The barn-sized girl rolled her eyes, for all the world like a teenager asked to do her chores.
“I gave my priests every blessing I had to bestow. I call the mortal dead to the Underworld and allow mortal priests to climb the Mountain. I don’t know what else you could possibly want.”
My breath came faster as I worked myself up to it. The other gods had abandoned us, and Death had tormented us, but surely Wesha, the gentle Maiden of all our stories, the goddess who sacrificed her freedom for peace, would do this one thing for me.
“Please open the Gates of Dawn so that I can bring Taran ab Genna home.”
Although she’d been like a statue when I entered her chamber, if anything Wesha went stiller at my request. I wondered how much she’d seen from her window.
“Of all the things you could ask for,” she said, rolling the words in her mouth, “you want one man?”
“He—he’s the reason we won the war against Death. The one who struck him down. And he said that at the end of it, we would reestablish the temples. Restore the blessings of the gods. Sacrifice to you for easy births and gentle deaths, to Diopater for rain, Genna for peace…”
Wesha did not appear convinced, so I spoke more forcefully, getting down on my knees on the floor to implore her. I’d planned this too.
“You entered this prison to stop the war between Death and the Stoneborn. Taran ended Death’s rule over the mortal world. Please, I ask you to send him home, but if there has to be a price, I would make the same sacrifice you did and more. If someone has to stay, let it be me instead.”
When she answered, her tone was a little tart. “Mysacrifice? Marrying the terrible lord of the Underworld is a little different from serving the goddess who blessed you, isn’t it?” She turned away again, staring out the window for so long that I almost thought she’d dismissed me. But then she glanced back. “Who is Taran to you?”
Somehow, I’d been hoping that question would not come up. The veil and layers of white fabric now felt very awkward, even if my chastity was mostly undiminished.
“Two years ago, during the war, we were betrothed,” I said cautiously, hoping that I would not be turned into a pile of dust.
Wesha’s dawn-sky eyes went even wider. “You were betrothed to Taran ab Genna? In the usual way?”
What was usual? Maiden-priests didn’t traditionally attendbetrothal ceremonies, so I had no idea. My ring had been a hastily constructed twist of silver wire and the witnesses had been a ragged collection of teenage combatants, but Hiwa had told us the vows to recite.
“Yes,” I said, twisting the band on my left hand. “I didn’t have a dowry, of course, but—”
There was a quick shake of Wesha’s head. “What did he promiseyou?”
I was certain I was missing the point of her questions. When Wesha’s straight, dark brows lowered in consternation, I haltingly recited what I could remember of the words. It wasn’t like Taran or I had huge tracts of family farmland to negotiate—we’d just pledged each other all we owned, which in either case would have amounted to what we could carry on our backs.
“But he promised to build me a stone house with a plum tree by the front window,” I volunteered, because he’d added that at the end to make me smile.
“A plum tree,” she repeated as though incredulous, and I couldn’t tell whether she thought Taran had gotten a good bargain for me or a poor one. She stared at my grimy mortal self for a long moment, eyes seeming to take in more than my appearance. At last she tipped her head back and began to laugh.
Loudly.
The sound of her laughter was amazed, nearly hysterical, and it went on and on. I squirmed, not sure what to do. Could she not imagine wanting to be married to anyone? Or was this about my impertinence in asking history’s most reluctant bride if I could please have back the man I strayed from her path to marry, as he had unfortunately died in combat with her husband?
Her laughter rang louder and louder until it vibrated through the walls and floor of the white room at the top of her tower. It rattled the molars in my skull and shook me until I could see theseams in the stone and a dark frame around my vision. She didn’t sound at all like a person when she laughed—it was like a reaction from the sky or ground, like conversing with a storm. I was about to fall on my face and beg her pardon for my offense, but just as suddenly as the noise had started, it ended.
“Yes, alright,” Wesha said. “You can have him.”
I had to blink rapidly to confirm her calm smile, not trusting my still-ringing ears.
“I…yes?” I said in another inelegant squawk.
Wesha lifted her left hand, examining the shining gold and fire opals of her own wedding ring.
“It’s fine with me. Bring Taran here, and I’ll let him through the Gates alive and whole.”
I nearly choked on my own spit. Where was the bargain? What was I paying for this? Where was the catch?
“I have to find him and bring him here. And then you promise I can have him back…just as he was, not a dusk-soul. And”—my vow to Awi tugged at me, and I belatedly remembered my choice of words—“you’ll open the Gates to the mortal world, so we can go back.”
“I promise by all the gods,” she said, picking at a cuticle. “Do you?”
