Стивен Браст - Tiassa

“But Her Ladyship visited the Halls while living?”

She nodded. At one time I had thought Zerika and I were the only ones. Now it was starting to seem like an official Imperial pastime.

“And she was with child at the time?”

The dancer tilted her head curiously. “I hadn’t heard that.”

“Ah,” I said. “Perhaps I was misinformed.”

“You are well spoken,” she said.

“For an Easterner, you mean?” She nodded. “I read a lot,” I told her. “You see us as like Teckla, but we’re really outside of the rules.”

“I see. Of course, most of what I know I’ve picked up from poems, folktales, the theatre. It’s one thing to know those are unreliable, it’s another to know what to put in their place.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“I hope I didn’t give offense.”

I laughed. “I get offended when people try to kill me. And it hurts my feelings when they swing blunt objects at me. Other than that, I don’t worry about it.”

“I understand. Do you have love poetry?”

“Me? No.”

“I mean your people.”

“Oh. Sure. Also love songs, erotic paintings, and ribald stories.”

“We have those, too.”

“Issola? I find that hard to believe. I mean, ribald stories.”

She laughed. “You should hear us when no one is around.” She winked.

“I’d give pure gold to.”

“I’ll keep that in mind if we meet again.”

“Oh, we’ll meet again.”

“Oh?”

“I’m an Easterner, we can tell these things.”

She smiled politely without making it look like she was smiling politely. “You should try your hand at love poetry,” she said.

“I don’t think so. There’s enough bad poetry in the world without my contribution.”

“Very well.”

“Why, though?”

“It’ll help.”

I snorted. “Help with what?”

“Your grief.”

“What grief?”

“You know what I mean, Lord Szurke.”

“I really don’t.”

“You mean you don’t keep composing letters to her in your head? You don’t keep wanting to tell her how wretched you are, but then you don’t send them, because what if she took you back because you were wretched? How terrible that would be, you tell yourself. When something happens—something funny, or interesting, or sad—you look around to tell her about it, then you remember. And you want to tell her that is going on, but you don’t, because you don’t want to add to her burdens, only you do want to add to her burdens, and you hate that you want to add to her burdens. You wonder if she’s seeing someone else, and you hope she is, and you hope she isn’t, and you hate that it matters so much. And maybe you’ve found someone else yourself, but you worry that it isn’t fair to her, and then you worry that you shouldn’t worry about that, and then it infuriates you that you’re spending so much time thinking about it, and so it all turns into aimless grief.”

“Oh, that grief.”

She nodded.

“Loiosh, you didn’t hear any of that.”

“Any of what?”

“Exactly.”

“How did you do that? Also, why?”

“How is easy, Szurke. You carry it in how you walk and in the set of your shoulders, but mostly in how you watched me dance.”

“Bloody Issola.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothing.”

“As for why, because I can, and because I felt I owed it to you for my rudeness.”

“Heh. Thanks so much.”

“You’d really have preferred I said nothing?”

“I’ll tell you something,” I said. “You people live thousands of years. We live fifty or sixty. And I’ll bet you couldn’t find any one of you, or any one of us, who didn’t have something like that going on. It’s just what happens when you live. Spending all your time worrying about it just means getting so wrapped up in your head that you never do anything. Yeah, sad sh—sad stuff happens, it hurts, and you move on.”

“And what are you doing?”

“Hmm?”

“Of what does your moving on consist?”

“At the moment, I’m trying to solve a puzzle. It distracts the mind.”

“Maybe I can help.”

“You have helped. Twice now.”

She gave me a look that invited me to expand on that.

“It’s complicated,” I said.

“Yes, that’s why it’s called a puzzle.”

“Let’s speak of other matters.”

“Certainly.”

“Do you write poetry? I mean, about Gormin?”

She looked away, then looked back. “I dance,” she said. “And Ouffach has too much air in her lungs.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, and cleared my throat. “I wouldn’t ask if it didn’t matter, but this might tie into my problem.”

“What makes you think so?”

“Because as far as I can tell, everything ties into everything else, and half the time does so in perfectly straightforward ways, and half the time in ways that make no sense. But I’m going to just assume that everything connects. And, after all, you brought it up.”

“I?”

“Yeah.”

“What did I bring up?”

“Love, romance, the breaking of hearts, all that crap. You’re an Issola, and an Issola would never just start in on a stranger’s personal life without a good reason.”

“You think you understand Issolas?”

“Better than I understand Vallistas.”

She laughed then; she had a nice laugh. I smiled, waited, then said, “So, what is it? You had a reason for bringing that up.”

“Insistent, aren’t you?”

“Somewhere a little girl is trapped in time, and I’m trying to set her free.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the reference.”

“It wasn’t a reference, it’s what I’m trying to fix.”

“Oh.” She frowned. “Trapped in time? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Yeah, that’s why it’s so tricky.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I. It’s necromancy, and I know nothing about necromancy, and it has to do with another structure built by—crap, by someone, sometime, that connects to the castle here, and if I could explain it any clearer I would. But there is something going on, and I’m set on figuring out anything I don’t understand, and right now the top of the list of things I don’t understand is why you gave me that lecture about love and heartbreak, all right? Of all the things that have happened to me over the last two days, that’s the strangest.”

She said, “It isn’t that complicated, Szurke. I brought it up because you asked me to.”

“Because I … all right, go on.”

“Do you think I’m not aware of the audience when I dance, that I don’t pay attention to them?”

“Hadn’t given any thought one way or the other.”

“Dancing has meaning, it has substance. It reaches into people. Something in me reaches something in those who watch, and sometimes the connection is so strong it can’t be mistaken.”

“Sounds like magic.”

“Not really.”

“So, the way I reacted when you danced is how I said I wanted to talk about all sorts of private and personal crap that I don’t even like to think about?”

“Exactly.”

Most of the responses that came to mind I couldn’t make to an Issola. After sitting for a bit, with her refusing to say anything, I settled for “I suppose you’re right. But it still doesn’t explain about you.”

“As you said, we all have those heartbreaks.”

“Most of them don’t have to do with an Issola being expelled from his House.”

“There are always reasons.”

“In your case, it’s a little more than that, I think.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let me review, and you tell me if I’m missing anything. Gormin was in charge of the household. He met you, and developed an attachment. As you were, at this time, associated with the household, this was deemed improper, and it was decided he’d failed in his duty and was expelled from his House.”