Page 49

Iriset leaves it there and returns to her husband’s side. She wants to ask him about the creature, why he lets it suffer so, but suspects his answer will be irritating, and she doesn’t wish to put shadows between them already.

Lyric is the one who softly says, “I am sorry about Erxan. You have had such a trying few days.”

She nods. “Did they discover what happened?”

“Heart attack,” Lyric says, “though he seemed so healthy.”

Iriset glances at her cup to hide the relief and guilt she’s unsure she can hide. (The Ceres party has already approached and done their best to wish the couple well, and Iriset let herself cry then, and say she would pray for his ghost. And after that, she said she belonged now to the empire.)

Before the sun sets, Lyric stands.

At his signal, designers dim the lights, except for a pink-silver moon of wire and force that floats over Lyric, pouring soft light around him.

He says, “Mirané princes, friends, allies, you have our thanks, and that of the Vertex Seal, for witnessing the binding of myself to my wife. This is the first day of my happiness, our future, and the seed of an alliance between us and the Ceres Remnants. These are the Days of Mercy, and as you have sought mercy from the Vertex Seal, I ask you in return for the mercy of your good wishes, your hopes, and your accordance with Silence. Tomorrow is the Crowning Sun, and you are all invited to the ritual that shifts the angle of days from rising to falling. When you see me again, I will be re-formed by the will of Aharté into a new man.”

Lyric looks down at Iriset, holding his hand to her. She takes it and lifts herself to her feet beside him. He twines their fingers together and faces the assembly again. “A joyful, strong, resilient, and complete new man.”

For a moment Iriset lets herself believe what he says: that their marriage will make him better.

They retire, followed only by Amaranth, Sidoné, Garnet, and Beremé. Lyric doesn’t release her hand, and Iriset clings to him. Direct to his private rooms he leads her, up and up one of the palace towers, and at the door he pauses.

“Thank you,” he says to their entourage. “We will manage. Unless…” He glances a question at Iriset, who lowers her head and shakes it.

Garnet steps forward and puts his hand on Lyric’s neck, a thumb against his jaw. “Brother,” he murmurs.

Lyric smiles. “Always.”

Amaranth mirrors Garnet’s gesture, only puts her hand on Iriset’s neck. “Sister,” she says softly—wickedly. But Lyric’s hand tightens encouragingly around hers, and Iriset smiles for the Moon-Eater’s Mistress.

Then Beremé, with a coyote’s sharp smile, offers them a long white scarf of silk. Near a hundred jewels are sewn into it, in every possible color. “For your pillow,” she says. “Each prince of the mirané council contributed a precious gem, attached by their own hand.”

“Thank you,” Iriset says, accepting the gift.

“Have fun,” Amaranth says, teasing her brother.

Lyric raises his chin and smoothly opens the door. As he ushers Iriset inside, he says, “Good night, sister.”

The last thing Iriset sees as the door slides closed is Sidoné’s hard, conflicted expression.

Then she’s alone with her husband.

Iriset distracts herself by studying the room.

It’s plain, an octagonal shape, with three more doors spread equally with the door through which they’d just entered.

Each is a holy arch, the dark wood carved with intricate floral patterns.

The walls are rich, sunset blue, and the vaulted ceiling is a lattice dome.

Purple evening light cuts through from the west.

A brazier hollow is carved into the floor, tiled smoothly in a paler blue and waves of green that stretch toward the walls. Some cushions pile against one wall, but otherwise there are no decorations nor furniture.

Lyric points toward one arch. It has neither door nor screen, but leads to a hall angled down that coils sharply out of sight.

“Through there is our private bathing room, with a long pool, a heated tub, and many mirrors. There is also a closet, with most of my clothing, and room for yours. Some has been moved, but you may see to the rest, or have a new wardrobe created.” He nods to the door across from the bathing arch.

“There is a more intimate sitting room, or study. It can be whatever we wish. I’ve used it as a library and meditation space.

And through that final archway”—he indicates the door they faced—“is the bedchamber.”

Nodding, Iriset walks straight for it. When she reaches it, she glances behind her at Lyric, who hasn’t moved. “Are you… joining me?” Iriset carefully keeps her voice soft, accented.

“Yes, I…” Lyric comes to her. He takes her hand again.

Through the archway, stairs lead up in a soft curve. Alcoves cut into latticed windows allow in light and air. The corridor breathes with the warm evening breeze. A skull siren trills harshly nearby, and Iriset is glad of the company.

Lyric touches the small of her back as they reach the upper archway opening into their bedchamber.

Nothing but a huge round bed graces the octagonal room.

Four pillars hold up a ceiling mosaicked with shards of black, white, and blue glass, and a center sun of mirané brown like an open wound.

The walls are nothing but tight lattice and four-point-star windows of thin glass.

To the west the lattice is a falling pattern, like rain and meteors; to the south it depicts the eddies of flowing water, a river with curling rapids and peaceful rhythms; in the east fire reaches high, drawn by rising forces through spirals of smoke; in the north the lattice is a million tiny sparks, four- and eight-point stars, pinpricks and needles of energy between them.

The balance and simplicity take Iriset’s breath away.

The design must be intense if it keeps out winter ice. But worth it.

She turns in a full circle, then stops abruptly. There are two doorways, arched with holy points, including the one through which they entered, and hanging against the plain wall between them is the icon of Tapp, the Ceres god of courage. It’s the same one from Singix’s bedroom.

“I wanted something of yours awaiting you here,” Lyric says softly. Almost shyly. Iriset glances at him: His gaze is cast aside. “Everything was removed that was mine alone, so that we can remake this room together.”

Touched, though it’s not a gesture for her but for a dead woman, Iriset lets herself kiss him.

Just upon the cheek, near the corner of his mouth, but she presses her lips there, and he draws in a sharp breath. His hands skim briefly against her elbows before he drops them again.

Iriset goes to the bed. Low, it’s piled with silk and striped linen, long cylindrical pillows and square ones in every shade of blue, two flat rectangles tasseled in vibrant red.

The frame is a huge alliraptor with its long jaw resting upon the tip of its own tail.

They’ll sleep embraced by the river monster most beloved by Aharté.

Spreading the jeweled scarf upon the bed, Iriset listens to her heartbeat, to the flow and rising forces heating her skin.

“Would you like water or wine?” Lyric asks.

She touches the bed, wondering how to pretend to be virginal. Allow him to begin everything? When he’s the one untouched?

“Water,” she says.

He makes no sound, but Iriset senses his departure. She’s alone in the bedroom of the Vertex Seal.

She allows herself a moment, very briefly, to laugh.

Like bubbles of ecstatic force, her laughter brightens her entire design, and Iriset smiles.

This part will be ridiculous. Easy. She’s wanted Lyric méra Esmail between her legs since she first saw him.

There are so many reasons she shouldn’t be here, married to him, lying to him, dancing on the sharp pinnacle of her apostatical expertise.

But she is here. Every choice has already been made, for good or mostly ill.

Iriset bites her lip and unties the laces holding her long shift closed over her breast. The collar then gapes wide enough to wriggle her shoulders free and pull it down and off her body.

She kicks it gently aside and sits upon the bed, entirely naked but for the silk necklace cradling Lyric’s design egg.

When the Vertex Seal appears in the arch with a long-necked pitcher of water, he freezes.

For a long moment he stares, vivid red-brown eyes fixed on her.

His breathing speeds up and his lips part and Iriset knows their inner designs are not yet bound, but imagines his reaction affects hers.

She feels popping ecstatic force up her spine, and a pool of falling force swirls in the base of her hips, drawing flow through her blood and muscles, and that yearning rising force escapes as a sigh along her tongue.

“Lyric,” she says, beckoning with one hand.

He sets the water on the floor and comes over to her, but he kneels.

He puts his hands gently on her knees, sliding his palms to either side.

As if to hold her knees closed. “Singix,” he says, and Iriset gasps in surprise—she forgot , the foolish girl.

Something heavy and dripping like despair chokes her. This isn’t for Iriset.

Closing her eyes, she folds her hands protectively between her breasts. She turns her face away from him as tears drop down her cheeks.

“Ah, Singix,” he whispers, and brushes her tears away even as he misinterprets them. “We have much to discuss, griefs and losses, and I—I want to. But first, may I… offer my design egg to you with a kiss?”

Pulling herself together hard and fast, Iriset nods. Eyes still shut, refusing to think of teasing about nostrils and orifices, she frees the sandglass box from the silk necklace she wears and holds it out blindly.