as of herself, and it was the more cruel for having pierced Jak’s exterior and laid bare the hidden pain her lover had been content to deny. Ra wished Shiva would have killed her instead of this, and hated herself for her own self-pity.
    Tears were only more self-indulgence, and Ra let them dry like wounds upon her cheeks, surrendering herself to the punishment Shiva had devised. It was the emptiness of the grave, and it was what Ra deserved.
    Ra had suffered this before, lying in the ground after the Expurgation. The god whom Ra had been in that life was dragged from his bed by the templars who were sworn to protect him, dashed against the steps of his temple until his brain ceased to function and his heart ceased to beat. The other Meer destroyed during that great purge had been left to rot in the warm Deltan streets without the purification of fire—or even the dignity of a pauper’s burial—their essences lost to the elements so they would never return.
    But Merit had buried MeerRa and his daughter, RaNa, beside him. Merit…and Ahr. It was unfathomable that Ahr had participated in this last kindness toward her Meer after stirring up the hatred of Rhyman against him, but after Ra’s return, Merit had sworn it was so. Perhaps it was for RaNa that Ahr had done it, her child who had been taken from her breast at only twenty days old because of Ra’s foolish admission of paternity. He’d spoken, and his words had gone forth as a cancerous greed within the templars’ hearts.
    Nonetheless, the kindness Ra’s faithful servant had done in interring Ra’s corpse had been crueler than Merit could have understood. The Meeric flow couldn’t be silenced, even in death. It had maintained a kind of consciousness in the parts that had been Ra, knowledge and awareness flowing into Ra’s remains, memory and longing flowing out. And Ra’s