‘Only sky. Coming here is a bit silly, I know. Why would they be coming home at sunset rather than any other time?’ She shook her head at herself. ‘And even if they were, likely I’d see them from the ground almost as soon. Sometimes it seems worrying is something I feel like I have to do, that maybe worrying about them actually keeps them alive and real.’
Tats gave her an odd look. ‘Girls think strangely,’ he observed, without malice, and then stepped to the windows to scan the world outside. ‘No dragons,’ he confirmed needlessly. ‘I wonder if they’ve reached Chalced yet.’ His eyes wandered to the panels between the window-frames. They, too, were decorated to be a continuation of the map on the wall. He studied them idly. ‘They built this room for a reason.’
‘Probably a lot of reasons. But it’s like Carson says. It can’t give us answers until we know what questions to ask.’
Tats nodded. He gazed out over the river as he asked her, ‘You miss him a lot, don’t you?’
She tried to think of how to answer. ‘Rapskal? Yes. Tellator? Not at all.’ She lifted a hand to her chest. Anxiety squeezed her heart. It was becoming too familiar a sensation. ‘Tats. Which of them do you think will come back to us? Rapskal or Tellator?’
He didn’t turn to look at her. ‘I don’t think there’s any separating them any more, Thymara. I think that it’s useless to think of him that way.’
‘I know you are right,’ she said unwillingly. She told herself it wasn’t true, that she would never think of Rapskal and Tellator as one and the same. Then she recognized it for what it was. Like her worrying, a useless belief that by thinking a certain way, she could make it so. Tats said something in a gruff, low voice.
‘What?’
He cleared his throat and took a deep breath. ‘I said, I thought you loved Tellator. That he was the love of Amarinda’s life. Lovers never to part in that life or this one.’ He hesitated, refusing to meet her shocked stare, and then muttered, ‘Or so Rapskal explained it to me.’
She bit down on her anger, refusing to give it voice. After a long, tight pause, she said unevenly, ‘Rapskal? Or Tellator?’
‘Does it matter?’The misery in his voice was plain.
‘It does.’ Her voice came out more strongly. ‘Because Tellator is a bully. And perfectly capable of deceiving anyone to get what he wants.’ She walked away from Tats to look out of a different window. ‘The night he asked me to go for a walk and then took me to the Silver well … that’s not something Rapskal would have done. I even think he knew that if Rapskal went down the well, I’d follow him.’ She had not spoken of her last encounter with Rapskal to anyone. Did not ever intend to.
‘Thymara, they’re the same person now.’
‘You’re probably right. But even if Amarinda loved Tellator, I don’t. I am not Amarinda, Tats. I went down that well for Rapskal, not Tellator.’
He didn’t respond. When she looked over her shoulder, he was silently nodding as he stared out of the window. ‘For Rapskal,’ he said, as if that confirmed something.
She reached a decision. ‘Would you come for a walk with me?’
Tats stared at her. The daylight was fading and the city itself did not gleam yet. He squinted at her through the gathering dimness in the tower, his own face an unknowable landscape of lines and shadows. She thought he would ask her where or why. He didn’t. ‘Let’s go, then,’ was all he said.
The coming of evening seemed always to stir the ghosts of the city. As they descended, they walked through three errand boys running up the steps, yellow robes hiked up around their knees. Thymara strode through them, and only afterwards thought how strange it was that it was no longer strange.
The twilight outside was partly of the sky and partly of the city itself. Daylight gave way to stone-light. The insubstantial throngs that milled in the city became less transparent, their music stronger, the smells of their food more alluring. ‘I wonder if this city will ever again swarm with so many Elderlings.’
‘I wonder if it ever did,’ Tats countered.
‘What?’ His words almost startled her out of her determination.
‘Just something I speculate about. All these people … are we passing through one night of Elderling time here, or the overlay of years?’
She pondered his question and sometime later realized that they were walking in silence. She led him away from the heart of the city, into a district of fine homes. The streets grew quieter, with less public memory-stone, and only a few private monuments to haunt them. There an elderly dragon slept near a fountain while a woman played upon a flute nearby. The music followed them and then faded as they reached the cul-de-sac at the top of the hill. She halted for a moment. Thin moonlight poured down. The double row of pillars marched to the front door, one line marked with shining suns, the others with the round-faced moon.
