Your Conrí, at war with himself in any number of ways.”
That was Con, most assuredly.
“We are all spirits taken flesh. Your flesh is simply created somewhat more deliberately than the rest of us, fashioned from a blend of materials.”
“Flower made flesh.”
“Or flesh made into new flesh. Our spirits descend, occupy our bodies for a while—as we live the life of the body—and then return from whence they came. Most of us cannot know the nature of the spirit we spring from, but You are unusual in that You do know.”
“Calanthe.”
“Yes.”
I frowned. “I still don’t understand how I can be both.”
“When our spirits animate our earthly forms, we don’t descend entirely. Part of that spirit remains in the other realm. What we are in these bodies is an extension of the spirit.”
An extension of the goddess. “So I’m a walking piece of Calanthe? Like a puppet?”
“Euthalia,” she scolded gently. “You can hardly be a puppet of Yourself. We are all spirits living lives in this reality, with parts of those spirits remaining in the astral realm to guide and learn from our human experiences. Some of those spirits have other manifestations in this world. The island we know as Calanthe is one of Yours.”
“Thank you, Mother. I will think on this.”
“You and philosophers throughout history.” She smiled at me kindly. “Don’t overthink. If we were meant to know everything while incarnate, we would.” She stopped at a closed door. “Tertulyn is within. I shall leave You now.”
Ambrose had caught up to us. “Would You like Merle and me to remain, Your Highness?”
“I would love your company, but I fear I must do this alone.” I glanced at Mother, who did not disagree. “Do I knock?”
She shook her head sadly. “She will not respond. Goodbye, my Euthalia. Visit us again soon.”
“I will, Mother.” I embraced her, and she held me tightly.
She released me, arranging my hair around my face. “My beautiful, powerful girl. Remember that You are Yourself. Don’t get caught up in the rest of it. This is Your life to lead as You wish.” Brushing tears away, she laughed softly. “I grow sentimental in my old age. Come along, wizards. I shall escort you out. We appreciate your assistance in our time of need, but you have much territory to cross before you can be trusted. I’ll be happier with you out of my temple.” With that they walked off, disappearing around a bend.
Taking a breath, I pushed the door open and stepped inside. Like all the residences in the temple—like the one I’d had before I went to live in the palace with my father—the room was more garden than chamber. A bed and sitting area nestled under a rock overhang, then progressed into a tangle of vines, flowers, shrubs, and trees. A fishpond occupied a large terrace, bright shapes darting within.
Tertulyn sat on a bed of violas at the rim of the pond, dangling her fingers in the water, apparently absorbed with her reflection. With her simple shift and long hair spilling around her, she might’ve been a sculpture in her stillness. Nymph at the Pond. She didn’t seem to hear my approach—or if she did, she ignored me. I walked right up to her and she never moved.
“Tertulyn?” I ventured.
She looked up and pasted on a bright smile, nothing of herself in it. “Oh look,” she said in mocking singsong. “If it isn’t Lia’s pet dogs. His Imperial Majesty Anure, Emperor of All the Lands, regrets to inform you that he had an urgent engagement elsewhere, with his new prize. I hope you’re not too fond of Euthalia. You lose, Slave King.”
And she went back to gazing at the water.
“Tertulyn, it’s Me.”
She looked at me and smiled. “Oh look. If it isn’t Lia’s pet dogs. His Imperial Majesty Anure, Emperor of All the Lands, regrets to inform you that he had an urgent engagement elsewhere, with his new prize. I hope you’re not too fond of Euthalia. You lose, Slave King.”
I crouched beside her. “I am Euthalia. It’s Me. Your … friend. Remember?”
Tertulyn looked up. “Oh look. If it isn’t Lia’s pet dogs. His Imperial Majesty Anure, Emperor of All the Lands, regrets to inform you that he had an urgent engagement elsewhere, with his new prize. I hope you’re not too fond of Euthalia. You lose, Slave King.”
This would get old very quickly. I put a hand on her shoulder, thinking physical contact might remind her of our long relationship. It did—but not as I’d hoped.
She