The boy might have recognized her sadness had he been more awake, but drowsiness weighed him down.
His mother continued in an ever-softening voice. “Inanna spent night after night with her intended. They both tried to be content, but Inanna could not leave him in the under realm for eternity, so she sought a way to descend below to find him . . .”
Exhaustion overcame the boy. His mother watched him doze while he dreamed of slaying demons and rescuing princesses.
Had the boy known this would be the last time his mother would tell him the tale, he would have paid better attention and tried harder to stay awake.
Had he been warned that this would be his last night in the palace, he would have kissed his mother good night.
Had he known his father would prevent his mother from bidding him good-bye the next morning, he would have said he loved her one more time.
But the boy slept, unaware of the pain dawn would bring.
1
KALINDA
Darkness holds secrets few see or seek. But when one spends as much time as I do studying the shadows, they reveal unique textures that brush over the skin. The cozy fleece of the evening hour, the velvet kiss of full midnight, and the chilly silk of early morning. I have found some solace in the patterns of the night. Little else is a comfort.
Sitting at my table before my charcoal and parchment paper, I train my senses to feel and listen. Hushed winds rustle the palm fronds outside the open balcony. Under the eye of the winter moon, shadows eclipse the astral powers. We are long into the evening, so far that morning will soon place a new dawn across the heavens, peeling back the night and revealing the face of day. My tired eyes strain through the layers of shadows for movement.
He will come.
A yawn escapes me. I reach up to rub my eyes, and the blunt end of my right arm stops me. Will I ever remember?
My prosthesis is on the bedside table; I do not wear it when I am alone. Quite often my hand still feels there. Its spirit tricks me into thinking I have all ten fingers. The demon Kur’s venom that I took into my body to harness as a weapon destroyed my hand. Teaching my left hand to draw as well as my right has taken practice, but increasingly I am satisfied with my sketches.
A smattering of finished drawings litters the table. Using my charcoal stick, I add more shading to my latest subject. The Sisterhood temple, under construction in the city, will soon house the sisters and wards from Samiya. My childhood home is gone, as is my dearest friend. Jaya was murdered by Rajah Tarek in an act of pure malice, and the temple I grew up in was demolished in an accidental fire. Though Jaya’s death still haunts me, the rebuilding of the temple gives me hope that all which succumbs to death may be reborn again.
I set aside the charcoal stick and rise, stretching to stay alert. A figure stirs in the darkness near the hearth.
“Kali.”
I blow out the lamp and lunge at Deven. I thought I had lost him after Kur dragged him down into the under realm. His revival was a mercy, even if he is confined to the Void during daylight hours. He follows my soul-fire home through the roadways of shadows at night and has done so for three moons.
“You took so long.” He has been coming later and later.
“I’m glad I made it.” Deven presses his lips to the side of my head. His thick beard sweeps against my hair. “You smell of jasmine at midnight.”