The Prisoner of Limnos

XVIII

A bench ran along the taffrail at the stern of the big merchanter. After stowing their scant baggage in their cabin, they all went out and sat upon it to watch the sailors work the ship out of the harbor. Nikys contemplated the receding shore, as did Idrene. Their hands found each other, as if to assure that this one part of their lives, at least, was not lost to them. Pen leaned his head back under the wide sky and gazed up. Distant figures, no matter how carefully watched-for, grew indistinguishable, then the town became a blur on the sun-hazed coast, and then the coast, too, dropped below the horizon. They were away.

It felt to Nikys as though her body had been bound strangling-tight by wires, and one by one, each wire was being clipped away till none were left. She breathed, shook out her arms, sensed her blood move freely. Stretched her neck. Exhaled.

“Penric…” No, that wasn’t right. “Desdemona. Can I talk with you?”

“Mm?” Pen turned his head. “Of course. Any time.”

She stood. “Let’s go to the cabin.”

Pen followed her up at once, amiable if baffled.

Idrene smiled behind her hand. “Take all the time you like. I’ve had my fill of tiny rooms. I plan to sit right out here as much as possible, this voyage.”

Nikys rolled her eyes, but said, “Thank you, Mother.” And meant it.

The cabin was tiny indeed, two pairs of bunks built into the bulkheads facing each other across a narrow aisle. It did have a small, square window on the end, presently hooked open on the sight of the sea falling behind them, stirred by the ship’s passage. The air was fresh and fine.

Nikys gestured Pen to one bunk, and sat on the other facing him. With his long legs, they were nearly knee to knee.

Nikys hardly knew where to begin, only that she had to begin. With a feeling of jumping into murky but deep water, she said, “Desdemona, have you ever been married before?”

She wasn’t sure if it was Pen or Des responsible for his head going back and his eyebrows up, but she could mark the little changes in the tension of his face as the demon came to the fore. “By which I suppose you are asking if any of my sorceresses were married before?”

“Yes, that. During the time you were with them. I know some were widowed…”

Pen held up his fingers to keep count. Or Des held up Pen’s fingers. “Of the ten, five were never married. Sugane, Rogaska, of course Mira, Umelan, and Ruchia. Vasia and Aulia were both widowed before they acquired me, and did not remarry after. Litikone, well, I was a very young demon then. With no Temple guidance, I suppose it seemed more like contracting a madness than a power. Her husband became frightened and moved out, which was why she went to Patos to end her days as a servant to Vasia. Who was the first to acquire me purposely, if still untutored.

“Aulia of Brajar was my first trained Temple divine, and what a huge difference that made, but she was already older, and widowed, and very firm of will. Which was how I came to be handed off at her death to the great physician Amberein of Saone. She was still married, with her childbearing behind her of course, but her husband, dear fellow, was already used to dealing with a strong-minded woman. I had not guessed a sorcerer could live in intimacy so well, before. Helvia was another of the same stamp.

“Ruchia… was Ruchia, my dearest rider until Pen. The first to really treat me as a partner and a person, if still unnamed. Forty years with her quite spoiled me for anything less.”

Pen’s hands had lowered to clasp between his knees; he looked up from them. “Six of the ten had borne children, before me. None after, of course.”

“Why of course? Is it something to do with the chaos?”

Pen, yes, it was Pen now, cleared his throat. “Yes. Sorceresses who conceive suffer early miscarriages. Unless they are very knowledgeable and adept. Amberein or Helvia could certainly have brought a child to term, but they had already finished their families. Or Ruchia, but she did not choose it. Something emotionally complicated to do with herself being a foundling of the Bastard’s orphanage, I gather.”

Nikys pursed her lips. “What of sorcerers?”

“Um… I’m less sure. Well, no. I’ve heard of sorcerers who managed to get married, and have families.” He added reluctantly, “Though they are more often bachelors or widowers. Or their wives leave them, because it’s too much like living with a crazy man.” He smiled ruefully as if inviting her to argue with this, and looked more rueful when she only nodded. “I’ve never been married,” he pointed out. “Although I am trying to rectify that.”

His lips twitched back, as Des said, “Feeling left out, lad?”

“Who wouldn’t? Looking at…” A feeling gesture at Nikys, and a melting smile.

Nikys resisted melting. Barely. She tried to remember everything on her list. “I don’t want to move to Adria.”

Pen sat up. “I could transfer to Orbas, with some help from the duke. The duke pressuring his archdivine, rather. Even the Temple hierarchy must give way in the face of the sacrament of marriage. …Usually.” He added after a moment, “And if not, well, I’m in Orbas, they’re in Adria, what are they going to do about it? Although I would like to be able to travel back there someday, at need.” He nodded, as though the point were disposed of. Perhaps it was. Though, being Pen, he added after another moment, “I might still like to take you to visit Adria sometime. When it’s not having a clash with Cedonia, but then, you’re not going to be a Cedonian anymore, are you? It’s really a very interesting realm.”

Nikys grimaced. “I’d never have left Cedonia, if Cedonia had not betrayed Adelis. No going back now.”

“Sometimes,” sighed Pen, “that happens. Even without betrayal.” Missing the white peaks of his distant cantons? Though Nikys was of the strong opinion that the Mother’s Order in Martensbridge had betrayed him too, and first, through their nearly lethal mishandling of his healing skills. And he knew it, or he would not have near-fled that beloved home, either.

Nikys fought her way back to her points. “I want a house.” Though she temporized, “Someday, at least. I realize it might not be possible right away.”

“Well, so do I.”

“Oh. …Huh.”

“I haven’t spent the past decade perching in other people’s palaces by choice, exactly. It was just easiest. Convenient to my work.”

She supposed that was so. “I think you live mostly inside your own head. It hardly matters where you’ve put your body.”

“So a house will do just fine, then.” Another maddening smile.

She swallowed. “Children…”

“Those, too.” He nodded. “They will go with the house. Like a cat.”

“What?”

“That was Pen, not me,” Des put in. “I don’t know what he’s thinking, either. Yes, you do.”

Nikys drew breath and faced her darkest fear. Head-on, because it was time. “I may be barren. Kymis and I were never able to get a child.” She didn’t want to add, And we tried, though she supposed it was implied. She had never met a man before Pen so able to toss her like a coin between shyness and exasperation.

“Could be many different reasons for that.” He glanced her up and down. Wait, why did it feel as though those blue eyes had just knifed through her? Sorcerers, agh. “There’s nothing obviously amiss on your side, at least.” Was that all it took? The eyes crinkled. “It might require some experimenting to be sure. I could help you with that.”

Why did he sound just like Drema? If she’d been sitting next to him, she would have hit him. Perhaps she should shift across there, so she could.

She rubbed her forehead. “If I married Penric, he would be my husband. But what would you be, Desdemona? Now you are a person. Not my husband. Not my wife, either. My… my big sister?” There was a new thought, oddly warming.

“For you, sweetling,” said the demon, with impressive confidence, “I can be anything you like.”

She couldn’t help what popped out. “Even silent in bed?”

“Yes, please,” Pen interjected fervently.

Des grinned. “Yes. Although I predict you’ll get over even that need in due course.”

“I daresay,” sighed Nikys. Considering all she’d become accustomed to so far. Ultimately, he would just become Pen. Or, Pen! (Or, maybe sometimes, Des!) He was nearly so already. “Spouses do rub each other smooth at the joints, given enough time.”

Time. It did not wait for any human want, or grief, or plan. Or careful list. Nearly half her life might be behind her already. It was time to get started on the next half.

“Marry the sorcerer, dear,” Des urged, “and put me out of his misery. He’ll be glad you did. If he is happy, I can be happy. And so can you.”

And that was just how it worked, wasn’t it? Happiness handed around and around, never stopping. It wasn’t something one could hoard tight like a miser. That would be like trying to hold one’s breath for later.

Nikys looked up, and said firmly, “You can’t shave your head.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Pen returned instantly. “Although… I can’t promise I won’t go bald, when I get old. Des, could you do something about that?”

“I’ve never tried. Not an issue that ever came up with my prior riders.”

“By the time you grow bald,” said Nikys, “I shall doubtless be fat and wrinkled.”

“And sweet. Like a winter apple.”

“More likely cranky.”

“Sweetly cranky.”

“Optimist.”

“I think people must be, to do this.” He’d slid across beside her. Just the sort of thing he would do, if she didn’t keep her eye on him.

Not that keeping an eye on all that male elegance was a burden. What had been her first impression of him, back in the garden in Patos? Ethereal, that was it. He seemed very human to her now, flesh and blood and long, long bones. Mistakes and miracles, awkwardness and profound grace, sorrow and joy. Beautiful hands, slim-fingered and sensitive and so very skilled at so many things. A woman would have to be a witless fool to let those hands get away.

“It’s still a long way home,” she pointed out. By this time, her faintly breathed objections must be pure habit, because she was falling toward him all in air.

“Or maybe home is right here in arm’s reach,” he said. The arm in question curled around her, hugged tight. Like drawing a woman to shore.

She reached back.