between the vines and the ferns, bringing with it the fragrance of snow and flowers. May was light and life and hope; the gods would return her to the earth and the flowers and the life that carried on all around her. She would live on, in the sun that warmed the earth and the stars that made the night a little less dark.
She would live on in the eyes of every Affinite who would see hope.
They stood there for a long time, heads bowed, eyes closed. The wind whispered, the flowers murmured, and Shamaïra’s hymn threaded all the way up into the sky of silent, watchful stars.
Ana stayed behind after everyone had filed inside to rest for the night. She knelt by the freshly turned soil, her hands resting on the small mound where May had been. She thought of the ptychy’moloko; she thought of the copper coins she’d gifted May; she thought of that light in the snow-covered darkness, the whisper of an angel in the coldest, darkest night.
The light of the stars fell around her like tears.
“I unsee you, Little Tigress.”
Ana spun at the voice. Outlined by a single flickering lantern was Shamaïra. “What did you call me?” Ana whispered.
Instead of responding, Shamaïra crossed the garden in a newly donned pair of woven shoes, holding a silver tray carrying a samovar and a lamp. She gently placed both items on the ground before seating herself. The lamp shone a warm light over the earth that held May.
“It’s been a long day,” Shamaïra said, and proceeded to pour steaming tea from the samovar into two curved glass teacups. A small glass bowl in the center of the tray held sugar cubes. “Nandjians—we have tea for every occasion.”
Ana took the teacup with a murmur of thanks. The cup warmed her hands and was nested in a metal holder patterned in silver medallions.
“You’re not the only one who’s lost people in this silent war we’ve been waging,” the woman said after she had taken a long sip from her glass. “I lost my son to the Affinite trade many years ago, and I’ve been searching for him ever since. Twelve years, and I’ve never given up. Why the hell do you think I’m still in this rotten empire, entertaining Cyrilians with fortune-telling from tea dregs and poetry? Who in their gods-damned mind would shelter rebels leading a revolution that I may never see happen?” Shamaïra’s eyes burned. “Few in this world are born to pure happiness and a life of comfort. The gods know that’s not what life is about. No, Little Tigress—we take what we are given and we fight like hell to make it better.”
Shamaïra’s words blazed in the air between them long after she was silent. The tears on Ana’s face had cooled and, ashamed, she turned away and swept a quick hand over her cheeks. Her thoughts focused on two words. Little Tigress.
It was the nickname Mama had given her. “Why do you call me that?” she said quietly.
“I know who you are.” Shamaïra’s voice had the silent strength of steel. “I saw the events of that day, at the Vyntr’makt in Salskoff. The Sister showed me; she whispered to me of a great fire inside you, and a grand destiny.”
Ana summoned the courage to meet the woman’s gaze. “Who are you?”
“I am an Unseer, my darling.” Shamaïra’s smile was charming yet dangerous beneath her shawl. “There is a myriad of faiths practiced in Nandji, but my particular beliefs also lend to a form of magic. A…branch of what you Cyrilians call ‘Affinities,’ I suppose. We believe in a divine Spirit, split into two halves between a Brother and a Sister.” She held up the lamp. “The Brother, the Lord of Light and Lender of Fire, rules over all that is visible to the eye and physical in this world. And the Sister”—Shamaïra set down the lamp—“is the Deity of Darkness and the First Unseeress, goddess to all things metaphysical and spiritual. My Affinity is to her; specifically, to time—both what’s past, and what’s to come.”
Ana frowned. “You can…change time?” It felt ridiculous to say.
“No, my child. But I can catch glimpses of it, as one might dip a finger into a grand, sweeping river.” Shamaïra put a hand to her heart. “I unsee, Anastacya.”
“Then can’t you unsee your son?” It felt too easy, too unfair; it felt like false hope, all over again. “Can’t you find him?”