Law of the Broken Earth(138)
“I’m sorry,” Mienthe said, answering the most important part of this. “I mean, of course I will gladly do anything you ask me to do, but—Your Majesty, everything happened so fast, and I didn’t know what else to do, but go through the pass. I’m sorry—”
The king shook his head, his taut anger easing at last. “No. No indeed, Mie. It was well done. You have done nothing which requires forgiveness. Nor has Brechen Glansent Arobern. You need not tell me so. I am perfectly aware of it.”
Mienthe nodded, relieved. She asked tentatively, “What will you say to Mariddeier Kohorrian?”
“Ah.” This time, when the king smiled, the humor did reach his eyes. “I have no idea. I will think of something. Beguchren Teshrichten may advise me.” He glanced up and smiled suddenly, a much kinder expression. “And perhaps your cousin may have some ideas of his own.”
“Regarding Mariddeier Kohorrian? I could indeed make several suggestions,” said Bertaud.
Mienthe whirled around. Her cousin was walking quickly toward them down the hall. His voice, light and ironic, did nothing to hide the shadows of grief and loss in his eyes, but he was alive, and not obviously injured, and he was here.
Forgetting the king, forgetting every reason for grief and fear, Mienthe ran forward to embrace him.
Bertaud caught her up as though she were still a child, in a hug that threatened her ribs, then set her down and held her at arm’s length, looking searchingly into her face. “Cousin! You are well?”
“Yes, I am, but you? Are you well? Are you—” Mienthe hesitated. “You heard… Kes told you about your friend? I’m so sorry, Bertaud.” She was dimly aware that the king had quietly withdrawn to leave them together, and even more vaguely glad of it, but she had no real attention to spare for anyone but her cousin. He looked, she thought, desperately weary and grieved.
Bertaud bent his head. “She told me, of course. He unmade himself to give you the power you needed to remake the law of the world. Or so I gather. I gather you discovered a gift in yourself which is not quite like anything else in the world.” He touched her cheek gently, smiling. “My little cousin!”
Mienthe was embarrassed. “I… it wasn’t exactly me. I just did things that came to me to do. Tan was much braver. Jos was very brave. And…” She stopped.
“I’m very certain Kairaithin was glad to know that the wind his death called up was so strong as to overwhelm any other gathering storm. He always—he always was determined to get his own way in everything. And he nearly always succeeded. Most importantly—most importantly at the end.”
Mienthe nodded. She asked tentatively, “Do the griffins… Was there a ceremony?”
“Not as we understand such things.” Bertaud paused, then touched her arm, inviting her to walk with him. “Kes told me that the red dust had blown all through my house and across my gardens and lands, and she kindled a fire for me. A fire for memory, that will never go out… If you don’t mind, Mie, I thought I might set it to burn next to Tef’s stone.”
A lump came into her throat. She had to try twice before she could say, “I think that would be the perfect place for it.”
They walked out to the gardens side by side. Standing among the stones of generations, Bertaud solemnly tipped a single glowing ember out of a small earthenware pot beside Tef’s low, polished grave marker. The ember flickered twice, and for just an instant Mienthe feared it might go out, but then flames crept up from it, pale in the afternoon light, and in moments a hand-sized fire was burning on the gravel by the stone.
“He rode a wind of his own choosing,” Bertaud said quietly, and stood gazing down at the fire for one more moment, and then turned away at last.
They walked back toward the house in silence. It looked just the same as it had a month ago, to a casual glance. But if one looked more closely, one would see the scars of battle on the doors and the shutters, and cut into the earth of the gardens… The real scars were invisible. For all of them. Mienthe broke the quiet at last to ask, “How did you leave Kes?”
Bertaud glanced down at her, smiling a little. “Well, I think. Or well enough. Grieving, of course. They do grieve for their losses. Busy. She is helping Gereint and Tehre rebuild the Wall. Now the law of the world is solidly in place, it seems quite unimaginable that the Wall ever broke, until you see the shards scattered all across the desert and the mountains.”
“They’re rebuilding it?” Mienthe was surprised.
“Fire and earth are still foreign to one another, if not inimical. Besides, Tehre said she couldn’t bear to leave the Wall shattered and broken. But this time they are building it with a gate. When I left, Tehre was explaining all about the different ways there are of building gates and why arches are superior to architraves, or something of the sort. I confess I wasn’t paying close attention.”