Page 161 of The Seeker
He reached up and twisted a lock of her hair around his finger. “Now is the time to let others build. You came to record a dying language only to revive it. Ata’s traditions were dying. Now they’re growing. You helped with that.”
“And you came to learn martial magic, only to dread its use.”
“I’ve always dreaded its use,” Rhys said. “But I understand its necessity.”
“What do you do with a weapon too terrible to use?”
“Use it on the terrible.” He drew her down for a kiss. “And then hope you can rebuild.”
“One day, when the Fallen are gone, there will be peace.”
“I believe that now,” Rhys said. “I can see it, thanks to you.”
She smiled. “I’m glad.”
“And thanks to me.” Vasu appeared next to them, stretching out on the grass like a lazy cat. “You’re not going to get rid of me, are you? How boring would that be?”
Rhys closed his eyes. “If I don’t look at him, can I pretend he’s a figment of my imagination?”
“Then you’d have a disturbing imagination,” Vasu said. “Did I hear that you’re returning to Udaipur?”
“Yes, Vasu.”
“Good, I’ll see you there.” And he disappeared.
Rhys stared at her. “Please?”
“No. And you have to stop throwing daggers at him. I don’t need holes in the walls.”
“They’re stone walls, aren’t they? They can take a few holes. Gives them character.”
“Try to restrain yourself.”
He grumbled, “You like it when I’m unrestrained.”
Meera laughed and Rhys pinched the back of her thigh. Then he rolled over and bit her leg while she yelped and scrambled away. They played in the grass like children, drawing disapproving glances and rolled eyes from the scribes and singers trying to work.
Meera’s whole life had been bound by duty. She’d been born to it, nursed on it, and resigned to its call. She’d traveled to the other side of the world to escape its clutches, only to find her heart’s desire in the soul of a rebellious scholar.
Rhys had remembered how to teach mischief.
And Meera was more than happy to learn.
Chapter Thirty-One
Five years later…
Vasu showed up when Rhys was changing the diaper of his only son. Quick as a wink, a dagger escaped its sheath and flew through the room, lodging in a chink in the wall just as the angel darted away.
“I’m telling her you did that.”
“It makes the baby laugh,” Rhys said.
Bodhi Anil, tiny scribe of Udaipur, did laugh. He grabbed his chubby feet and rolled to the side, watching the angel who’d taken the form of a bird and hopped up and down on the window ledge in Bodhi’s room. The bird seemed completely content to play the clown for the little round baby whose belly shook at the bird’s antics.
And that, more than any strategic reasoning, was the reason Rhys put up with Vasu.
“Why are you here, Vasu?”
