Tan blinked, and blinked again, and turned his head to look at her. A slight crease appeared between his eyebrows, and he frowned. “Home?” he whispered. “Silvered by the tears of fall, jeweled by the touch of winter, quickened by the breath of spring, and nourished by the generous summer… Am I come home?”
“Yes,” said Mienthe. She touched his cheek again, lightly, fearing to hurt him. “Oh, yes. Don’t try to remember.” Mienthe poured some water into the cup for him. Then she was doubtful whether he could sit up—whether she should try to coax him to sit up. Maybe she should shout down the stairs and send someone running for Iriene—
“I do remember,” Tan said, in a hoarse but stronger voice. He moved vaguely to sit up. “Mienthe—”
“I was so frightened we’d lost you.” She folded his hand around the cup, and added in a much lower voice, “That I’d lost you.” She looked up quickly then, meeting his eyes.
Tan’s mouth crooked, but he shook his head. “Your cousin—”
Mienthe was surprised. Then she smiled. “You saved us all,” she said. “So did we all, but mostly you. Do you think my cousin doesn’t know it?”
“That’s not exactly as I remember it—”
“It’s certainly how I remember it,” Mienthe said firmly. “Tan—is that your name?”
He tilted his head a little to the side, but he did not look away. “That is my name. My mother’s name is Emnidde. My father was, as they say, careless.” He waited, seeming to hold his breath, though how she could tell she did not know, as shallowly as his breaths came.
“Tan,” Mienthe said firmly. “Son of Emnidde. That will do, if you’ll promise me to answer to it. I never again want to call you, and then realize I don’t even know with certainty what name to call—”
Tan closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the pillows, and for a moment she was frightened. But he only whispered, “Whatever name you call, I’ll answer to it.”
“Will you?” Mienthe wanted to believe him. “Do you promise me you will?”
Tan barely smiled, his eyes still closed. “I promise you. I might lie to anyone else, Mienthe, but I’ll always tell you the truth and I’ll always answer when you call. Only promise you will call me.”
He meant his promise, Mienthe realized. She could hear the deep, shadowy echo behind his voice, and she knew it was the shadow of truth. “Then sleep,” she said gently. “Sleep. And when the dawn comes, I promise I’ll call you.” Then she sat quietly, very still and perfectly happy, her hand lying over his, and watched his breaths deepen again.