Reese and Ford were waiting for her when she came out of the room. Neither of them commented on her tear-stained face. Reese merely looked in to make sure her grandfather was asleep, and then she escorted them both silently out into the hall.
"I'd like to come again, soon," Sabrina said at last.
"Please. Any time you like," Reese replied. "You are always welcome."
"Thank you."
They didn't speak again until they reached the main door; then Ford took over their good-byes, thanking Reese for her hospitality and shepherding a silent, numb Sabrina to the flyer. He didn't speak to her, glancing at her from time to time as she sat listlessly staring out of the window without seeing the ground flash by beneath them. She was vaguely grateful for his silence, for the room he was giving her to think and grieve. Either he was extraordinarily tactful, or awkwardly indifferent; right now she didn't care which. At least he wasn't mouthing platitudes at her, or pretending to understand. She didn't think she could have borne it.
No one could understand what she was feeling right now; even she couldn't make much sense of the maelstrom tearing at her heart. Of all the things she felt, only a huge, dark emptiness clearly identified itself. That she and Tassan belonged together, would live their lives together, had been the cornerstone of her life on Earth for nine years—had made so much about it bearable, temporary.
But the loneliness wasn't going to go away, after all; it was only going to be worse, with no hope of reprieve. She and Tassan had very little time left, and no chance of togetherness; their old rapport was gone, lost somewhere in the long trail of years behind them. She had lived with a futile dream the past nine years. She had to face it, as Tassan had done so long ago. The goals and priorities in her life, the very definitions of it, had all been erased and must be rewritten. How could she bear it? Where would she find the strength?
Before, when horrible blows shattered her world, she had found reasons to go on, to rebuild. There had always been a duty, someone who needed her. Scotty had needed her when their parents died, and through all the hard times afterward, but there was nothing she could do for him now. He was utterly beyond her help, as surely out of reach as if he were indeed dead. Tirqwin was his only hope. And Tirqwin, who had once clutched at her faith and promises as his only lifeline, manifestly did not need her any longer. Neither did Mara. Praxatillus had not needed her in nearly a century.
Where did she fit? Who needed her now? And if the answers were nowhere and no one, did she have the strength to redefine herself, to find a new place to belong and new people who needed her?
Is this at the root of what Tirqwin calls my martyr complex? Was I always so terrified of this moment, so convinced it lay ahead, that I preferred to die rather than face this? My own obsolescence?
Stop being an idiot, the tart, rational voice in the back of her mind snapped. There are always things that need to be done, people who need to be helped. Stop wallowing and look around.
I can't. I'm so tired, she thought. She felt a long, lifeless sigh slide out of her.
"Sabrina?" Ford said.
His voice was soft, hesitant, and she waited in helpless irritation for him to ask if she was all right. No, I'm not all right. My whole life, the man I love, all of it's gone. All my plans, all my hopes. How can you even ask?
"We have a couple of hours still before your wardrobe appointments," he said. "Do you want to go home, or would you rather be somewhere else for a while?"
She looked over at him in surprise and relief. "Oh...." she sighed. "Somewhere else, please. I don't think.... I can't face anyone. Not yet."
"I know someplace we won't be disturbed," he said.
And then he left her with her thoughts again, after another quick glance. Sabrina continued to look at him for a few moments, then turned back to the window. They were out over the ocean now; there was nothing to see but the glare of sunshine on water.
I think he understands, she thought in astonishment. How could that be? What in his experience could possibly give him a window into her personal hell? Or was his silent, unobtrusive care the result of their strange connection on Stanos? How much of her mind had lain open to him then? It seemed unfair that he should retain clear impressions of her mind, when she had not managed to hold onto anything of his. But then, he had known all along who his anchor was, while she had thought the voice in her mind to be a figment of her imagination.
She turned her head to look at him again. He was somber, focused on piloting the flyer, and she thought idly how different he looked and acted, depending on his surroundings. He was something of a chameleon, and she wondered what had made him so. It was a distinctly non-Miahn trait.
"What?" he asked, catching her looking at him.
"How much do you remember?" she asked.
He paused. "About Stanos?"
"About being in the creature's mind. About being in mine." She was beyond feeling anything, she decided; she could ask the questions with clinical detachment, with no personal stake in them. Just curiosity. Just something to talk about besides the collapse of all her hopes.
The silence spun out between them, strangely comfortable. Sabrina didn't think he was thinking up lies for her, or considering how to edit his answer; he was simply considering the question, in all its ramifications, before replying. "Nothing I can clearly articulate," he said at last. "I haven't had time to sort it through. I suspect I'm going to have to spend quite a bit of time in Giandrah before I can bring it all into focus. Just...vague sensations right now. Was there anything in particular you were concerned about?"
"No," she said, turning back to the window. "Just wondering. I don't remember much of it at all, not clearly. It's like a dream. Or a dream of a dream, even. I know I should have recognized that man, Varla's accomplice, but even now...it's like there's a vital connection I can't make."
With a surge of relief, she grabbed onto that thought. There was still something she was needed for. So many questions about what happened on Stanos remained unanswered. She pulled herself up a little, out of the deep, hopeless slouch she had slid into.
"Maybe when I get my memories back into focus, I can help you with yours," he said. "Some of them ought to be the same, after all. I was there, with you." He smiled a little. "I do vividly remember how terrified I was when he shot you. Our connection just snapped. I thought he'd killed you. My one hope of escape."
"Is that why you were yapping at me so frantically when I woke up?" she replied, remembering. "I was so annoyed."
Ford began to laugh. "I know. I'm sorry. I was getting rather desperate. But I realized quickly that you can't bear to be fussed over, so I just sat back and let you go at your own pace for a while."
Sabrina eyed him thoughtfully. He knew she didn't like to be fussed over; no wonder he had been so quiet on this trip. She suspected her mind had been rather rude to him in that earlier encounter, to have left such a clear impression. But it cleared up a question for her: he wasn't supernaturally observant. He just remembered his mistakes and tried not to repeat them.
"I appreciate that," she said quietly, after a few minutes. "People don't tend to want to do that, to let me just hunker down and get on with it. They want to be patting me on the back or making me talk about my feelings or explaining everything to them every step of the way."
Ford laughed, louder this time. "Cousin, I think we're more alike than either of us suspected! Let's strike a bargain: I'll never fuss over you, if you never fuss over me."
"Deal," Sabrina replied.
"But," he added, "with the condition that, if you find you do need to talk about your feelings, or explain something, you won't feel awkward about coming to me to do it."
"Knowing you won't fuss over me? It'll be irresistible," she told him. "But that has to go both ways, too. Or...do you already have someone you go to talk to? Or do you even need to?"
"Frequently," he said. "And no, there's no one. It's...difficult, here on Praxatillus. There's always the title and all that. Most people never get past what I am to find out who I am. Did you have that problem as Regent?"
"Oh yes. It was worse than that, even. I was still young, Ford. I had no sense of perspective, and compared to all those ancient Miahns I had the self-control of a two-year-old. And yet, at every step, they held me up to their own standards. It was a constant strain." Like being stretched on a rack.
The flyer banked sharply, and Sabrina felt them begin to descend. She looked below to find lush green fields whizzing past. "Where are we?"
"This is part of Bathir. We're mostly an agricultural region, though the watergems tend to obscure that in most people's minds. We're coming up on the palace; have you ever seen it from the air?"
"Yes, once. Don't they call it the jewel of the lake or something like that?"
"Yes."
Sabrina was quiet as they sped on, getting ever closer to the ground. "Ford—"
"Don't worry, we aren't going to the palace." He chuckled. "I said a place where we wouldn't be disturbed, didn't I? Well, the palace is definitely not it! If I set foot in there, I'd be buried in people wanting me to do something. In fact I must get down here to do some business in the next few days. But not this morning."
Sabrina saw the palace coming up, and looked at it as they passed. It didn't seem to have changed much, though realistically she knew it must have. She remembered so clearly her first visit there, and Tassan's welcome, cold and angry because she had sent him away, and forgiving and concerned when he realized she was recalling him.
They flew low over some well-kept, formal gardens behind the palace and toward the far side of the island it dominated, where Sabrina could see the ruins of the original palace, long abandoned. Ford set the flyer down with breathtaking precision inside a crumbled courtyard.