It was so easy to see now, free from fear, free from the pain that had been driving her. Scales and weights fell, leaving only crisp clear vision and the ability to once again breathe deep. Amana rose, holding out her hand. The other studied it, brows close, looking as though she expected a poisonous snake to reach out and strike.
Amana kept her hand where it was, let the other’s questions and fears run through her eyes, until the other took her hand, and Amana drew her close, brought them in contact for the first time, forehead to forehead, breath to breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
The other reared, but Amana kept her close. With tentative movements and after many minutes, the other wrapped her fingers around Amana’s waist, leaning into the touch with jerky, awkward movement.
Amana brought her closer, their foreheads pushing against the others. This was right and a mournful surge passed through her, for the damage living in fear had done to all of them. “I didn’t know what I did to you, running from you like I did. I didn’t know what was supposed to be. I forgot how much I loved you, when I was little, and you were dearest to me next to Nakoa.”
The other faltered, her body, a replica of Amana’s own, buckling under the words and memories.
I’m sorry. All of us, doing what we thought was best, and not caring about the aftereffects on the one we were caring for.
The other sobbed, a short, strong inhale of breath, and then she stilled. “What will happen to me now?”
“Stay with me.” Sincerity rang through the tone, and above all, wanting to make everything right. “I’m not afraid anymore. Stay with me.”
“No one ever wanted me to stay before.” The voice was soft, searching, so small and so desperate to make contact.
“They didn’t know, just like I didn’t. So forgive them, and stay with me.”
“Yes.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
‡
You’re dreaming…
He was in a room full of scrolls, and everything in him screamed he was back at the beginning, before the Great Collision, before he lost his world.
A woman sat at a table, the smell of ink and paper heavy in the room, seeped into her skin, as though both were part of her. At her side, a large scroll, and a familiar calling from it.
“It knows our line, our blood. As voracious and as selecting as any vampire. For it, no other will do.” The woman was speaking, and he saw, in small planes familiar to him in the mirror.
“You…I mean, are you my…” He had to pause, to wait, because he couldn’t articulate it. Couldn’t deal with the disappointment, the hurt, if she answered wrong.
She was before him, without him seeing her move, and her skin was so familiar and so welcome as she stroked the palm of her hand over his cheek. “My son. You have your father’s likeness.”
His laugh was small and watery, and he flung aside any reservations as he brought her into his arms and tight against him. She was smaller and slighter than he, but somehow her returning hug was squeezing the breath from his lungs.
They broke apart, and she began, “I’m so sorry,” but he stopped her, his two fingers over her mouth.
“I believe I inherited your intelligence. I realized a long time ago why you gave me to Shisen. I didn’t know who you were, but I was able to frame the story.”
His mother was beautiful, and aside from Amana, there would never be a more beloved face to him.
“If you know my reasons, then you know I will never force you to accept anything against your will. There is no more precious gift then that of having a choice.”
Loud, welcoming music rose from the Spellbook, winding its way around him, its enthusiasm and desires obvious, but it still held itself apart from him, choice hanging in the air around them.
“My choice is her.”
His mother smiled, pushing his hair behind his ears. “Then it is good you have chosen a strong, wise woman who is able to stand beside you no matter the tribulations you may have to endure, if you take on this task.”
The Spellbook hummed in agreement, and of course it did, because it knew Amana and all she was capable of.
His mother smiled. “It approves.”
Merc took her hands in his and lay them on his chest, over his heart. “I love her.”
“And she loves you. I could ask for none greater for my son.”
Her fingers curled into him, and her face was an open canvas of love and affection. There were no falsehoods or fears here, and gratitude filled him to experience it, though it was lined with melancholy, because this would not last.
“It is a great task, difficult in even the easiest of times. Your time is not easy.”