“Addie? Addie’s here?” Peter’s voice came out raspy, as though long unused. Maybe it had been.
“Right you are,” came a blessedly familiar voice, not nearly as fiercely as Addie normally spoke. Lips touched Peter’s cheek, ale-scented breath wafting over his skin. “Rest now. I’ll find you a bowl of stew. And Peter? Welcome back.”
It took several moments to form words, used as Peter was to someone else in his body doing the talking. “Ho… how long was I gone?”
“We’re now heading into spring.”
Surely he’d not wandered the realms with Sige so long. “What?” Peter tried to sit, but his strength failed him.
“Shhh,” Martin said.
Dear, wonderful Martin, who Peter despaired of ever seeing again. Moreso than hearing him, Peterfelthim, a reassuring presence in his mind. A mind now free of Sige. Peter’s heart would have sung, if possible.
Those resonating tones continued, “You’re weak, and you’ve lost weight. I don’t know where you’ve been or what you’ve done, but you’re here now. We’ll fix you up as right as rain.”
“Rain. I’ve been to a world where it never rains, another where it rains for seasons on end, and another where the rain stains everything purple.”
“You can tell me all about it once you rest.”
“Rest?” If Peter closed his eyes again, would he ever wake? He gripped Martin’s hand tight. “Don’t go,” he whispered, his last reserves failing.
“Yes. Rest.”
“Stay with me?”
The bed—it must have been a bed—dipped. A comforting body nestled into Peter’s side. The scent of leather, sweat, and Martin. “Better?”
“Better.” Peter lay still, letting darkness claim him.
He awoke to snores from three different people.
After four days of rest and food, Peter finally left Martin’s room. He still felt wobbly, which gave Martin an excuse to stay close and offer an arm. Never before had Peter been to the high city without Sige present in his mind. Sige, who saw the world in vague shapes of many colors. Those possessed by Thomoth had appeared with an aura of sickly yellow-green; what Peter used to call demons were the color of shadow. Despite their brown robes, the priests appeared with mottled green, the shades constantly shifting.
Martin’s aura shone with the rich gold of the sun.
Peter gazed upon the Lady’s temple with his own eyes for the first time. Swirls and curlicues enhanced the pillars; marble covered the floors. Everywhere he looked, the finest craftsmanship and immense beauty.
He’d love to tear it down. Sige had seen an ugly gaping maw, devouring lives and magic with no remorse.
While people in the lower city went hungry, here the Chosen had lived in luxury. While the Lady fed on them or used them.
Carts passed on the road, hauling lumber and stone, and Peter had grown used to the rasping of saws and pounding of hammers.
Much of the city still lay in ruins and probably would remain so. The people rebuilt only what they needed. Life went on. He and Martin didn’t walk to the remains of the Stone’s Throw. Peter didn’t have the strength and didn’t want to see. How trivial his tavern seemed after witnessing worlds ripped apart, entire peoples vanished.
Martin led the way into a garden by the Lady’s temple and settled Peter on a bench. “I’ve always wanted to bring you here. See what you thought.”
Roses in a dozen colors bloomed, though a fountain remained still, with no sound of splashing water. “It’s beautiful.” Less beautiful when Peter weighed the cost others paid to provide such privilege to an elite few.
An elite few drained of their magic.
The plants probably looked better before the battle, some trampled and broken but still blooming, much like the remaining citizens of this realm.
“Without the constant flow of magic, soon the gardens will bloom and die with the seasons, like everything else.” No denying the sadness in Martin’s voice, the sorrow in his eyes. He’d seen the worst of the battle, the aftermath.
“How is Cere?” Peter saw the young man from time to time, wide-eyed and afraid, and couldn’t blame him. Being inhabited by a benevolent being couldn’t compare to having one’s body taken over forcefully by pure evil.
Peter understood that Cere had shared Martin’s bed in Peter’s absence, along with Addie, for comfort, nothing more. Upon Peter’s return, Addie and Cere found another room, large enough to house them and the orphaned foundlings they’d taken in.
