“Where are Lyric and Iriset from, where the moon is supposedly caught in stasis?” Sharp-Shin asks. “Why did the anomaly star appear? Who is Lyric Aharté and who is Iriset Sunderer?”
“Here,” Lyric says. “Lyric was born in this crater, and Iriset, too.”
Iriset stands slowly. “Lyric, what are you doing?” she whispers in mirané.
But the Moon-Eater is laughing; he looks like he’ll clap any moment, like a toddler surrounded by hilarious puppies.
“It’s when,” Eliri the Adept Hand realizes suddenly. “Not where.”
“That’s the missing piece,” Helica Silkhair cries, pointing at the knot. “It’s cyclical, but the real anchor is in another time! Impossible!”
Lyric only stands there, still and calm, and Irisetcannotbelieve him. She stares through the cacophony at him until he looks her way. And unbelievably, incredibly, Lyric méra Esmail, the last Vertex Seal,winksat her with her own fucking eye.
And sadder
The rest of the meeting goes about as well as can be expected.
Weirdly, time travel strikes most of those gathered as less ridiculous of an idea than capturing the moon. If Iriset hadn’t lived her entire life in the literal shadow of such a thing, she would probably agree.
For the most part, Iriset watches Lyric, keeping herself quiet. It’s to her benefit if they all figure out the details without her. She’ll command less blame. Lyric holds his inner design so calm, Iriset is almost jealous. But she knows he feels Aharté’s will here. Forcing Iriset’s hand to argue on behalf of Holy Design.
Though Helica Silkhair and the striking green-eyed commander-philosopher of Intrinsic Foundation whose name Iriset can’t help but learn is Raijin remain skeptical, they seem unable to come up with an alternate plan. Though Raijin insists alongside the artist Sipipia that they should seek out alternative energy than the unraveling of the Moon-Eater. But Shade himself pooh-poohs them, silly and vocal, and finally gets them to shut up by letting his eyes turn pure red and his fangs grow until he can barely talk through the layers of them. He hisses and says, rough and lisping, which makes it worse: “This is thewill of the Moon-Eater, the red god of this crater city. If a designer or artist or anyone disagrees, there are so very many ways to silence dissent.”
The quiet after that is enough to hear the cardinal shifting in his seat and the click of Eliri’s crystal claws. Finally, Amado Chimera says, “The Moon-Eater’s will be done.”
“Thank you, Amado,” Shade says, teeth suddenly normal again—for him, at least. “Now, Iriset will be focused on sundering, to learn what needs to be done to this god and get the power exactly right. When necessary, Iriset will overlook the plans coming together. Iriset Sunderer is the point of this spear, yes?”
Helica Silkhair lifts her chin, but without arguing begins to suggest a list of tasks to complete and a prioritized order. They’ll need to bring in more city architects and begin construction of these steeples immediately. The plans must be worked in detail so they know what to dismantle and where, and possibly some parts of the city need to be evacuated eventually. Experiments will be run, on several scales.
“And please,” Amado Chimera asks, “will the Moon-Eater convince Lodestone and Rising Smoke to participate?”
“Unless the small kings wish to have the precincts leveled, the small kings will,” Shade agrees smoothly.
“More precise data is needed to predict the declining progress of the tremors,” the cardinal says, “to mitigate damage as preparations are made, and to convince the people this is for good.”
Mirea sir Unrich says, “The models so far suggest the quakes will grow stronger and closer until they are nearly consistent sometime six months from now.”
Lyric, who remains standing, says, “There will be a total solar eclipse eight days before the summer solstice. Is that in six months?”
“How…?” the cardinal murmurs, but then nods. “Yes, that is correct about the eclipse, and yes, it’s in nearly seven months.”
Iriset straightens up suddenly, realizing why Lyric wants to focus on the eclipse. It isn’t because of catching the moon—they know where the moon will be anytime. It isn’t only because of its position during their time. No—it’s because in their stories and histories, the mirané people were made by Aharté during a solar eclipse.
That sneaky son of a bitch. No way is that part happening. She narrows her eyes at him, aware that her left eyelids don’t narrow quite as well yet and hating it. He isn’t looking at her,but fuck the miran, Lyric, she thinks. Full offense.
The Moon-Eater slaps his hands onto the table, and the entire intricate diagram map of the metadesign array wavers thanks to his disruption of the nearest force-pagoda. The Chimera city planner whimpers, but nothing actually breaks. The Moon-Eater grins. “Well, this old fairy is happy to have a death date to look forward to! As it is, there is so very much to do. Sundering to teach, sex to have, blood to drink, children to corrupt. Best get to it!”
He flits up and away, and Iriset scrambles after him, barely remembering her bag.
“Moon-Eater, may I have a word?” Lyric calls in mirané.
Shade stops, turning sinuously to look at Lyric, and the whole group of people frankly staring at the three of them. “Come this way,” Shade says, sliding Iriset a glance.
The Moon-Eater leads them out through the hidden doorway. As Lyric passes, Shade waggles his fingers at those remaining before the door rains back down and solidifies.
“Up, up.” The Moon-Eater shoos them up stone steps and outside to a path along a line of tall, willowy poplar trees with leaves shaped like tiny hands.
Iriset distances herself from Lyric as he immediately asks, “Do you know where Rabbit went?”
