“What’s wrong? You don’t look happy this morning.”
“I was just thinking about what I needed to write. Some things I really don’t care to remember.”
“If you don’t want to write it, don’t. Why are you writing it, if not to please yourself?”
“I and I wants you to edit it.”
She shrugged. “That’s fine, but it still doesn’t change the fact that you need to put in the things you want.”
“No. I mean that I’m writing it so that you can edit it. I have to put in everything, and then you can get rid of the things that you don’t want.”
“I don’t want to get rid of anything.”
“Well, maybe you should read it first…”
She pulls away from me angrily. “You just don’t get it. You never get it, Ash. I don’t want to get rid of anything.” She jumps out of bed and rushes into the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
She’s like this. I know she’s like this. Nevertheless, I can’t stop shaking. Every instinct is telling me to run after her, to fall on my knees, to tell her I’ll do anything she wants me to do. But I curl up around my pillow, forcing myself to remember the Cantor’s words. Humans need space. Try not to look pathetic.
It’s not like that time. It’s not like that time.
The time I thought I lost it all.
“The Matriarch wants us to go to Earth,” says Tara.
“She wants what?” At first, I don’t take it seriously. The prospect is so absurd.
“Earth is calling a conference of all the independent worlds. It’s to negotiate agreements – trade agreements, extradition treaties, the like. The Matriarch thinks that we ought to go because we’re ethnic Dolparessans. She thinks the nau’gsh issue is going to come up.”
“You can’t be serious. We can’t go to Earth.” Meaning I can’t go to Earth. I can barely manage on Eirelantra.
“We have to. They keep continuing to call for the destruction of the forests. They’re playing the drug trade card. In their eyes, mind-altering substances interfere with productivity, and productivity is the point of life. They’re pressing the issue that we can’t stop the flow of the drugs into their territory, and they want to come in and raze our trees. You know that.”
“It’s simple. We just don’t let them.”
“It’s not so simple. Back when I was working at the science station with Edom…” She stops. She isn’t sure what to tell me, and I’m not yet aware of how much she knows. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s just say that I think they have motives other than worrying about contraband. If we don’t confront the heart of the matter, it won’t go away.”
“It won’t go away anyhow.” I’m really getting worried now. There’s no way I can go. And I don’t want her to go either. It isn’t just selfishness on my part. There’s something about this that feels very, very wrong. “If they really have an ulterior motive, then a little trade discussion won’t change a damn thing.”
“Well, I already told the Matriarch that we would go. It’s my word, and besides, I owe her for allowing me to divorce Tenzain Merkht and claim the throne of Sideria. I still don’t understand why she did that…”
“I’m not going.” I’m desperate now. Perhaps if I flatly refuse, she’ll come to her senses. “I’m not going, and I don’t want you to go.”
“Oh yes you are going, Patrick. The role of Prince Consort is ceremonial. It would look all shades of wrong for me to go alone.”
“I’m not going,” I say, “and neither are you! There’s more to this than meets the eye. We have to…”
“The matter isn’t open for discussion. I’m the Empress of Sideria, and I gave my word. You’re my husband, and you’re going with me.”
“I can’t go!”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
“Oh really, Patrick.”
“Why do you trust the Matriarch anyway? You ought to be Matriarch! The prophecy…”
“The prophecy is bullshit! It’s a lie! I forbid you to ever mention it again.”
“It’s your destiny to be Matriarch!” I’ve never raised my voice to her before, ever.
And then her voice is a whisper. “Get out,” she says. “Get out! I honestly thought I was falling in love with you, but it was another delusion. You’re just like Clive, you’re just like Johannon. Just another political opportunist. Didn’t you hear me? Get the fuck out! I’m going to Earth, and I want you moved out of these quarters by the time I get back.”
I’m in the hall. I don’t know how I got into the hall. I want to crawl back on my hands and knees. I want to beg her forgiveness, but I can’t. I can’t tell her the truth. I was so happy! How did it all go so wrong? I can’t stop shaking. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I’ve never known such pain. Let it end.
Patrick.
I want to die, I want to die, I want
PATRICK.
And then I am pulled to my feet, like a marionette. It literally feels like there are strings attached to my hands, to my torso. I raise my arms and
I’m inside again. I don’t know what’s happening.
Evan is holding me, stroking my hair. And I’m weeping inconsolably on his shoulder. It’s all right, I know, I know, he says, over and over again.
Patrick, calm down, says Mickey. You were freaking out so bad that Whirljack had to take over.
Whirljack, wait, Whirljack? Whirljack can’t…why didn’t you or Tommy…
And then Tara is back. Whirljack got an audience with Tara. I’m looking at Tara through Whirljack’s eyes, and she looks terrible. Shaken. But she puts on a false smile, and takes his hands between hers. “Whirljack Riordan! What in the galaxy are you doing on Eirelantra?”
It’s a damn good question. Whirljack’s trunk is solidly on the ground, unlike mine, Mickey’s and Tommy’s, branches that jut off the cliff and over the sea.
Whirljack can’t live in space.
“I came to see you, your Highness” he says.
“Well, this is a surprise. Sit down. Are you all right? You don’t look well.”
“I’m not a good space traveler,” he says, forcing a smile. “But this is really important, too important to risk a communication that could be intercepted. I’m sure you’ve been following the news about that woman, Guinnebar, who claims to have the Blood of the Matriarchs…”
“Pfft,” says Tara. “It’s a lie. Only the Matriarch, myself, and Christolea, Baroness of Vshalee have the right genetic marker. She’s not to be taken seriously.”
“But it’s a lie that more and more people are starting to believe. And they’re saying that the Matriarch is selling out to CenGov, and that you don’t have the guts to step in, and maybe they need someone like Guinnebar.”
“Jack, I don’t know if you understand how this works. The power grid is controlled by the Matriarch’s Staff. It can only be activated by a woman with the right genetic marker. Guinnebar simply can’t be Matriarch. The marker is recessive, and on the X chromosome, so while lots of men have the proper trait, very few women will inherit it. And that’s the way the 4th Matriarch designed it – to make certain that only someone with the bloodline on both sides could fill the role. It’s a remarkable protection against assassination, too, since killing the Matriarch would mean the shutdown of the power that makes life on Volparnu and Sideria possible for a good part of the population. The only people who have motive to kill her are Christolea…and myself.”
“People are afraid, Highness. They’re afraid for the trees. As you and I have always believed, the trees are integral to Dolparessan culture. And there’s something else, something that maybe isn’t on the news reports. The weather is bad.”
“That is unusual,” Tara says indulgently.
“It is unusual. The weather on Dolparessa is incredibly consistent. But we’ve seen wild storms, droughts, even snow in one area.”
“Snow on Dolparessa?” Tara can’t help laughing. “Oh, it’s not funny. It’s disturbing, really. But it has nothing to do with politics. It can’t be helped.”
Whirljack can’t tell her that it has everything to do with politics. Whirljack can’t tell her that the Staff of the Matriarch also controls the weather, for to do so would be to reveal the truth about the Archon – that the Archon isn’t just a religious belief – it’s a tree. Or maybe he can. “Highness, people are superstitious. They say the unpredictable weather is a sign that the Archon is angry with the Matriarch’s betrayal. They say that the alchemical spirits that live in the forests are preparing for a spiritual war.”
Tara frowns, but I can see that her eyes are thinking. “People are like that,” she says. “When they’re afraid, they’re foolish children. But Guinnebar could exploit that fear. Dictators always exploit that fear.” She stands, pours herself a stiff drink and offers one to Whirljack. “I’m supposed to go to Earth.”
“Earth? Now? This would be a terrible time. People will think…”
“People will think that I’ve betrayed all PLANT stood for, all that you and I stood for. They’ll think that I’m just another political opportunist who sold out her principles the moment she took power.”
“I would never impugn such a thing to your Majesty,” says Whirljack.
“That’s because you’re tactful, Whirljack, but it is the truth, isn’t it? But if I don’t go, then I break my word to the Matriarch. If I don’t go, it looks like I’m challenging her policies, and the fragile truce which has existed between us will be shattered. And with Wyrd Elma still going on about the prophecy…it’s a mess, Jack.”
She refreshes her drink. “It’s ironic. This morning I broke the only thing of value in my life so I could keep my word. And now I’m going back on it.” She laughs. “I’m cursed, Whirljack Riordan, you’d best stay clear of me.”
Are you okay, Patrick? asks Lugh.
I’ll be fine, I say. It all turned out in the end. Thanks to Whirljack.
That was amazing, says Blackjack, and everyone looks at him because he never has a good thing to say about his twin. It was amazing that you could even function that far away from home, let alone come up with such a good argument in the middle of that disaster.
Whirljack used to be the strongest one of us, says Cillian.
Whirljack held it together when I failed, says Evan. Whirljack figured out how to get Tara to come back to Dolparessa.
You didn’t fail, Evan, but I did. I see that now. I was so happy, I lost sight of our priorities. I was content to let Tara stay Empress of Sideria because I wanted to be together on Eirelantra forever. I was so happy that I ignored the erratic weather, even though the Atlas Tree could sense a major problem arising. My selfishness almost destroyed everything we had worked for. I deserved what I got.
Patrick, don’t say that, says Lugh.
Why not? says Cillian. He’s right. No point in whitewashing it. But it’s over now. We can move on.
It occurs to me that’s a very human way of looking at it. If we move on, we lose it, and if we lose it, we lose part of the story which made us what we are.
And then I get it.
I knock on the bathroom door, but get no answer. “Tara, I won’t take anything out,” I say. “But for the same reason, I have to put all the ugliness in. Because it’s part of the story.”
She opens the door. “You were starting to sound like Ailann, and that scares me. How many times do I have to tell you that I want all of you, Ash? I’m not going to prune off the bits that I don’t like. You’re not a fucking topiary.”
Cillian roars with laughter. This is why I love her, he says. “You’re not a fucking topiary.” Everybody write that on the board 500 times.
That would make a great motivational poster, says Cuinn.
Now we’re all dying of laughter, and Cuinn looks puzzled. He can’t figure out why that’s so funny.
“I said that if anyone ever touched my tree, I’d have their balls for wind chimes, and that includes you – or me.”
“I’ll remember,” I say. “But…”
She looks at me quizzically.
“Sloane.”
“Oh.” She looks at her hands. “I wanted to rewrite what I did. That’s different.”
“It’s OK,” I say. “He lives in that night. Don’t take it away from him.”
“I don’t want to take anything away! But it was wrong of me because…because if things happened differently, then I wouldn’t have you or any of the others. And without you, we could all be dead now, or slaves of CenGov. Sloane’s suffering wasn’t for nothing.”
“I know that.”
“Ash doesn’t make mistakes. But I want Sloane to have that night. Maybe it’s not real. But it’s true.”
“Now you sound like Dermot.”
She laughs. “Don’t take anything away. Even the pain. So many years I ran away from it. But I don’t want to lose anything. Ash, do you understand?”
