Oh, the horrors of getting older and a least a little more mature.
“The transformation,” I repeated, “causes an awful stink. If I’m not actually under a shower—or a waterfall—when it happens, it’s hard to scrub off. It’s faster to use a spell even though I like the wet method. It’s all about time.”
“I see.” She folded her legs under her and rested one arm on the arm of her chair. “Oh, I thought I might mention that I have begun using your spell for the distribution of my aging.”
“Really? How’s it going?”
“I have a number of trees on the upper slope—the park area above the courtyard—already enmeshed in it.” She shrugged. “It seems to be working. I should have the rest of the trees in the matrix by endweek. I think I shall pay a visit to the woodcutter, Timon, and see if I can quicken his saplings, as well. I also plan to use the original version on some of the livestock—they grow to maturity more quickly, while I age more slowly. What you call a ‘win-win,’ I believe.”
“Absolutely. Good. Glad to hear it.”
I ran out of talking about that point and wondered what to do to fill the silence.
“So, you wished to speak with me, my angel? I am here.”
I wasn’t this nervous meeting my estranged daughter.
“Um,” I began, cleverly. “Earlier, when we, uh… when you wanted me to promise to always come back?”
“I remember,” she said, smiling.
“I think we need to, uh, talk about your… expectations.”
“Expectations?” she asked.
“Maybe I should do this the other way around,” I muttered. “Okay, look. You’ve moved into my quarters—I don’t mind at all, let me add. That sort of implies… stuff. I’m not sure what you want, and I’d like to have some idea of what you expect from me. Not as your king,” I added, “but as
me.
”
Tort frowned, but didn’t seem upset.
“I expect... to do everything you wish of me,” she said. “I am at your service, my angel.”
“Okay, great,” I allowed. “Now, what do you
want
?”
“My angel?”
“I think I’m running smack into a conflict of cultures, here. You expect to do anything I want because...?”
“Because? Because you are
you
, my angel.” She looked thoughtful for long seconds and I waited through them.
“Years ago, when you rescued a maimed little girl from a rotting attic,” she said, “she loved you as an angel.” Tort smiled at me. “You loved her, did you not?”
“Well,” I said, shifting uncomfortably, “I guess I would have to admit that, yeah, I did.”
“I know. I knew it then, too. You rescued me from so many terrible things—my injury, starvation, poverty, that terrible man, even from bad dreams. You rescued me from pain, death, and fear, and I have loved you for it ever since.”
“Um.” That wasn’t exactly how I would have put it, but I suppose she had a point.
“I assume you’ve loved other people, too?” I asked. She grinned.
“Is my angel asking how many lovers I have had?” she asked, impishly.
“No! That’s none of my business. What I’m trying to say—badly—is that I don’t want you to be so focused on me that you forget about you. Okay?”
“I understand.”
“Let’s just be direct, shall we? I’m not so good with subtle. Are you
happy
?”
“I am moved by my angel’s care for my happiness,” she said, smiling. “I have everything that I need, thank you. There are, however, a few requests that I would make, that, if fulfilled, could make me very happy indeed.”
“Sure. What would you like?”
Tort got up, crossed to me, and sat on my lap. She nibbled on my ear. I suspected that was going to happen sooner or later, or something very like it, so I was prepared for it.
“Oh,” I said.
“My angel did say that subtle was not likely to be effective,” she murmured, warmly, in my ear.
What to say first? That I was flattered, but emotionally unprepared to deal with this? That I was still recovering from the loss of Shada, then the recent loss of Tamara? Or that it was nighttime, and I was dead, and that having a working cardiovascular system is kind of important to men...?
Maybe I’m looking at this wrong. I do care about Tort, even if I’m having some emotional issues about whether or not I can be in love with anyone just at the moment. I know that, eventually, I’ll get over the loss of Tamara and Shada; that just hasn’t happened yet. On the other hand, Tort is here, now, and has apparently waited… well, long enough. Can I tell her that I’m not ready to have a relationship? Can I make her wait until
I
feel that I’m up to it? Is that fair?
What’s fair and what’s true often bear no resemblance to each other.
Any other man in this situation would be influenced by a warm bundle of woman on his lap. Luckily, I’m dead. That’s about the only thing that keeps me from being distracted by Tort’s closeness. If she did this during the day, I’d have to wonder what my motives were—intellectual or organic. As it is, it comes down to one thing, and one thing only.
Tort needs me. That’s enough. That’s always been what mattered—I’m needed. By Tort, by Shada, by Tamara, by Tianna... or by Kelvin, Torvil, Kammen, Seldar… a mountain, a city, a kingdom, a world. I’m not so moved by people who want something from me; I’m moved by people who
need
me.
Does it matter that she only thinks she needs me? Someday she’ll realize I’m not the person she built me up to be in her head. Maybe I’ll disappoint her. But if I do
nothing
, nothing will change. She’ll go on wishing and hoping and longing and waiting. That, I will not have.
I put my arms under her and stood up, carried her to the bedroom. She kissed me as I stood, held it, and I responded in kind. I set her down on the edge of the niche that served as a bed and tried to undress her slowly, but she was having none of that. She wriggled free and started right to work on shucking me out of my own clothes.
Never argue when she makes what she wants that clear.
Tort was a little disappointed at my undead disability in the bedroom, but I think I made up for it in other ways. I can recall a number of interesting alternatives from the whole length and breadth of the Empire; I did everything I was physically capable of to please her. It worked. Repeatedly.
And that’s all I’m going to say about that.
While Tort slept, I dressed and went down to the gate room. I made a detour to gather a few things: the supplies I’d asked for and Thomen. Bronze met me down in the gate room, which I did not expect. Well, the doors and halls are deliberately enlarged to let her go wherever she wants. I shouldn’t be surprised when she does.
I walked Thomen through the basics of gate work; he caught on quickly. Wizards do have to be pretty flexible-minded to do what they do. This time, I was going through the arch from the gate room directly to the library. Bronze stood next to the arch, as though expecting to go with me.
What did I say about arguing with a lady who makes her desires clear? Oh, that’s right.
After Thomen was briefed on how the thing worked, I motioned him to sit on the rim of the central pool. We settled there and I wondered how to begin.
“Thomen, we already discussed that you and Tort have—or had—some sort of relationship.”
“Nothing of consequence, Your Majesty,” he demurred.
“To whom? To you? To Tort? Or to me?”
“I don’t… that is, the Lady Tort and I once had a certain level of intimacy,” he admitted. “She has chosen not to continue it.”
“I see. Well, I think I know why.”
“As do I, Your Majesty.” He tried not to sound bitter. His spirit looked less than happy, though.
“Here’s the problem,” I told him. “She doesn’t want me.”
Thomen blinked at me, eyes wide.
“It’s true,” I continued. “She wants the guy she’s built me up to be in her thoughts. I’m not him. No one could be him. And that’s where I need your help.”
“
My
help?”
“Yep. See, when I fall short of the mark—inevitably so—she’s going to realize that the man she wants
isn’t me
. She’s going to need someone to be there for her. Someone who she understands and likes, someone she accepts as a peer, an equal—not a god-made-flesh that she can worship. Get me?”
“I’m not sure, Your Majesty.”
I hate having these discussions. Worse, I hate having to spell things out for people. Worst of all is when they have to spell it out for me, though.
“I like Tort. I’m very fond of Tort. In many ways, I love Tort. And if you ever hurt her, I’ll rip your lungs out of your body and then start being unpleasant to you.” I shook my head, sighing. “Most people would take that as hyperbole—that I don’t really mean it; that I’m just trying to make a point. I’m not. I really will take pointy fingernails, jam them up under your ribcage, and scoop out gobbets of your lungs.
Then
I’ll start to make you
suffer
. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Your Majesty!”
“Good! Now, with that out of the way, I also want you to understand that I’ve picked
you
to be a good man to my Tort.
I’m
a blood-drinking monster.
You
are a good man, and you care deeply for her. Am I wrong?”
“No…”
“Even better. So, if and when Tort is sad and lonely and unhappy about how I’m not the gleaming sword of the night and godlike king she thinks I am, will you be there for her to cry on?”
“Without hesitation, Your Majesty,” he said, and he looked me in the eye. I could see him do it deliberately, and that it took every bit of willpower to do it without flinching. I liked him even more.
“I am very pleased, Thomen. See, I’m planning ahead for Tort’s sake. I
know
I’m going to be inadequate; I am terrible with relationships. Oh, she’s going to be very happy with me for days, weeks, maybe months… but then the shine will wear off and she’ll start to see just how much of a jerk I am, and she’ll eventually question her own belief in my perfection. When she finally realizes that she’s made a colossal mistake, I want you there so she can see what she’s been overlooking all this time. How’s that sound?”
“I’m not sure,” Thomen admitted. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but let me see if I understand.”
“Go for it.”
“You are planning for the end of Tort’s affections, but you will accept them until she no longer desires you?”
“Pretty much. See, if I remain the unattainable king, she’ll never get over me. If she is with me, and sees me for the flawed creature that I am, she’ll start looking elsewhere. Not to say that I’m not a pretty good catch, you understand. It’s just that she’ll be disappointed that I don’t live up to her expectations—no one could. And then she’ll need someone of whom she has
realistic
expectations.”
“So, I’m her second choice,” he said, flatly.
“No, you’re
my
choice for her,” I told him. “If you have to consider yourself second best, realize that her first choice is both a mistake and a
god
. I can’t live up to being her god, and that’s the mistake.”
Thomen looked thoughtful. He ran his fingers through the water of the pool, watching the ripples. I waited while he thought.
“How do you know she will… hmm.”
“How do I know she’ll think of you?” I asked. He nodded. “I don’t. I can’t see the future. I can just plan for possibilities. I’m trying to give her as much opportunity for happiness as she can get, because her happiness is the thing that matters.”
“Even knowing that you’ll disappoint her?”
“Especially so. That’s what makes having a backup plan so important. I know I’ll screw this up. She’ll need someone, and you’re already relationship material, apparently.”
Thomen stood up, then knelt before me.
“I misjudged you, my King.”
I’ve been working on not being embarrassed by this sort of thing. I’m not quite there, yet.
“In what way?” I asked, trying not to show it.
“I thought you were… less noble than a king should be. I only went along with everyone else, but I still believed you to be a monster. A friendly monster, perhaps, even a helpful monster, but a monster nevertheless. I was wrong. You have just shown me that you do know how to love, and that you love the Lady Tort. What else is love, but to give someone else happiness when you know your own is impossible?”
“You may have a point.”
“That is a noble purpose, my King, and my doubts about you are resolved.”
“Yeah, well, she’s not marrying you yet. We’re just setting you up so you’re in a good position. She’s got her own heart and head, and she may surprise us both.”
“That is a far better chance than I once could hope for,” he told me. “More important are your reasons: not for yourself, but for her sake. You may be wrong, but you are attempting to be good. I do not know if what you say is true, but I choose to believe you.”
I gestured him up and he returned to his seat on the pool rim.
“So, we’re agreed that, whatever happens, you’re going to be there for Tort?”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Yes, with all my heart.”
“Do I have to tell you what will happen to you if you mention this conversation to her?”
“She’ll do something gruesome to me. Then I’ll have to answer to you?”
“I suspect I’ll be the one trying to put you back together, but that’s only if she doesn’t do something gruesome to me, too.”
“As you say, Your Majesty.”
“And you’re on the King’s Council. Call me ‘Sire,’ or something.”
“As you say, King.” He smiled at me.
“Har. Har. Har. Now help me with this gate.”
“Sire?”
I explained that I was taking a trip and that Bronze was apparently coming with me. His job was to mind the gate and, at the first sign of any contact, activate it from this end. The surviving prisoners were still charging it, so it was in good shape on that front.
“And, if you would be so kind, give the prisoners a good going-over. They’re a valuable resource, and I’d like them to be in good health. I think Kelvin has been in charge of their feeding schedule. Get with him—later—and make sure they’re doing well.”