Page 57 of The Seeker
Meera looked up and directly at her mother. “What if he is myreshon? Will you like him for me then?”
The quick play of emotions in her mother’s eyes reminded Meera why she loved her parents so fiercely even when she didn’t agree with them.
A quick flash of joy. Then worry. Then calculation. Joy again. Caution.
“How certain are you?” Patiala asked.
“I’ve only allowed myself small pieces. You know how ironclad my shields are. The fact that bits have slipped through tells you how strong his mind is. It’s… different.” Her heart rushed in excitement. “I’ve never heard anything like it. I want to wrap myself in it, if that makes any sense. But I know I can’t. I know that’s not for me.”
“When you are mated,” Patiala said quietly, “your partner’s soul voice becomes your home. Your father may not be myreshon, but there is nothing that centers me like his voice. He is my steady place. My anchor. I want this for you because I know the burden of purpose you carry. I know you have been frustrated with my attempts to find you a mate, but you must understand my reasons.”
“Anamitra—”
“Anamitra was an old and wise singer who loved you very much,” Patiala said. “But she was not your mother.”
“You know she warned against anything that could divide my loyalty.”
“I know.” Patiala sat. “I know she did.”
“The idea of Rhys being more than other scribes—”
“Being yourreshon?”
“Don’tuse that word,” she said. “I don’t know that. Neither do you. But it makes me wary. I don’t like the idea of others deciding my fate, not even the Creator.”
Patiala smiled. “Rebellious child.”
“I’ll take my rebellion where I can find it,” Meera said. “We both know my life doesn’t belong to me. Not really.”
Her mother’s smile turned sad. “When you are ready to step into your power, you will be revered by elders and rulers. Emperors will pay you tribute, and angels will tremble at your voice.”
“There aren’t many emperors left in the world.”
“There will always be emperors,” Patiala said, “even if they go by different names.”
Meera held out her hand. Patiala stretched her arm out and linked their fingers together.
“When you were born,” Patiala said, “I gave you the name Abha because you were the light of my life. I had been born to scholars, found my true path when I met Maarut as a warrior, but you were the light and joy of my life. And when you showed your gifts, I held on to that, even when your old name became a memory. I knew you were still my light. I knew my purpose to protect you as your mother only became a greater mission as part of your retinue. You have always been my purpose.”
“Mata.” Meera closed her eyes and held on to the warm glow of her mother’s love.
“As your guardian, I must caution you away from any attachment that could divide your loyalties.” Patiala squeezed Meera’s hand. “But as your mother, I only feel joy that the Creator may have given you the gift of a mate designed by heaven just for you. No singer deserves that joy more.”
“I don’t know if that is what Rhys is. I haven’t given him any encouragement.”
“Truly?” Her mother’s eyebrows went up. “That doesn’t seem to affect the way he looks at you.”
She looked up. “How does he look at me?”
“Like a hungry man. Hungry for your attention. Hungry for your words.” She offered a wry smile. “Andveryhungry for your—”
“Don’t.” Meera held up a hand. “Please.”
Patiala burst into laughter. “You are your father’s daughter! When did I teach you to be so reserved?”
“You taught me to be the opposite,” Meera said. “And embarrassed me at every turn.”
“My poor shy daughter.”
