“Still impressive,” Eliri says.
Iriset startles. The chimera is so quiet, going everywhere barefoot like a ghost. “Eliri. This is not what I intended.”
“What wanted?” Eliri says in careful mirané.
“What did you want,” Iriset corrects, standing. She shakes out her wrists. “To set it on fire,” she says first in Old Sarenpet and again in mirané.
“Fire,” Eliri murmurs in mirané.
Iriset decides to try again. She needs to visualize less, maybe, and just do it. Justdo it. The way she directed her eye to connect to Lyric’s body. Pure brute will. “I wonder if I need to be desperate,” she says quietly, mostly to herself. “Or if I should…” She trails off.Use my own body, she would have said, except Eliri has thrust a narrow tube at her.
It’s leather, rusty brown and scuffed. Iriset takes it.
“This arrived at Rivermouth for Iriset,” Eliri says.
“A letter?” Iriset flips the tube to open it, dumping the rolled paper into her hand. It’s Lyric’s writing, she realizes with an absolutely untenable ecstatic spark of glee that she squashes like a mosquito. But she huffs a laugh as she sees the salutation.
Holy Syr, it says in mirané.There is no beginning for me, not for this conversation. The state of Silence is absolute.
It’s the fuckingWord of Aharté!
Laughing, she scans the whole thing. That’s what this is. Her fool former husband didn’t write her a travelogue or love letter. He wrote the opening pages of his most holy book. As far as she remembers it’s not exactly accurate, though Iriset never had it memorized and she supposes Lyric could recite the whole tract in his sleep. Unless he’s shifting things on purpose to suit his agenda—the miran, the establishment of the Holy Empire, and maybe… Well, is it an invitation?
Iriset vaguely recalls from the spare catechism she managed to learn as a child that there have been debates regarding the purpose of the dual treatisesWord of AhartéandWritings of the Holy Syr, though there was no debate that they were written by Aharté herself and her wife, the Holy Syr. But were they writing because they were separated due to the Holy Syr’s determination to end the reign of the Moon-Eater, or did they spend time regularly apart? Was the Holy Syr a god, too, or merely a momentary love of Aharté’s?
Now Iriset knows.
“There is no location for sending a reply,” Eliri says.
Iriset looks up at her with a grin she hasn’t felt on her own face in ages. “That’s fine. The answer is for posterity.”
Eliri frowns, her big gray eyes looking sadder than usual. But Iriset waves her concern away. “This is exactly what was needed, Eliri.” Iriset has the urge to squeeze the other woman’s arm, but holds back. She keeps up her smile, though. “Can’t exactly explain, except this is to do with the future.”
It’s Eliri who reaches out, touching the tip of one crystal claw to Iriset’s cheek. “You looked very pale, when I came,” she says in mingled Sarenpet and mirané. “But color now.”
Iriset opens her mouth to deny it, but why? She feels bolstered. Lyric invited her to an argument—the grandest, most famous argument in the Holy Empire, where Aharté lays out the tenets of Silence, and the Holy Syr dissects them, encourages them, responds more personally. Iriset can’t upend the whole philosophy, she can’t argue for human architecture, but maybe she can soften the blows. And Lyric wants to let her.
That’s the only way she’s interested in interpreting this letter.
Instead of writing back immediately, Iriset asks, “Eliri, where can I get a really good sex toy in this city?”
Eliri tilts her head so her blunt bangs sway in a long line. “Sex toy?”
Iriset nods eagerly. “Something to masturbate with.”
“Why not take a lover?”
“Sometimes it’s just better to do things myself,” Iriset says, unsure what expression she makes, but it feels tightly pressed over her cheeks.
“For a good one, Eliri will ask.”
That makes Iriset laugh. “But Eliri knows where to find a bad one?”
The chimera shrugs and it’s one of the most casual gestures Iriset has ever seen her make. “More immediate ideas occur if quality is not assured.”
Iriset leans closer. “I would consider taking a lover if Eliri were interested,” she says.
Eliri’s gray eyes widen, but very quickly she inclines her head in refusal. “But Eliri can ask about that, too,” she says. “This chimera is aware that Roc Aliel has a positive reputation for lovemaking and has never taken a spouse.”
