When Jessica stumbled up the steps of the guesthouse, clutching Iztho’s arm, a wave of fatigue washed over her. It must be well past midnight. Most of the windows facing the street were dark, and only a faint glow of light radiated from the archway into the entrance hall. That afternoon, when Iztho had taken her into the guesthouse after their visit to the dressmaker, the hall had bustled with activity and patrons of all races and sizes lined up to talk to a keihu woman with an enormous bird’s nest of hair. Now, the lectern-like table that held the matron’s booking system—a concertina-folded stack of paper tumbling to the floor—stood empty and deserted, lit by a small light in a sea of darkness.
Iztho’s high boots clacked on the mosaic floor. He hadn’t said much on the way back, as if he sensed she wasn’t up to speaking. She was thankful for that.
Now he led her up the stairs to the first floor balcony, where he had booked two adjacent rooms overlooking the courtyard. Jessica longed for the softness of the bed. Yet she didn’t want to be alone with the truth.
He stopped in front of the door to her room. "Are you sure you’re all right?"
The ghostly light from a single pearl on the wall a few rooms down cast deep shadows over his face.
"I can understand if you are upset."
Jessica turned away. "No, really, I’m fine." Just shut up or I’ll start crying and I’ll never stop.
"All right, sleep well."
The door to her room rolled open. A rectangle of moonlight slanted through the window, edging the oval, dog-basket-like bed in a golden glow.
Jessica froze in the doorway. Alone. Her mother and her father had died millennia ago, saved her life. For … for what? So that she could lead her life in loneliness?
Except for Daya who lives only in my mind. But he wasn’t replying, and maybe he, too, was only a vivid memory.
She stifled a choking sob.
A few footsteps and Iztho’s hands were on her shoulders. "You are not fine."
His moonlit-edged face blurred in a haze of tears. He led her into the room and sat her down on the couch in the corner. "Let me get you a drink."
Jessica bit her lip, fighting tears, staring blindly at the opposite wall, but seeing only black eyes and a gentle male face surrounded by dark curls. A memory. He was nothing but a memory. What was the point of knowing her history if none of her people were left? What was the point of anything in her life?
The door rattled and Iztho came back, carrying a carafe, two cups and a large case, the strap slung over his shoulder. Jessica frowned through her tears. "What’s that?"
He set the cups on the stable, unstoppered the carafe and poured. A scent of sweet flowers drifted on the air. One cup he passed to her.
"Just sit and drink for a while."
He clicked the case open. Folds of blue satin-like fabric glimmered in the moonlight, cradling an instrument like a lute, the body trapezoid with rounded corners. Its metal surface shimmered with delicate engraved patterns. He picked it up by its short neck, caressing the strings with a soft musical tingle. Eyes closed, he took his cup from the table, drank deeply and put it back down. Then he set his fingers on the strings and music filled the room. A soft, lilting melody; baroque-like, but with a hint of something wild and untamed.
Jessica sipped from the sweet drink, not daring to make the slightest noise. His eyes were still closed; a strand of hair had slid off his shoulders, part-obscuring his face. He hummed, then whispered words which formed into song, his tone deep and warm.
YOU ARE READING
Watcher's Web
Science FictionShe’s not your ordinary country girl, even though she might look like one. She casts webs of power, reading the feelings of living beings and telling them what to do. Nobody knows what causes it, least of all her. Her name is Jessica, but most peopl...
