He turned around. A Chosen was standing by what he'd always assumed was the door to the Scribe Virgin's private quarters. Dressed in that white robing with her hair twisted onto the top of her head, he recognized her as the one who'd come to check on Cormia after the presentation ceremony.
"Amalya," he said.
She seemed surprised he remembered her name. "Your grace."
So this was the one Cormia had recommended as Directrix. Made sense. The female did seem kind.
"I'm here to see the Scribe Virgin." Although he figured she knew that.
"With all due deference, sire, she is not receiving this day."
"Not receiving me or anybody?"
"All comers. Is there a message you would like to proffer her?"
"I'll come back tomorrow."
The Chosen bowed low. "With all due deference, sire, I believe that she will as yet be indisposed."
"Why?"
"I do not inquire why." Her tone was ever so slightly disapproving. As if he shouldn't ask either.
Well, shit. What did he want to say exactly?
"Will you tell her… that Vishous came to say…"
As words failed him, the Chosen's eyes were wells of compassion. "If I may be so bold, perhaps I shall tell her that her son came to thank her for her generous gift and for her sacrifice for his happiness."
Son.
No, he couldn't go that far. Even with Jane back, the label seemed disingenuous. "Just Vishous. Tell her Vishous came to say thank-you."
The Chosen bowed again, her face saddened. "As you wish."
He watched the female turn away and disappear behind the small, ornate door.
Wait a minute. Had she said sacrifice? What sacrifice?
He looked around again, focusing on the fountain. Abruptly the sound of the water struck him as odd. When he'd come before—
V slowly turned his head.
The white tree with the white blossoms was empty. All the songbirds were gone.
That was what was missing. The Scribe Virgin's birds were no more, the tree's branches empty of their color, the still air devoid of their cheerful calling.
In the relative silence, the loneliness of the place sank into him, the hollow sound of water falling amplifying the emptiness.
Oh, God. That was the sacrifice, wasn't it.
She had given up her love for his.
In her private quarters, the Scribe Virgin knew as soon as V left. She could feel his form go back over to the world outside.
The Chosen Amalya approached quietly. "If it would not offend, I would speak."
"You have no need to. I know what he said. Leave me now and return to the sanctuary."
"Yes, Your Highness."
"Thank you."
The Scribe Virgin waited until the Chosen had retreated then she turned and looked across the white expanse of her suite. The rooms were largely for naught save pacing. As she did not sleep or eat, the bedroom and dining area were but square feet to travel over.#p#分页标题#e#
Everything was so silent now.
She floated from room to room, disquieted. She had failed her son in so many ways, and she couldn't blame him his refusal of the name. Yet the hurt was there.
Joining another.
With dread she looked to the far corner of her quarters, to the place she never went. Or least, had not been for two centuries.
She had failed another, hadn't she.
Heavy of heart, she went over to the corner and willed free the double-locked door. On a hiss the seal was broken, a fine mist wafting out from the shift in humidity. Had it truly been so long?
The Scribe Virgin stepped inside and regarded the shadowed form that hovered in suspended animation over the floor.
Her daughter. V's fraternal twin. Payne.
The Scribe Virgin had long subscribed to the notion that it was better and safer for her daughter to so rest. But now she was unsure. The choices she had tried to make for her son had ended badly. Perhaps it was the same for her young of a different sex.
The Scribe Virgin stared at her daughter's face. Payne was not like other females, hadn't been since birth. She had her father's warrior instinct and urge for battle and was no more content to dally with the Chosen than a lion could be caged satisfactorily with mice.
Perhaps it was time to free her daughter, as she had freed her son. It seemed only fair. Protection had indeed proven to be a dubious virtue.
Still, she hated to let go. Especially as there was no reason to expect that her daughter would have any greater love for her than her son did. So she would lose them both.
As she struggled under the weight of her thoughts, her instinct was to go out to the courtyard and be soothed by her birds. There was no succor awaiting her therein, however. No cheerful calls to ease her.
And so the Scribe Virgin stayed in her private quarters, floating through the still, silent air in an endless track through the empty rooms. As she passed the time, the infinite nature of her nonexistence was like a cloak of needles lying upon her, a thousand little pinpricks of pain and sadness.