“And I,” she said. “But it’s not so; and so we have no choice.”
I swallowed. Her face swum misty before me, and I realized that I wept. I knew these tears were not the product of magic, save that love’s a kind of magic. I nodded, accepting defeat.
Rwyan let go my hands and cupped my face. Her lips touched mine, careless of the crew, careless of Tyron, who doubtless watched us from the stern. Her kiss tasted salty. She pulled away and said, “I’ll advise our captain he’s to put in at the next hold.”
I nodded and watched her walk away. I rubbed at my eyes; I felt exhausted. I slumped against the bulwark, sliding to the deck. Across the forecastle, Tezdal studied me.
“You love her very much.”
I grunted agreement, and he said, “You should not be parted.”
I chuckled sourly. “I’ve little choice, it seems.”
He said, “Duty is important, but I do not understand why you cannot be together.”
“Nor I,” I answered him, “save it’s so here.”
He appeared entirely sympathetic. It did not seem at all strange to me that I should engage in such a conversation with a Sky Lord.
He said, “You fight well.”
“I was taught in Durbrecht,” I said.
“Where I go.”
His dark face showed no sign of trepidation, only curiosity. I wondered if he knew what likely lay in store. I felt sorry for him then. I said, “Aye.”
He said, “It is hard, having no memory. It seems to me a man is diminished by that. He cannot properly know who he is.”
I realized he sought to comfort me: I smiled and said, “No. But in Durbrecht I think they shall restore yours.”
He nodded solemnly. “I hope so. Even do I remember we are supposed to be enemies.”
“Supposed?” I said. “Dhar and Ahn have fought down the ages. You Sky Lords are our enemy; just as we are yours.”
“I am not your enemy, Daviot,” he returned me. “Rwyan-your people-saved my life. I cannot be the enemy of someone who saved my life. How could that be? It would not be … right.”
I thought on that awhile, then said, “No.”
He smiled and turned toward the stern, watching Rwyan as she spoke with the shipmaster. I leaned my head against the bulwark, staring at the blank sky. The sun was gone a little past its zenith, and the heat was ferocious. My shirt was limp with sweat, soiled from my sojourn in the hold. I tugged it off, using it to towel my face and chest. As I reached for my saddlebags, a crewman came diffidently toward me. He was massive, one of the bull-bred, and seemed built better for a charge than so hesitant an approach.
“Would you have me wash that, master?”
A huge hand gestured at my shirt.
I said, “My thanks, but there’s no great need.”
He came a pace closer. His head was slightly lowered, as if he lacked the nerve to look me in the eye. “It’s no trouble, master,” he said. His voice was a deep, bass rumble. “It’s soiled, and I’ve others need tending.”
I thought perhaps he looked to curry favor. I smiled my gratitude. “Very well, then. Here.”
I held out the shirt-in my left hand, on whose wrist I wore Lan’s bracelet. The Changed took it, and as he did our eyes met. He held my gaze an instant, then turned away. I wondered if I had truly seen interest flicker in those bland bovine orbs.
He halted, stepping aside and bowing as Rwyan came back, and I forgot him, looking at her face. She had wiped away her tears, but her eyes were red. She held herself very straight, which I thought was from effort of will alone. Wearily, I climbed to my feet, pulling on a clean shirt.
She said, “Tyron advises me we can dock in Ynisvar on the morrow.”
I nodded, unspeaking. I had nothing left to say; nothing I had not already repeated, to no avail.
She said, “Soon after dawn, he says.” I ducked my head again.
Rwyan sighed noisily. “This is not as I’d have it,” she murmured. “Do you believe that?”
I said, “Yes,” and turned, resting my arms on the gunwale, staring out across the Fend. It was too hard at that moment to see her.
She came to join me, close, and that, too, was hard. She said, “Do you also believe I love you?”
Again I said, “Yes,” and in my hurt could not resist adding, “but not so much as your duty.”
It was a shabby rejoinder that I instantly regretted. I should have told her so then, but I was sunk deep in my self-pity and could not. I heard her stifle a gasp, as if my words stung, and then she said, “Daviot, you are unkind. Could it be otherwise, think you I’d not go gladly with you? As your wife or your woman, always by your side?”
“But,” I said, not turning my head, “it’s not otherwise. Is it?”
She said softly, “No.”
I said, “Then there’s no more to say. Save farewell.”
I heard her shift then and knew she studied me. I refused to meet her eyes. I held mine firm on the unyielding sea, knowing that did I see her face, I’d weep and beg her to rethink, plead with her. A moment more, and she turned away. I heard her footsteps go soft across the deck, and I was left alone. My heart felt empty as the cloudless sky.
She spent the remainder of that day in her cabin, and I did not move until the sky darkened and the smell of grilling fish tempted my nostrils. I had forgotten hunger, but now my belly rumbled prodigiously, reminding me that no matter how we suffer, life goes on. I had no appetite, however, and made no effort to join the group around the cookstove. What matter if I starved now?
I heard steps approach, and the savory odor of charcoal grilled fish was stronger. I turned to find Tezdal standing with a plate and a mug of ale. He smiled warily and set down his burden.
“Even so,” he said, “you must eat.”
I snorted and looked past him down the deck. Rwyan sat with Tyron, half the Changed crewmen a little way separate. The rest still manned the sweeps, driving the Sprite remorselessly onward, toward our landfall in Ynisvar.
The Sky Lord followed the direction of my gaze. “She loves you, Daviot. This gives her pain.”
“But she’s her duty,” I said.
“She’s strong,” he told me, “she’s honor. You should admire her for that.”
Sourly, I said, “I do. But also I love her.”
He nodded. “Perhaps when I regain my memory, I shall find I love someone.”