Enrique recognized the script on the envelope. It was from the Ilustrados. Since the Great Silence, it seemed that some of the Ilustrados groups were finally interested in Enrique’s treatises about the cultural power of objects.
“Something like that,” said Enrique.
Séverin sighed. “I thought this was what you wanted.”
It had been, thought Enrique. But no longer.
“At the risk of sounding exceptionally pompous, I must ask whether any perceived… weakness on my part is holding you back,” said Séverin. “I will support you no matter where you go, Enrique.”
“I know that,” said Enrique, and he meant it.
“Do you no longer support their cause?”
“Of course I support it!” said Enrique, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I still believe in the sovereignty of colonized nations. I still want to see the Philippines treated as more than some vassal state to Spain. I just… I don’t think I need to belong to them to make a difference. I’ll write back, of course, and continue to pen things forLa Solidaridad… but I think I must find my own way.”
“I see,” said Séverin quietly.
“I had a change of perspective,” said Enrique.
In the silence, he knew they were both thinking of the ziggurat.
None of them could ever fully describe what they’d felt that moment when the light from the final Tezcat portal washed over them. With every passing day, the memory seemed softer. And yet, sometimes the feeling ghosted through him, and Enrique would remember that he had touched vastness and felt the pulse of the universe dance across his bones. He would remember what it felt like to comb his fingers through the infinite.
“How do you plan on finding your own way?” asked Séverin.
How strange, thought Enrique. He had asked Laila something similar last night in his dreams.
Sometimes, he dreamed of her. Sometimes, he and Laila merely walked peacefully along a shore that Enrique had once visited as a child. Enrique looked forward to those visits. Whether it was really her or not didn’t seem to matter, for the feeling afterwards was always the same. It was a sense of peace.
Last night, they had spoken in a room that looked like the library of L’Eden.
Are you happy, my friend?she’d asked.
I am… happy, Enrique had confided. Which was true. He was spending more time with Zofia and Hypnos, and together the threeof them seemed to have stumbled upon a unique happiness.But sometimes I feel lost. I don’t suppose you have any advice or heavenly insights.
I don’t think you’re lost, said Laila.You’re just searching for the thing that fills you with light.
Enrique had scowled.Just because it’s a dream doesn’t mean you have to be so enigmatic, you know.
Laila had sipped her dream tea and arched an eyebrow.If I didn’t sound odd and prophetic, then the dream wouldn’t be memorable.
Touché.He’d laughed and they’d clinked their teacups together.
“Enrique?” asked Séverin.
Enrique jolted out of the recollection.
“Perhaps I should leave you to your thoughts,” said Séverin, warmly clapping him on the back. “Oh, and do be careful to lock up when you go. There are children in the hotel. Best not to let them run around in here.”
Enrique’s jaw dropped. “Children?Since when do you allow children to step foot in here?”
“Since I discovered how much more lucrative it is to allow families to visit,” said Séverin. But there was a practiced distance to his voice.
There was something Séverin was not saying. Enrique opened his mouth to ask when Séverin cleared his throat abruptly:
“I’ll see you at supper,” he said. “Enjoy your brooding.”
“I will,” said Enrique, frowning as Séverin beat a hasty retreat down the hall.
