Incongruously she recalled being seated naked in the Meer’s lap, his silver hair draping her like mist. “The safest place you will ever be is in the arms of your Meer.”
Hrithke presented her with another alabaster box, bigger than the last, and she realized she must have spent a full three days with MeerAlya. She hadn’t slept and hardly remembered the changing of the light. It was as if his presence were the radiance of the sun itself, and she a satellite that merely turned her face to his light.
Cillian wasted no time seeking out Cree in the morning. She had lent him the fine woolen coat she’d worn to present herself in the Garden. He wrapped it around himself as he wended through the alleyways of Lower Bank Street, his feet clad in a pair of plain brown boots he rarely had occasion to wear. The autumn chill seeped into his bones; In’La felt it first among the Deltan soths.
At Cree’s boardinghouse the landlady eyed him with suspicion.
“I’m here to see Master Sylva.”
“An’ he expects you? You one of those troublemakers?”
“It’s fine, Mistress Fersi,” Cree called as she hurried down the stairs. “Cillian is a friend.”
The shadow of a fading black eye marked Cree’s brow, and Cillian reached to touch it. “Cree, what—”
She brushed his hand away with a scowl and pushed him before her up the stairs. When the door was shut behind them, she embraced him with surprising strength.
“ Meeralyá! You scared me to death.”
“Cree, what happened to your eye?”
Cree let go of him. “Someone accused me of being a woman at the docks. I had to teach him a lesson.” She held up the scraped knuckles of her right hand with a rueful smile. When he reached for her hand in concern, she shook her head. “It’s nothing. It’s you I’m worried about. Where have you been?”
“At the temple.”
Azhra appeared in the doorway of Cree’s bedroom. “You were at the temple? Were you there for the demonstration?”
“I was there. Inside. Dining with the Meer.”
Azhra threw Cree a look of mistrust. “How well do you know Cillian?”
“How well does she know me? She doesn’t even know you at all!”
“I’ve known Azhra for months,” Cree said quietly. “This isn’t her first visit to In’La. She’s a founding member of the League of Expurgists in Rhyman. She helped the local chapter organize.”
Cillian’s face blazed with embarrassment. “Well, thank you, Master Sylva, for letting me keep you from each other briefly.”
Cree rolled her eyes as Azhra laughed into her hands. “We’re not lovers, Cillian. Ye gods. You’re as jealous as a man.”
“I am a man,” said Cillian, feeling foolish.
“Not always, my delicate angel. Not always.” Cree kissed him on the nose and led him to the couch. “Look. We’ve been planning the protest for a long time. The people want action. The templars managed to disperse us eventually, but even they seemed halfhearted in their support of the Meer. I think they only stand by him because they have no public cause to denounce him.”
Cillian shrugged off the coat and laid it over the arm of the couch. “I don’t know about this. What do you expect Alya to do?”
“We expect Alya to leave.” Azhra folded her arms, leaning against the door frame. “The Meer are an anachronism. They’re sucking the lifeblood from the Delta.”
“What about your daughter?”
Azhra didn’t flinch. “I was used as a vessel by the Meer of Rhyman. I have no loyalty to the temple or any of its occupants. But I wonder. Where are your loyalties?”
Everyone seemed to want an answer to this question. He could only give her the truth.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I think you’d better decide.” Azhra relaxed her adversarial pose. “I know how seductive the Meer can be. They make you feel like…something special. But it’s an illusion. Everything they do is illusion. They are not gods. They are almost not even men. Men feel. They’re bereft
Hrithke presented her with another alabaster box, bigger than the last, and she realized she must have spent a full three days with MeerAlya. She hadn’t slept and hardly remembered the changing of the light. It was as if his presence were the radiance of the sun itself, and she a satellite that merely turned her face to his light.
Cillian wasted no time seeking out Cree in the morning. She had lent him the fine woolen coat she’d worn to present herself in the Garden. He wrapped it around himself as he wended through the alleyways of Lower Bank Street, his feet clad in a pair of plain brown boots he rarely had occasion to wear. The autumn chill seeped into his bones; In’La felt it first among the Deltan soths.
At Cree’s boardinghouse the landlady eyed him with suspicion.
“I’m here to see Master Sylva.”
“An’ he expects you? You one of those troublemakers?”
“It’s fine, Mistress Fersi,” Cree called as she hurried down the stairs. “Cillian is a friend.”
The shadow of a fading black eye marked Cree’s brow, and Cillian reached to touch it. “Cree, what—”
She brushed his hand away with a scowl and pushed him before her up the stairs. When the door was shut behind them, she embraced him with surprising strength.
“ Meeralyá! You scared me to death.”
“Cree, what happened to your eye?”
Cree let go of him. “Someone accused me of being a woman at the docks. I had to teach him a lesson.” She held up the scraped knuckles of her right hand with a rueful smile. When he reached for her hand in concern, she shook her head. “It’s nothing. It’s you I’m worried about. Where have you been?”
“At the temple.”
Azhra appeared in the doorway of Cree’s bedroom. “You were at the temple? Were you there for the demonstration?”
“I was there. Inside. Dining with the Meer.”
Azhra threw Cree a look of mistrust. “How well do you know Cillian?”
“How well does she know me? She doesn’t even know you at all!”
“I’ve known Azhra for months,” Cree said quietly. “This isn’t her first visit to In’La. She’s a founding member of the League of Expurgists in Rhyman. She helped the local chapter organize.”
Cillian’s face blazed with embarrassment. “Well, thank you, Master Sylva, for letting me keep you from each other briefly.”
Cree rolled her eyes as Azhra laughed into her hands. “We’re not lovers, Cillian. Ye gods. You’re as jealous as a man.”
“I am a man,” said Cillian, feeling foolish.
“Not always, my delicate angel. Not always.” Cree kissed him on the nose and led him to the couch. “Look. We’ve been planning the protest for a long time. The people want action. The templars managed to disperse us eventually, but even they seemed halfhearted in their support of the Meer. I think they only stand by him because they have no public cause to denounce him.”
Cillian shrugged off the coat and laid it over the arm of the couch. “I don’t know about this. What do you expect Alya to do?”
“We expect Alya to leave.” Azhra folded her arms, leaning against the door frame. “The Meer are an anachronism. They’re sucking the lifeblood from the Delta.”
“What about your daughter?”
Azhra didn’t flinch. “I was used as a vessel by the Meer of Rhyman. I have no loyalty to the temple or any of its occupants. But I wonder. Where are your loyalties?”
Everyone seemed to want an answer to this question. He could only give her the truth.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I think you’d better decide.” Azhra relaxed her adversarial pose. “I know how seductive the Meer can be. They make you feel like…something special. But it’s an illusion. Everything they do is illusion. They are not gods. They are almost not even men. Men feel. They’re bereft
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