The Garden of Stones - By Mark T. Barnes Page 0,26

was abandoned to the slave pits of Sorochel for almost two years. Forgive me if my cup doesn’t brim with cooperation. One good thing to come out of that was meeting Shar. Her friendship and loyalty are two things in this world I never question. The other was to measure out my trust in nobles, bureaucrats, and my former teachers in small amounts.”

“You’ll allow your personal feelings to cloud your duty to your people, after Vashne pardoned you?” Femensetri’s tone was sour. “I trained you better, boy.”

“Tried slavery, have you?” Indris rolled his cup in his hands, intent on the way the dregs of tea swirled against the glaze. Being a knight of the Sēq Order of Scholars had not been an easy life. There had been light, laughter, and pleasure in service. But as the years wore on it became filled with pain, with horror. Revolts to be started and wars to be stopped. Murders in the dark. The deaths of enemies and too many friends. There were mornings in Sorochel when he had been sorry he had lived through the night. He remembered the acid burn of salt-forged shackles, unable to think clearly, to free himself. When he had escaped, the memories of what had come after still plagued him. He raised his head to look at Femensetri. “Until you have, you don’t know what you’re saying. Besides, there are other reasons I don’t want to linger here.”

“Your wife?” Ziaire’s expression was flooded with sympathy. “Did you ever discover what…I’m sorry, Indris. Wasn’t there anything you found admirable in serving your country?”

“I’ve given up on finding improbable solutions to impossible problems made by other people.” Indris shook his head. “The Asrahn and the Teshri brought war to the doorstep of innocent people. Ariskander tried to stop it, and for that I applaud him. But perhaps those who govern Shrīan need to learn to deal with consequences.”

“Indris!” Femensetri grasped his wrist. “Perhaps you’ve the right to—”

“Perhaps?” Indris jerked his arm from Femensetri’s grip and stood.

“Please!” Ziaire implored them both. “This is much bigger than—”

“It’s always bigger than the people who suffer, isn’t it?” He held his hands up as he backed away. “So many people, it all becomes abstract, this accounting of lives. But I remember the faces, the names, of people who suffered. There was always somebody to miss them. Somebody who loved them. All the people I…Ladies, I suddenly find myself remembering something that needs doing. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, though you’ll excuse me for not seeing you out?”

Indris tried to walk as calmly as he could from the salon so no one would see the cracks appear in the mask he wore over his sorrow.

Indris turned as Femensetri joined him in the high-ceilinged chamber he had once shared with Anj-el-din. Far-ad-din had been generous in giving them the large building, though it had been Anj who had really made it theirs. Or hers, if Indris was honest. He had spent so much time either saying farewell or saying hello, he had felt at times like a stranger. As if where Anj and he lived was more a house than a home.

He stood before a series of Portrait Glasses. There was a layer of dust on them, which he gently wiped away with the corner of his over-robe. Most of the portraits captured frozen moments of Anj: Anj laughing, her teeth a band of white against her dark-blue lips; Anj hiding playfully behind the mass of her quills, fine and soft as silk, as unruly as the storm it always reminded him of; Anj sitting in repose, intent as an eagle as she stared out a window; Anj dancing, her elegance apparent even in the stillness of the portrait. There were few portraits of them together and fewer still of him alone. Those there were showed him in profile or turning away from whoever had tried to capture his image. Anj had once said, in pride or passion or her summer-storm fury, that he was always turning away. Always looking at the next horizon or the next trouble he would risk his life to fix.

Anj was, had been, a Sēq Scholar. It had been easier for her to let go and embrace an ordinary world for love.

“It was early in the morning when I came home,” he began without looking up. “It was raining, and I remember thinking how nice it would be to hold her. I’d been in Sorochel for…Anyway, I