The Silence of Medair

"No. Yes. I suppose so. I feel a little…beyond conversation, just now." Her bones dragged at her, and she struggled with overwhelming fatigue.

He nodded, stood, then suddenly assumed a formal stance.

"My thanks are as inadequate as all others, Keris Medair an Rynstar," he told her, gravely making the three gestures of debt Cor-Ibis had also once given her. "But know that I am yours to call upon in need."

He bowed and turned before she could respond, as if he were embarrassed by the sincerity behind his words. When the door had closed behind him, Medair drew her knees up beneath her chin and tried to think about her future.

That the Kier might try to control her in some way was certainly possible, despite the debt they all owed her. Confine her to the palace, keep her under observation. A life of luxurious semi-imprisonment. But safe.

For she would be hated.

The longed-for hero had become the grand betrayer. Among any who opposed the Ibisians, those who had paid a moment’s attention to foolish legends about the past reborn, and most especially the ones who had taken Medair’s name and turned it into a banner – there would be no understanding, and no forgiveness. It was quite probable that the Ibisians were the only group with both the will and capacity to keep her alive.

Kier Ieskar had told her she didn’t want to die, but in sacrificing anonymity Medair had made anything but a caged life impossible, with death a constant threat. If she abandoned White Snake protection there would inevitably be an alley, a mob, a beating she could not escape. Poison, a knife in the back, open execution. There were so many ways her story could end, if she did not cling to those she had hated, did not cower in their shadow.

Proud little herald, brought so low.

At sunset the battle with Estarion would begin – and end. At sunset, when the city’s attention was on that battle, Medair had to leave. The plan to return to that place out of time, to sleep and perhaps wake when her name was nothing more than history, had now become a question of survival, and she had to take that option before anyone remembered that Kersym Bleak had been renowned for a hoard, not simply the Horn of Farak. Or even that she still had a charm against traces.

She nudged her satchel further under the bed, then went and locked the door. Briefly, she considered wedging a chair below the handle, then shook her head. They might want to confiscate the satchel, but she did not think the Ibis-lar had changed so much that they would sneak in and steal it.

Removing her boots, she lay down on the bed, trying to work out how long it was till sunset, and when the Kier would see fit to use the Horn. It would be necessary to move before then, and she would rest while she could, because she had a long way to run.

"One last place to hide."

Medair laughed, then shook, as she touched the palms of her hands together. She supposed she was a coward, but she would certainly not be summoning any ghosts to prevent this escape. Nor would she linger long enough for Cor-Ibis to have any attention to spare, because she doubted she could face or fool him. He would make this decision too hard.

Or not. It would hurt to see him, to have to work against him, but there really was no choice. She had given up the Horn, and now had no further role to play, only a future of pain and hatred and people looking at her in a way she could not bear. She would not live that.

She was done here.