Page 219 of Mother of Death and Dawn

I felt dizzy just looking at it. “Thank you. That will be helpful.”

Brayan looked up and down the rows. “This is like the military archives.”

“Yes,” Iya said. “It’s the same concept.”

“So why are these records here, instead of there?”

“If the subject has strong Orders participation or impact, the records go here. The military archives are largely centered upon non-Wielder experiences.”

“Hm.” Brayan looked around the room, intrigued.

“I’ll go through these,” I said. “Thank you.”

“And after that?” Tisaanah asked Iya. She already had that look in her eye—that“Let’s-make-a-plan”look. “What happens next? We have limited time.”

“I have already called the Council together. They are arriving in the morning. At which point… we’ll make the formal bid for Maxantarius to supplant Nura as Arch Commandant, and all the power that entails at this strange time in history.”

I let out a long breath that trembled a little despite by best efforts. “Alright.”

Iya gave me an encouraging smile. “Get some rest until then. Read. Think. Go see the city. Just be careful after nightfall.”

CHAPTEREIGHTY-EIGHT

AEFE

Caduan and I spent a long, long time in bed. I had never realized how wonderful sleep could be when it was not plagued by unwelcome dreams, and instead was cradled by a warm embrace. I woke to Caduan kissing me, not with hungry kisses but small, tender ones. I took him into my body again, this time with him on top of me, moving slower, so I could appreciate all these different sensations. I wanted to touch him more, feel more of his bare skin against mine, but when I tried to undress him, he pinned me down and kissed me hard enough to make me forget that mission.

Afterwards, Caduan left to the washroom and I, now alone, rolled out of bed. My whole body was soft and languid, suffused with a new awareness.

Was this how living beings felt all the time? With this much pleasure built into their form? I was almost offended that I had missed out on it for so long. I spent months hating my body and the life it locked me into, when I could have been eating honey and listening to music and riding crests of carnal bliss.

Caduan’s chamber was grand and beautiful, like everything in Ela’Dar’s palace. Glass decorated with swirls of bronze stood floor-to-ceiling on one side of the room, with a large, sliding door that now sat partially open, leading to the balcony. I rose, not bothering to cover myself, and went outside.

It was raining. Within seconds, I was soaked, but the water was warm and pleasant.

I leaned against the railing and looked out to the mountains below. The city of Ela’Dar spread out before me, glistening in the silver rain and the misty embrace of the clouds. It seemed like a lifetime ago that Caduan had brought me here to show me this view, when I had first awoken in this new body.

I had thought I could never appreciate the beauty of it. But I did now.

“What are you doing?”

I turned to see Caduan walking out onto the balcony, seemingly undeterred by the rain, which quickly plastered his dark skirt to his skin and hair to his forehead in auburn swirls.

“I was thinking of the House of Obsidian,” I said. “I used to feel so small when I stood before the Pales, and all the stories carved into their surface. I never thought I could feel that way again. But…”

I turned and looked again out over Ela’Dar.

“There are stories written across Ela’Dar’s landscape, too,” Caduan said. He sat in one of the chairs and observed the view. “In a different way.”

“How?”

“The topography of Ela’Dar is always changing. Every time I look at it, something is different. Sometimes it’s the landscape itself. That ravine, for example, opened three hundred years ago, after an earthquake—it revealed some of the most useful scientific breakthroughs I’ve ever had. But most of it is in the lives of the people themselves. Families move and evolve, greeting new members or mourning those who have departed. Businesses open or shutter. People paint their walls or change their homes. All of those things are visible from up here. As much as I disagreed with your father, I had always appreciated that about your people. That stories, even those of everyday people, were held in such high regard.”

I looked down at the single mark on my wrist. Once I’d had tattoos covering my body that told my story. Now such a tale was far too complicated to tell in a line of symbols. It spanned hearts and minds and ages and the boundary of death itself.

“What about yours?” I asked. “Where is your story?”

“My hope is that the parts that matter are written into Ela’Dar itself. What else matters?”

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