into his. “You carry such a burden of grief for the lives you could never save, as well as the guilt for being alive when they’re not. You’re murdering yourself from the inside out, and I hate to see you do it. You’re the very best of men, Näsarat fa Amonindris, if only you’d see it.”
Indris quoted a poem he had written many years ago, yet never had the resolve to finish.
We tried to lead the lives we chose,
yet knew our dreams weren’t coming true.
I drowned in regrets the day you left,
obsessed with all things meaningless.
I bowed before the emptiness,
and empty-souled went penniless,
before all the shallow dreams I thought were me.
“I love her so much, Shar,” he murmured. “I think I always will. When we escaped and she was gone, some part of me knew she was…I denied it at first. I dragged you everywhere to search for her. But now, with Mari—”
“Don’t.” She hushed him. “Haven’t you learned anything from your time with the Seethe? Guilt and melancholy are the poison of the spirit.”
“Then I pleaded to the Ancestors,” he whispered. “Promised them anything if I could take Anj’s place in death…”
“I was with you.” She held him close. “Yet yours isn’t the only love to end before its time.”
“So much has happened.” He reached out to touch the glowing name with tender hands.
“Don’t tell me, Indris.” Shar backed away quietly. “Tell her.”
Indris sagged. He turned around to sit with his back to the obelisk. Softly batting the back of his head against it, he struggled to form his thoughts into words from those places that had been locked for far too long.
“I’ve missed you,” he began hesitantly. Indris cleared his throat, then began again. “There are times when it feels I can’t breathe without you. There’s hardly been a day gone by when I’ve not thought of you and hoped you’re happy where you are. It’s a shame you’re not here tonight, Anj. There’s dancing. It’s a great night to dance, and I know you love it…Remember when he first met? The smell and sound and taste of the revelry—I willed as hard as I could for dawn to never come.”
He stood, faced the obelisk. There was a sense of release in the words, something sacred in the outpouring. Indris recounted much of what had happened in his life since they had parted. He remembered laughing at the silly things they had done. Jokes that few other people would find funny. He apologized for old fights, when they had gone silently to their corners of the house to brood, until they each found the other in the center again, forgiveness on each other’s lips. And he cried. For all the things he should have said, yet did not. For all the things he should have done, yet never did. For the small and simple and innocent things she had needed from him, the things he had so wanted to give her, yet could not.
From time to time he would look over to where Shar waited, a treasure for her patience. Constant in her acceptance.
Indris leaned his brow against the obelisk. “From the moment I laid eyes on you, you held my love in your hands. Our world was hard on us, but that’s over now. I can’t be with you where you are, and I’m not sorry for that. I know I promised that if you walked away, I’d follow. But I can’t. So let me kiss you good-night, my beautiful lady, and wish you peace. Look kindly on me.”
He pressed his lips against the obelisk. Now he had said what he needed to say, he wondered why he had lacked the courage to say good-bye sooner. Perhaps he had not been ready to let go before now. He breathed deeply, blinked away the tears that had formed, surprised at how much lighter he felt.
Shar took him by the elbow and led him away, out of the Lotus House and down through the songs of joy that lifted the Garden of Stones. The familiar shapes of Ekko and Hayden stood at the base of the hill.
“Where to?” Shar asked.
“Avānweh. But first, I need to see somebody.”
“Where am I?” Mari asked. Her voice sounded fuzzy in her ears, the words slurred. She opened her eyes. The light seared her vision, sent sparks of pain shooting through her head. She screwed her eyes shut again.
“You’re in the Healer’s Garden of the Hai-Ardin,” came the crow-voiced response. “Though you’ll be moved