Zenír drifted. A deep peace filled his mind and his body felt light as air, as if he floated upon a tranquil sea. With the idleness with which one might speculate upon the weather, he wondered if he had died.
The thought did not trouble him; if this was death, it was not unpleasant.
He longed for such rest — to shed all worries, cares, and guilt as a butterfly sheds its cocoon, and embrace eternal stillness without regrets.
Well, almost without regrets. Two remained, and teased the corners of his consciousness with the relentless insistence of a sound that cannot be ignored. The first was that he had not told Korim what he had seen, and the second was Iksthanis.
The loss of his life would not grieve him, but Iksthanis would surely take it hard, and the last thing Zenír wished was to cause more pain. His mere existence had caused enough already.
As if summoned by these thoughts, angry voices intruded upon his mind, and he found himself drawn back to a less comfortable consciousness. Recognizing the voices as belonging to Korim and Iksthanis, he understood the truth: he was not dead, after all; he had merely fainted.
"What have you done, old man?" Iksthanis demanded, a mix of anger and fear roughening his deep tones. "I swear by the gods, if you've hurt him—"
"I have not done anysing!" Korim protested. "He was reading ze wall and zen he just... fell over! I called for help, and you appeared. What were you doing, anyway? Lurking in ze hallway like a spy!"
"I wasn't lurking," Iksthanis snapped. "I was looking for Zen. I hadn't seen him since breakfast and—"
"Thanis, stop shouting," Zenír murmured, now fully awake and aware. He lay half in the larger man's arms and made an effort to sit up. "I'm fine."
"Zen! Hey, easy now. Are you hurt?" Iksthanis pressed a hand to Zenír's brow and the side of his face, and felt beneath his jaw for a pulse.
Zenír pushed his hand away. "I said I'm fine. Just a little lightheaded."
"Ah, so you were simply taking a little nap on the floor, then?" Iksthanis said sardonically, still refusing to let him sit up.
"What happened, my friend?" Korim asked in a gentler tone as he came to kneel at his side. "Is zis some effect of your sight? I wish you had warned me, if so."
"Sight? What is he talking about, Zen?" Iksthanis asked.
Zenír grimaced. "I used my second sight to help me interpret the Dweller writings. It worked better than I expected."
"Did it?" Korim's voice rose with excitement. "What did you see?"
Ignoring him, Iksthanis asked, "It drained you, like what happens to Galen? I did not know your gift was so potent."
"It isn't," Zenír admitted. "Usually, it has little effect, but I think the wall is meant to be read in such a way. It's as if it was... waiting for me. For someone like me, at least. Even a small set of markings contains vast amounts of knowledge. I was unprepared to receive it. And..."
He bit his lip. He knew well enough what had happened. He also knew Iksthanis wouldn't like it, but if he hoped to read the wall again, he'd have to tell the truth.
"We worked through the midday meal," he said, "and... I did not eat much at breakfast."
Iksthanis was silent for a moment, and when he finally spoke his voice had the tense, forced calmness it did when he was trying to keep his temper in check.
"So, what you are telling me is that you fainted because you overworked yourself and you haven't eaten all day," he stated.
"Well... yes, but—" Zenír yelped as he was lifted in arms as thick as most men's thighs and carried bodily down the hall. "Thanis! What are you doing!?"
"I am carrying you to your room, of course."
"Put me down! I'm perfectly capable of—"
"Neglecting yourself to the point of death, I know."
"Thanis!"
"I suggest you be quiet and stop struggling. We are drawing stares."
Beyond the echoes of Iksthanis's footsteps, Zenír heard whispers and murmurs of alarm and concern as they passed through the more populated areas of the great dwelling. He turned his face against Iksthanis's broad shoulder and shuddered with mortification and suppressed rage, but held his peace until they reached the privacy of his chambers.
As soon as he heard the door fall shut, he let loose.
"Set me down immediately!" he hissed.
"As you wish," Iksthanis said, but did not comply until he had crossed the room to Zenír's bed, where he put him down with infuriating carefulness.
"Don't touch me," he snapped, shoving the other man away.
Iksthanis backed off.
"Very well. I will leave you to rest. Meanwhile, supper will be underway by now. I will bring yours up. There's a choice tonight: mushroom and barley stew, or tomato soup with bread. Which do you prefer?"
"I can get my own damn meal. I am not an invalid."
"You are angry," Iksthanis stated after a pause.
"How perceptive of you to notice."
"Why?"
"Because you are too high-handed, Thanis!" Zenír shouted, losing his temper at last. "If I need your help, I shall ask for it; in the meantime I shall ask that you kindly—"
"But you won't," Iksthanis broke in.
"What?"
"You won't ask for help. You will endure, and suffer patiently, as if it is your desire to be punished by fate."
Zenír stood faster than was good for him, swayed on his feet and was forced to sit back down. He waited, expecting to hear an 'I told you so,' but Iksthanis said nothing and remained where he was.
"You have no right to judge me," he whispered, his throat too tight for normal speech as he found himself unexpectedly close to tears. "Or to pity me."
"Is that what you think?" Iksthanis sighed and approached once more, but kept his hands to himself. "I do not pity you, Zen. I love you. I thought you knew as much."
Zenír wiped hastily at his eyes. Perhaps he did need to eat something. "Since when?"
"Do you remember the night you sang your way out of that bar fight in Holt's Den?"
A laugh that was more of a sob escaped him, and Zenír wiped his eyes again. "You started that fight, if I recall."
"No, the man who tried to cheat me at cards started it. I didn't know the bastard had a troll. Anyway, it was later that night, once we were away and safe, that the truth first came to me in as many words: I love him."
Zenír's amusement faded, taking his anger with it and leaving a strange, soft sadness in its wake. "But that was years ago," he said.
"I did not dare imagine you felt the same," Iksthanis admitted. "But recently, I began to hope..."
"Hope is an evil thing," Zenír said, bitterness twisting the corners of his lips. "It leads to disappointment and despair."
"Am I to be disappointed, then?" Iksthanis asked quietly.
Zenír swallowed, lost a few more tears, and shook his head. "Do you remember that winter when we passed through Mirforth on the way to Edraxis? You saw those boys toss a kitten in the river, and you dove right in after it, despite the ice. Then you kept it warm and well-fed until we found it a home. That was when I fell in love with you."
"But that was..."
"Long before the bar troll, yes."
"Zenír..."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be sorry," Iksthanis said quietly, sitting at Zenír's side, close but not touching. "Just tell me why. I feared to jeopardize our friendship, but surely you must have noticed how I care for you. Why did you never let me suspect I had a chance for so long?"
Zenír's breath caught in his chest. He felt as if he was about to step off a ledge without knowing how far he would fall. He wished with all his heart he could back away from it, find some other way down from this precipice, but he no longer had the privilege of pure self-interest. If he was right about what his dreams hinted at, and if he'd correctly interpreted the visions he'd received through the Dweller writings, then there was far more than his own heart at stake.
"Have you heard of the Archdeacon of Antara, Valentim Di Hespera?"
"Heard of him?" Iksthanis's voice lifted a little in surprise. "Of course I've heard of him. The man is a zealot — the embodiment of everything wrong within the Temple these days. If it were up to him, every man, woman, and child with a trace of magic in their blood would be burned alive. He was stationed in Pyrr during the Purge, if I remember. "
Zenír nodded. "Some twenty years ago, yes. He practically led it."
"He was responsible for the blasphemy laws in Edraxis, too. Anyone who spoke against the Temple could lose anything from a few coins to their head. Only those in good standing with the Temple could own property and run businesses. How do you think I ended up smuggling goods under a pirate flag?"
"Indeed," Zenír said.
"And don't get me started on his 'morality' teachings. If he had his way, the only pleasure to be derived from life would be the sweet release of death, and all the while, his coffers swell with the coin of 'true believers.'"
Zenír inclined his head. "That is he."
Iksthanis spat. "A pox upon him and his spawn. May they all suffer ten-fold. But why do you bring him up now?"
"Because war is coming to Sakkara, and if my second sight is to be trusted, then I think he's at least partly responsible for it." He took a breath and shut his eyes, though it did nothing to shut out the memories playing in his mind. "And... because he is my father."
For a moment, Zenír imagined he could have heard the beat of a gnat's wing, it was so quiet. Then Iksthanis got up and left the room, and in the crushing silence that took his place, Zenír remembered what it was to be alone.