River had smiled and said, “And so the Moon-Eater will not die, will not rule, will not go, because the Moon-Eater has no hope.”
Except perhaps now, the Moon-Eater does, and that makes him vulnerable.
When River strides into ans fortress trailed by Amado Chimera and two sets of combat-mercs in full defensive design, everyone gets out of the way.
The surgeon who’s been taking care of Lyric, Biel, arrives just as River and Amado do, and River calls to her, “Is it Lyric Aharté the welcome surgeon has come to find?”
Biel pauses and bows. She’s a tall scarecrow of a woman, finely and simply dressed, with short hair slicked back in a solid shell. Her assistant bows hastily, too. The younger healer is skittish and awkward until blood appears, then calms almost preternaturally.
“Yes, small king,” Biel says.
“Allow an escort,” an says, gesturing to ans chest. “Amado, go to the great hall. This River will bring Lyric when the physicians finish.”
“Chimera is glad to take advantage of River’s hospitality,” Amado says lightly, and the second-in-command of River’s combat-mercenaries splits off to lead the Chimera contingent, and another dashes away to alert Roc of their arrival. Roc will entertain Amado until River and Lyric arrive.
“What is the status of healing in Rivermouth?” River asks as an and Biel fall into step. River leads her the most direct route, using a series of narrow wooden bridges looping over the first courtyards of ans fortress. Though in ans mother’s day, every wall raised high and the courtyards were enclosed by security nets and force-domes, River prefers a more open aesthetic and rebuilt the Rivermouth fortress as if there were no wars to worry about, no assassinations, no regular violence near and in ans home. With the hope Roc prized so highly—the hope that had long fed River’s soul—River designed a home an could love. Then an hired the finest combat-designers an could find, using the substantial water rights profits, to have ans fortress design map redesigned to be nearly impenetrable by aggressive design. Eliri had approved everything, treating the project as though the fortress were a giant human subject to be analyzed. (River lives to interest Eliri, because when she is interested she sleeps better, she leans into an more, she loses the haunted edge from her gaze.)
The Rivermouth fortress looks like a wide-open paradise of water gardens and courtyards, lifting bridges, ponds and spiral stories, all built for natural beauty, but to the designer’s gaze it’s intricately protected.
Lyric lives in a small private courtyard with a rock-and-gravel garden alongside a plain grass meadow. His rooms have a central circle window and a broad porch, as well as a small private kitchen, though Lyric has already asked to join the household in the shared kitchens for meals as soon as he’s allowed by this very healer.
Biel gives River a knowing look, then answers, “All is as River king has no doubt read in recent reports.”
“And Biel’s expert opinion?”
“Bodies heal apace, feelings and minds much more slowly.”
“Because it was a festival disrupted?”
“Because there is no enemy. What justice can there be when thespider mines were left over from a war eight years finished?” The physician shrugs one shoulder.
River sweeps heavy hair over ans shoulder, careful to flick the mass so the feathers fall smoothly. An believes thereisan enemy, and Chimera is here to tell an who. But if Amado is being so cagey, it won’t be an answer for the majority of people so much as a problem for a secret few to solve.
River, Biel, and her assistant find Lyric meditating in the grass of his courtyard, seated beside the small peace pool designed with an especially intricate array in the tiles to obfuscate the energy caused by ripples and negate them. Toss a pebble into the water, and within the space of a single breath, any ripples smooth into glass-like stillness. River thought Lyric would appreciate it.
“Is Lyric Aharté ready to see?” Biel calls by way of greeting.
Lyric turns and opens his unbandaged eye. With a gentle smile, he stands. “Welcome,” he says. “River,” he adds.
The young man wears a simple robe that falls past his knees and a pleated skirt, both in soft pink. The color warms his taboo fairy skin. Under the afternoon sun, his shaved head gleams where scars have already formed in starbursts from the left side of his face, which is covered by a broad eyepatch bandaged loosely against his head. The bruises have healed, and most of the abrasions are sleek new skin or shallow scars, no longer dark with scab or slick with ointment. An additional few scars peek from the collar of his robe and slice down his left shoulder and upper arm. River has seen the damage to his upper back as well, where the scars will remain substantial without additional surgery. Since he woke up, Lyric spends hours stretching and moving through slow combat formations and apparently has already regained most of his movement. Biel claims if he keeps it up,he’ll never even be sore in the winters. The only thing they’re waiting on is for his donated eye to fully communicate with his brain and see all the details of the world.
“Inside,” Biel says. “River can be sent away, as well.”
River wants to stay, and meets Lyric’s gaze. The other shakes his head. “Lyric does not mind the benefactor’s presence.”
Biel sighs in what is nearly a snort and waves her assistant on. The assistant hurries into Lyric’s room first with the box of supplies to begin setting up.
“Would Lyric like to see it today?” Biel asks Lyric.
“Lyric hasn’t seen it?” River can’t help interjecting.
“Waiting for the eye to… see itself,” Lyric says with a tone that’s nearly shy.
“Has Lyric Aharté practiced the strengthening exercises this physician recommended?” Biel asks.
Lyric leads them up the shallow steps to his porch. “Yes. All feels strong, sensitive. When washing this morning there was color in addition to light, but this priest waited.”
Biel nods approvingly.
