To one side was a smaller building, probably the priestess’ residence. What was once a short, dirt path led to it. It appeared to have been exposed to some awful heat, causing it to glaze and harden. If I were less cynical, I might wonder how that happened.
We stopped to regard the setup for a moment, then I dismounted. Bronze snorted thick smoke and pawed at the ground, her ears laid back. She didn’t like this at all. I rubbed her neck
“What’s wrong?” I asked. She snorted crimson flames from both nostrils. I followed her gaze.
That statue was looking at us, and Bronze was apparently pissed off enough to be thinking about kicking it to gravel and stomping the gravel into sand and melting the sand into glass before stomping it into sand again. I know this because… well, because. Bronze didn’t think too highly of her.
I looked at the statue sharply and my life-vision, for lack of a better term, could see the yellow-white glow of something inside it. It was definitely looking at us.
“Good evening,” I offered, keeping a hand on Bronze’s chest, under her neck. I couldn’t keep her from charging the thing if she took it into her head to do so, but I could make sure that she knew she shouldn’t. The thing inside the statue did not deign to respond. I shrugged and led Bronze past it to the residence door. Bronze kept her head turned and an eye on the idol.
I had to knock for a while before anyone answered. After the second time, it occurred to me that it was late; people tended to go to bed when the sun went down. Being an undead that doesn’t need to sleep, I tend to lose track of that particular social nicety. Still, once I started knocking, it would be worse to walk away.
The door came open and light poured out. A woman, late thirties/early forties, blue eyes, hair like a river of fire down her back—not a metaphor; it looked as though her head was on fire and the flames were burning downward past her waist—looked out at me with an expression of not just displeasure, but annoyance.
“What do you want burned off you at… this…” she began, and trailed off. Her eyes widened, flicked to Bronze, back to me, widened more.
“Sorry for the late hour,” I said. “I just woke up a little while ago, found out I was a father, got roped into being a king, and finally managed to make it over here to see you.” I smiled. “It’s been that kind of week. Sorry about that.”
She glanced at the domed area, then looked at me. I wasn’t sure what her expression meant. We stayed like that, just looking at each other for several seconds.
“Won’t you please come in?” she said, finally, and her hair dimmed slightly.
I stepped inside and she shut the door behind me. Her hair dimmed more as she did so, but remained bright enough to illuminate the surroundings. The room was small, obviously only an entry area, and she led me into a larger room just beyond. We sat on backless stone benches. She took the one with a cushion, in the middle. I took one in the middle of the arc around it.
“You’ve been gone a long time,” she said. I tried to gauge her tone and failed. I couldn’t even cheat and look at the lights of her soul; the flames were too bright inside her.
“I have,” I agreed. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” she asked, making it sound like a real question.
“I am. I hadn’t intended to be gone at all, but, you know, hostile church leaders, crazy magicians, holes in the edge of the world, demonic invasion, that sort of thing. I did my best,” I told her. She smiled, just a little.
“I suppose so.”
An awkward silence limped into the room, wandered about for a bit.
“What do you want?” she finally asked.
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “I mean, it’s obviously too late to be Dad. You are my daughter, aren’t you?”
“If you are Halar, King of Karvalen, then yes.”
“That’s me. And you are Amber, yes?”
“Yes.”
“A good name,” I said, nodding. “Your mother and I worked out some names for you and your brother. I’m glad we did that in advance, at least. I would like to see him, and your mother. Where are they?”
See? I can be subtle.
Amber pursed her lips and looked at the wall.
“Mother is in the House of the Grey Lady. Beryl died some time ago.”
Tort’s suggestion that I ask her echoed in my memory. If Amber didn’t want to talk about it, should I find out somewhere else? Now was not the time to be pushy. On the other hand, if I just dropped it, would that make me sound like I didn’t care at all? Maybe just a little pushy would be good.
“Ah. That’s too bad; I was looking forward to meeting him. When did he die? How? What happened?”
“I would rather not speak of that,” she said.
“Fair enough,” I said, tabling the matter. Pushed far enough.
“What do you want?” she repeated. I got the impression I made her uncomfortable. Because I’m her father? Because I’m a nightlord? Because I’m the king? Or something else? Or all of it?
“Can’t I just come by to see how my daughter’s doing? It would be nice if we could be friends, even if I was more than a little absent. I hope you won’t hold it against me.”
She looked at me with narrowed eyes. I realized that they were the blue color my eyes used to be; I never wore them as well as she did, though. Fortunately, the rest of her appearance came from Tamara’s side.
Oh, great. I just noticed that my estranged, full-grown daughter is sexy. Damn! I don’t know how I feel about that, but my knee-jerk reaction is to be slightly horrified. I mean, I don’t know this woman, but she’s hot. Aaaaand… she’s my daughter. Who I didn’t raise. She feels like a sexy stranger.
Okay, this is more than slightly weird.
Immortality problems.
Again
.
“I am not necessarily against it,” she finally said. “It is… awkward.”
This whole conversation is awkward
, I thought.
“Of course,” I agreed. “I’ve been gone all your life; I was never a father to you. I’m some stranger you’ve heard about but never met, and now here I am… of course it’s awkward. I understand.”
“That’s not all of it. You are other things, as well.”
“Oh.” I decided to go with the whole undead problem and see if she corrected me. After all, what was it I once called a relationship between a nightlord and a priestess of a sun goddess? A recipe for crispy disaster?
“Okay,” I said. “I get it; I’m not entirely alive. Has your goddess said anything about it?”
“She has been silent, so far.”
“Should I go? So you can ask her?” I offered. Amber looked startled.
“You want me to consult Her?”
“I’m just saying that I’ll come back later if you want to run it past her.”
Amber stared at me for several seconds. She started to say something, paused, thought some more.
“I once heard that you have the manners of a dragon,” she said.
“I suppose that could be the case,” I said, wondering if dragons were famous for their manners—and then ruthlessly suppressed a memory surge. Right then was not a good time for a sudden, stabbing headache.
“I don’t like to offend people needlessly,” I continued, “and I don’t take it well when others offend me needlessly.”
“Would it be rude to ask you to leave? Or would it be more polite to go out to the idol while you wait here?” I considered it a good sign that she was trying to be nice to me.
“Probably the second, but I’m not going to be fussy about it. At least, not with you; you’re my daughter, and I can let you get away with a lot. I can come back tomorrow, if you like.”
“No, no,” she said, rising, gesturing me to remain. “I will be less than a single stripe of the candle.” She snapped her fingers at the walls and candles sprang to life. Either that was politeness, or she didn’t know about my ability to see in darkness. I took it as another good sign.
I stood for her and watched her go before sitting down again. Mister Manners, that’s me. A moment later, I felt some sort of spiritual movement, like being in water and feeling the edge of a current. Something was going on out there, and I had a pretty good idea what.
A girl, probably about eight, came into the room and headed toward the front door. She was wearing a white, sack-like garment, presumably a nightgown. Her hair was as red as a traffic light, but not actually on fire. She stopped when she saw me and her eyes went round. Hers were as blue as her mother’s. Something about her eyebrows and chin looked familiar.
I’m not just a father,
I realized
. I’m a
grandfather
.
Had I been living, I would have needed to sit down. Luckily, I was dead and already seated.
“Good evening,” I said, pleasantly, and stayed right where I was. I didn’t feel too stable, and the bench did. Besides, getting to my feet might be frightening. I can intimidate the hell out of children; I’m terrifying like that.
She blinked at me for a bit and then waved a little. I waved back. She continued to stare. I continued to smile. I remembered to keep my teeth hidden.
“Are you dead?” she asked.
“Yes, I am,” I admitted. “Have you ever seen a dead person that was still moving?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, there aren’t many. My name is Halar. What’s yours?”
“Tianna.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Tianna. Would you like to shake hands?” I asked. Her hands moved quickly behind her back.
“No.”
“Okay. It’s just nice to offer; you don’t have to. What are you doing up at this hour?”
“Mom is talking to the Mother,” she said, as though that explained everything.
“Yes, she is. She’ll be right back.”
“I’m supposed to watch and learn,” Tianna offered.
“I bet you are. But I bet you’re supposed to be in bed, too.”
“Yes.” She examined the floor with considerable care while she said it.
“If she wanted you to watch, Amber would have come to get you.”
“Well… yes.” The floor was scanned minutely.
“So, if you hurry back to bed, I won’t mention this.”
She looked at me, puzzled.
“Really?”
“Hey, I was your age, once. Some people think I’m still a kid, now just a very tall one. I know it can be difficult, keeping parents happy while you’re trying to do your own stuff,” I told her. She looked at me with the same intensity she gave to the floor, but with a different expression. She cocked her head and her eyebrows did that thing where they moved closer to each other.
“You’re different from other grown-ups,” she observed.
“Yep. Probably because I’m dead. Could that be it?”
Tianna frowned in thought.
“Maybe. The other ones are poopheads.”
“Poopheads?” I echoed.
“I’m not allowed to say ‘shitheads’,” she explained. I blinked in surprise.
“Ah. Well, it is bad language,” I agreed. “And you’re right; most of them are.”
“Are you really dead?” she asked. I pulled off a gauntlet and put my hand flat on the bench.
“Check to see how cold my hand is. Go ahead; I’ll hold really still.”
She circled behind me and came up to the bench. She touched my hand, then snatched her hand away.
“You are cold!”
“Room temperature,” I agreed. “Do you know how to find a pulse in the wrist?”
“Yes.”
“Go ahead.”
A little bit later, she stared at me.
“See?” I said. “Dead. I don’t even need to breathe, except to talk.”
“I don’t believe you.”
I lay on my back on the bench.
“Okay, hold my nose shut so you know I’m not cheating. Then you take a breath and hold it with me.” She did so, and I puffed my cheeks out to look silly while not breathing. We waited until she finally gasped for air.
“Are you still not breathing?” she asked. I shook my head, just a little, while she kept holding my nose closed. “Wow.”
“Sorry; I have to breathe to talk,” I said, pitching my voice to sound silly while she held my nose. She giggled.
The outer door opened. Tianna dashed for the other door without even looking, bare feet skimming over the stone floor. I rattled and clanked to my feet and turned toward the entry door, crossing into view to attract the eyes of anyone entering the room. Tianna might not be aware that I did it to cover for her, but appreciation isn’t always my motive for doing nice things.
“Done already?” I asked. Amber entered the room, nodding.
“She doesn’t like it when those who serve her turn to other gods.”
“I can imagine.” I also wasn’t sure what that had to do with it. Did Beryl choose a different deity than the Mother of Flame?
“She did not say I could not speak with you.”
“But she didn’t endorse the idea, either?”
“Correct.”
“In short, you have to make up your own mind?”