Rift in the Sky

Taisal’s smile was the saddest thing Aryl had ever seen. “Which is what I’ve told them—so very many times. They’re fools. Who would want to be as I am?”

Aryl took a shuddering breath, then another, easier one. The instinct to protect their Joining had her heart hammering in her chest, but she fought to overcome it. This was her mother. The words weren’t a threat. The idea—her breath caught, but she forced herself to continue—was important. To make a second Choice: follow a Chosen to his or her fate, or decide to survive. The loss it would spare a Clan . . .

Could she?

Her hands pressed over the life within her. For that life, Aryl realized with an inner shock, she might. She gestured a profound apology. “I’ll stop the dreams. Whatever happens to Sona, Yena shouldn’t be forced to face the same decisions—or risks.”

Taisal’s eyes glittered. “Do that, Speaker, and we will share whatever we know to help you protect yourselves.”

“Why were we exiled?” Aryl said softly. “Will you share that?”

A shadow seemed to cross Taisal’s face. “We don’t know,” she admitted at last. “A Keeper doesn’t control the dreaming, Aryl. Only makes it possible. Tikva could say only that the dreams came from the Cloisters itself. Ours . . . were terrible. Yena ended. The Cloisters, empty. You and the exiles survived, we could see that, but we had no way to know which was cause, which effect. We were being warned, that was all. Was it something to do with the Agreement? Perhaps. About the Dark—the M’hir? That’s what I believe. Still believe. You must stay out of it.” Fear. “If not for yourself, then for her.” Her hands reached, as if to gather Aryl close.

Safer to ’port back to Sona than risk climbing the canopy. Safer to stay distant, than risk the touch of an Adept. Aryl kept those hard thoughts private. This caring between them, this honesty, was an untried rope. I’ll be careful, Mother, she sent instead, and concentrated.

Yena disappeared . . .

... and she was gathered close by someone else, who seemed determined to prevent her taking a full breath.

Which was fine by her.

Oran.

Aryl had shared her memory of Taisal with Enris as he’d cradled her in his lap. Now, she felt the rumble of his voice through his chest. “That, we do together.”

She stiffened. “I made her Keeper.”

He laughed gently. “Oh, I’m sure she’d have found her way around Hoyon somehow. But it’s not our Adept who troubles me, Sweetling. It’s what she can do. Dreaming between Clans? Either it’s a new Talent, or the Adepts of Cersi have more in common than their attitude.”

Not a comforting thought. Aryl sighed. “Let me deal with one problem at a time. Sona’s—”

“Aryl. Are you in there?” Seru’s voice.

“That’ll teach you,” Enris whispered in her ear.

Aryl squirmed with sudden guilt. We should be hauling water.

We will. His fingers found a ticklish spot and she stifled her giggle against his warm skin. That’s better.

Better than the grief and melancholy that had overwhelmed her when she’d returned. There still, but deeper, freeing her thoughts. What about the M’hir? she sent.

“Enris—I saw you come in here.” An impatient creak as Seru pushed at their closed door.

The M’hir is a tool like any other, he replied. We’ll learn to use it safely. We must. It’s too important to abandon. You know that.

“Is Aryl with you? I need her.” Another, firmer creak.

She let him feel her doubt. As she rose from his lap her hair lingered on his shoulder, drew soft whorls along his neck. Their eyes met. Out loud, she said, “I’m coming, Seru.” Beneath,

What I know is our ignorance. What’s important is our children never suffer because of what we do.

Seru took her arm the moment Aryl stepped outside, waves of worry and consternation pouring through the physical contact. “Over here,” she said urgently, not apologizing for the familiarity. In fact, she used her grip to tug Aryl away from the building, in the direction that led . . . well, Aryl thought, puzzled, it led nowhere. They didn’t travel down the valley anymore.

“What’s wrong?”

Seru let go, but kept walking at a brisk pace. “A little farther.” She took Aryl to where the paving stones of the road lay heaved and tossed—where the Oud had set up barriers to trap any Sona trying to flee—then stopped to sit on one of the larger stones. Her hair squirmed under its net. “It’s about the baby. She’s coming too soon.”

This, on top of Taisal’s warning, brought Aryl to sit beside her cousin. “Mine?” she asked anxiously.

“No.” Green eyes widened. “Why would you think so?”

Never rush Seru, especially when she was agitated, as now. “Forgive me, Cousin,” Aryl said, fighting for patience. “What did you come to tell me? And why here?”

“Here is where I can’t hear the baby.”