Yelling swells outside, then passes, as if a mob or fast battle swarms by, and neither speaks until they’re alone again. Tension spits and tickles up her arms, and Iriset asks, still not looking, “Why did you bring me here?”
He takes a step closer to her. From the corner of her eye, she can tell he won’t stop staring. “I have questions.”
“Questions?” It’s almost a shriek. Nausea twines up from her stomach, wetting her mouth, and she presses her tongue to her teeth and clenches her jaw, breathing harshly through her nose until it passes.
“I need you to answer them, before I decide what to do.”
Iriset goggles at him. He wants tothink about things. Thearmy is outside raiding houses and shops to find a rebel who is alreadydeadand Singix is dead, too, and obviously Iriset took her place and is his wife, what else could he possibly think happened? He fought his own army to get her away, and—
“Amaranth knew,” Lyric says, still in that nothing-tone. He sets his force-blade naked onto a high shelf in order that it might continue to cast its spare light.
Iriset doesn’t even consider protecting Her Glory. She cuts her eyes up to Lyric’s and says meanly, “It was Amaranth’s idea.”
“That is… easy to believe,” he whispers, and puts his hand out toward the wall as if he needs support.
Holy moon, Bittor had cursed softly. Oh holy moon. She still can’t believe all that’s happened. Last night she had days to stick to her plan, last night her husband made her holy inside his arms. Today she stripped off quads of work and Lyric hunted her down and killed Bittor without even knowing what he did. Making Bittor a casualty. Collateral damage! Where were all Lyric’s philosophy and inner turmoil andquestionsbefore he stabbed Bittor through the chest, hmm?
Anger has a nice rising force, heating Iriset up from her shock.
“We mourned together.” Lyric says it so softly, with such gentle sorrow, that Iriset falters. Her anger defuses but she doesn’t want it to. She tries to seethe it back while Lyric knocks his forehead against the stucco. “We—Singix, you, you and I mourned her—you!—together. But Singix died that night in her rooms. She’s been dead for quads. I married a—”
He stops.
Iriset pushes herself up onto the worktable and perches there, shoulders locked and her hands tight on the edge. If she doesn’t sit here and hold on, she’ll hit him, or worse. She’ll tear at his hairand claw at his freckles and shove a blast of ecstatic energy into him and then he’ll never have to angst about the right things to do ever again! She clenches her eyes shut, trying desperately not to think about anything. Survive. Survive. Blood roars in her ears and she counts her breaths in eight beats: in-one-two, hold-three-four, out-five-six, hold-seven-eight; in-one-two, hold-three-four, out-five-six, hold-seven-eight.
Gradually she realizes Lyric is doing it, too. The space between them is enormous, despite how she could cross it in two long strides.
Iriset stutters her breath on purpose.
Lyric looks at her, and she feels it blaze so strongly upon her that she finally looks, too. In the darkness and thin blue light, his eyes are black, and the curve of his cheek a strange, uncomfortable purple. He still hasn’t asked any real questions.
Fine.
“Why did you come after me?” she demands.
Incredulous, he says, “You’re my wife. I’ll always come after you.”
It sounds more dire than it would’ve two days before.
“I thought you were in danger,” he adds with a hollow laugh. “I thought you needed me.”
She understands what that means and it hurts: He rushed to rescue his sweet Singix and found an old argumentative apostate instead. Iriset brought Lyric directly to Bittor. She didn’t think it through. She thought she had, but the resonance pill wasn’t fast enough, or strong enough; it couldn’t shake the connection from his side. It’s her fault Bittor is dead.
“Iriset—”
Like a tension-release valve, Iriset says, “I killed your mother.”
“No.” Lyric shakes his head once, harshly.
“Diaa was going to kill me,” Iriset goes on. “Shedidkill Singix, and when we made her think she killed the wrong person, she tried again. It was always your mother trying to assassinate your wife. Diaa of Moonshadow did not want her grandchildren tainted with non-mirané blood.” Iriset allows the bitterness she feels to flood her tone. “So I killed her.”
“I killed your father.” He says it like it’s a reason for something.
And Bittor, she thinks but doesn’t say. And Bittor. She can’t say his name or she’ll scream.
They stare at each other, each unable to break the contact, as if between them this intense balance of horror and revelation is all that keeps them upright. Iriset feels his upset as sure as her own, and she wants to hurt him, and also to hug him. Hold him so tight he suffocates, or she does.
Lyric sighs jaggedly. “Amaranth knew. And so Sidoné must. Who else?”
