It had been a long and painful journey back to the Holy City for Uachi, and he knew he had caused his own suffering but could do nothing to ease it. He knew, too, that he had made Diarmán suffer, and even still he could do nothing but make matters worse.
After that stolen kiss in the moonlight, both of them breathless and exhausted, Diarmán and Uachi had turned their faces again toward safety. They had walked on in silence, and after they had reached Matei's encampment, they had stowed their precious cargo in a locked box in the emperor's own keeping.
Then they had gone to their shared tent, to their beds. Their separate beds.
Their silent beds.
The next morning, Diarmán had ventured into conversation. "It seems that mouth of yours is good for something aside from grousing, after all," he'd said cheerfully over breakfast.
Uachi had been completely unprepared to talk about the kiss—had been unprepared even to think about it. He had brushed the matter aside with some stiff comment he could not even remember now, leaving the matter unresolved. From the expression on Diarmán's face it was clear he had hurt him, and Diarmán didn't attempt to speak of the kiss again. Not once. Not once in all the endless minutes, the endless hours, the endless days they spent under Matei's banners, journeying back to Tuamach. Not once in all the risings and the settings of the sun and the moons as they sailed from Tuamach to Karelin, salt spray in their hair and uneasy silences hanging between them.
The two men had returned to something like friendship, made painfully uncomfortable by the weight of that kiss and all of the unspoken questions between them. They had not even discussed the matter of Diarmán coming north. He'd simply come, somehow, and for all Uachi knew his skills would be required once they were safely home to turn those golden rings back into people—surely that was why he went with them, the only reason—it was difficult not to feel his company as a promise, or perhaps a threat.
Now, Diarmán was at the palace, a guest of the crown; he was enjoying the sovereigns' gratitude for the role he had played in returning their daughter. For the first time since they had stayed in Diarmán's own house, the two men slept in different quarters.
Now, Uachi woke every morning without a lanky limb in his face, without Diarmán's jokes about his sour demeanor and sourer breath, and it was a solace to be alone. It was a comfort to let Diarmán explore the sumptuous palace and the sprawling city all on his own, leaving Uachi to his own devices.
It was a freedom.
Wasn't it?
***
Sunlight shone in a golden shaft through the enchanted silence of Mhera's chambers. Uachi lingered in the doorway between her parlor and her bedchamber, his eyes half-closed, listening to that sound—that silence—and watching the dust motes dance in that beam of light.
Beneath it, in a well-worn chair, sat the empress. She was dressed in blue, and she looked lovely that day. She seemed weary, and older than when he'd seen her last, but she was beautiful—perhaps more beautiful because of how she had changed.
"Mhera," Uachi said quietly.
She looked up at him, and he noticed that her eyes were glassy with tears. The smile she gave him turned his heart into a butterfly. "Uachi," she whispered. "You've come home."
He smiled back at her, stepping into her private room. She rose to greet him, stretching out her arms. That is when Uachi noticed that she was changed in another way. Judging by the cut of Mhera's gown and the shape of her body, she was several moons gone with child.
She had seen him notice, and when he glanced up to meet her face, she smiled faintly, nodding her head.
"Then there is more happy news," he said.
"There is nothing so happy as what you have done for us," Mhera said. "I've just come from Uarria's bedside. I stayed with her through the night. Now Matei is there. He told me to go to my rest, but I cannot. I have never known such joy."
"You should sleep, Mhera."
"I will," she said, but continued in a distracted manner, gesturing to the chair next to hers. "Sit with me."
Uachi sat. Mhera settled back into her seat with a contented sigh. "I feel as if all is right in the world again," she said.
"Not quite. But much better than it was," Uachi said. He thought of the burning embers of the war, diminished now but not completely smothered. Coratse's daughters were safe in the palace, being treated as distinguished guests, but the terms of the peace accords were yet to be brokered. Liara and Kochan, too, were in the palace. They were heavily guarded but not imprisoned, and their fate would be uncertain. He thought of Diarmán and the road that lay ahead of the Faelán lordling. His affairs, too, were far from settled.
Far from settled. The memory of the kiss stolen on the side of the road came back to Uachi, warming him with some emotion he was still not prepared to face.
Part of Uachi ached to unravel what had grown between him and his erstwhile traveling companion. But there had not been a single moment since that moonlit night when he had been free to consider it, for he was haunted by another memory: Ealin's face, spattered with blood. Ealin's breast, still and cold. Ealin's eyes, wide and sightless.
Ealin. Dead.
"Mhera, has Uarria spoken yet?"
The empress's beatific smile faded. She rested her hand on her belly, fixing Uachi with a sorrowful but penetrating gaze. "Not yet. She has suffered so much."
Uachi nodded, cutting his gaze away. Sometimes, when he was alone with Mhera, it felt like she could see right into his soul. He gathered his strength to make his confession. "There are things I must tell you about what happened when we were gone. I meant to tell Matei, but..."
There was a long silence. Uachi could feel Mhera's patient attention. She was waiting for him to speak. At length, her small hand came to rest over Uachi's large, calloused fingers. "Tell me, then," she said.
Uachi leaned back in his chair, drawing a breath and letting it out in a sigh. "She will not speak. She never spoke a word, not from the moment I came upon them in the south of Narr. I think perhaps the journey, the things she endured...I think perhaps it stole her voice."
Mhera nodded. She sounded troubled, but not alarmed. "Aun has said that it happens sometimes to children who endure as much as she has. Don't worry. What matters is that she's home. She's safe. She will find her voice, in time."
"That's not all," Uachi said. He did not meet Mhera's gaze. "There was...a time. A dangerous time. I had to find a way to keep Uarria safe, and to do that, I needed to disguise her."
Mhera waited, not speaking. Her hand was still light and cool, resting on Uachi's.
"I met a friend in Narr along the way. He has some talents. Magic. He kept her safe by making her...He turned her into a shadowcat."
With a soft sigh, Mhera shifted in her seat. "Matei told me," she murmured. She pressed his hand gently, then pulled hers away, resting it over her belly again. "Although it beggars belief that such a thing is possible, I do believe it. Why does this trouble you, Uachi? You did what you had to to keep our child safe."
The silence drew out between them, and Uachi looked at his hands. He did not know if he could bring himself to form the words to confess to Mhera what had happened.
Softly, she goaded him. "What is it?"
"She killed Ealin. When she was in the form of a shadowcat, she killed her." At last, Uachi looked up to meet Mhera's eyes. "Tore her throat out. It was—it was in her own defense."
Mhera's face was white with shock. She looked at Uachi with her lips slightly parted, her eyes wide, as if she could not believe what he was telling her at first and then was wishing fervently that she did not have to believe. "No, that—"
"It's true. I've a witness who could confirm it." Even now, Uachi replayed the scene of Ealin's death in his mind, his stomach churning, his heart aching. He wished there had been something he could have done to make it go another way, some way he might have managed to save the two of them, as he had intended when he left the Holy City so long ago. A lifetime ago.
But he should have known that, from the moment Ealin had decided to kidnap the princess and steal her away from the Holy City, there was no chance of bringing the both of them home safe again.
Mhera folded her arms around her belly, turning her face away from Uachi. She gazed toward the balcony, watching the curtains stir in the breeze. For a long time, she didn't say anything. At last, she murmured, "My poor, sweet girl."
"She was scared, Mhera. Ealin was trying to...I think she was trying to make her escape, trying to take Uarria with her. She reacted to save herself. She had been in the guise of the shadowcat for many days by then. It was some strange instinct."
Lifting her hand to her mouth, Mhera gave a slight shake of her head.
"I am sorry. I wish I could do something to change how it happened. I have thought on it endlessly—perhaps if I had been faster, perhaps if I had been more watchful...It grieves me to think that she will carry that memory."
At last, Mhera looked back at Uachi. Her eyes were shining with tears, but she offered him a small, brave smile. She took one of his hands in both of hers, grasping his fingers tightly. "We all have our nightmares and our ghosts," she whispered. "She will not suffer them alone. You brought her back to us, Uachi, and for that, we are in your debt forever. Do not lay this on your conscience."
"I wish—"
"Shh." Mhera squeezed his hands again. "You are a mighty and very skilled man, my friend, but you cannot save the world alone. In your way, you remind me so much of Matei. Your consciences are so heavy, I wonder that you both can walk upright."
Uachi could not help but laugh. He dropped his gaze, shaking his head. "Speaking of Matei..."
"I'll tell him. Let me do that much, at least. I will find the right time. After he has rested, I will tell him."
It did not sit well with Uachi to let Mhera break this news, but the way she looked at him convinced him that there was no other option. The empress had always seemed a quiet, soft, and yielding woman, but she had revealed during the Arcborn Rebellion and countless times since that she had steel in her spirit, too.
He was being dismissed—with affection and compassion, but still. He nodded, shifting his hands in Mhera's so that he could lift hers to his lips. He kissed her knuckles and then let her go. "Rest, then."
"Good man." Her smile was brighter this time. "Sleep peacefully, my dear friend. And sleep long. I've no doubt that our princess will be up and about soon enough, ready to run you ragged while you are with us."
Uachi's chuckle followed him out the door.