She paced, too agitated to notice the clutter that hindered every step. Thane was due any moment, and she still had no idea what she wanted to say to him. She had to know where she stood.
Irikah heard the knock at the door and rushed down the hall, flinging the door open to find Thane outside.
She said nothing, and instead headed straight back to the living room to resume her pacing.
Thane followed her slowly, brow furrowed, and stood beside the sofa watching her pace. There was nowhere for him to sit even if he had wished to, books were spread haphazardly across every seat.
"Is there something wrong? Has something happened?" Thane asked.
Irikah stopped. "Yes. What is this?"
Thane opened his mouth, but Irikah hurried on, words spilling out of her. "What are we doing? You bought me an orchid, and I now I have my own orchid house. I checked what the other orchid was. It all cost so much, and all of it paid for by you, by—"
"By what?" Thane asked bleakly, not moving.
Irikah looked at him, at his hands behind his back and his broad shoulders, at the muscle that vanished beneath the leather of his coat. "By blood," she murmured, remembering the blossoms falling in the square. "I can't accept any of it."
"What changed?" Thane asked. He walked around the sofa and blocked her path. "I asked if you wanted help, and you agreed. Why not speak up then? Why wait until now?"
"I was drunk," Irikah almost shouted, but she couldn't meet his eyes when she said it. Drunk or not, she'd enjoyed sitting there beside him, the feel of his fingers beneath hers, and the loneliness giving way to something else.
She gulped in a breath and caught his scent in her throat, trapped between watching him draw closer and the urge to run away. Thane caught her fingers in his, lifted her hands to his face and with aching sweetness he kissed the palm of first one hand, then the other, pulling her closer.
"Thane, what are you doing?" Irikah gasped, not trying to tear her hands away from him.
"What you want me to do. What I wish to do."
She closed the distance and kissed him. He tasted of smoke, and death, and unsaid things that she'd wished for in the night.
His tongue slipped into her mouth, and Irikah's own need burst from her throat, layers of longing in her voice. He returned her call, a throaty purr that she felt through the thin fabric of her tunic. With a last moan Irikah broke away.
Thane stared at her, chest heaving, hands fallen at his sides.
"What I want doesn't matter," Irikah said, lust threatening to betray her resolve. "It changes nothing. Everything you've given me is paid for by blood, by the death of strangers, and I can't live like that. I can't be with you wondering about the souls taken by your hands."
Thane's expression, one moment alive with longing, faded to the cold blankness she'd seen in him from the start. It was a careful distancing act that infuriated her now.
"Don't do that! Stop shutting yourself away."
He backed away in one swift step, turning half-way as he looked towards the door then back at her.
"Irikah, ever since I met you I seem to be trying not to feel things. I gave up on life long ago, I accepted my place in this world, and until you looked at me I felt nothing. But whatever you think of me, I will not feel shame for what I have done."
"Then what do you feel? What would it take for you to stop?" Irikah demanded.
"This is who I am," Thane said. "This is who I have always been. This is what Amonkira willed me to be."
Irikah had known this all along, just as she had known how she felt about what he did. There was nothing else she could say apart from what must be said.
"Thane, thank you for everything you've done for me. I'll ask Hehran to sell the orchids and repay you."
"Irikah, wait—"
"No," Irikah said firmly. "Whatever Amonkira willed you to be, it isn't good enough. You don't have to kill people. That is your choice. I believe you are better than that. Now please leave."
His mask had slipped now, and instead she saw pain in his eyes, and a hesitation that looked as though it might tear him in two. When he turned away from her she saw his head bent, his back slumped forwards as though he were being pressed into the ground. Irikah made herself look away.
The door closed quietly behind him. Irikah went slowly into the bedroom, shut the door, and hid herself beneath the blankets.
-0-0-0-0
Irikah, wait.
I must have your forgiveness.
Irikah blinked the memory away, breathing in the heady scent of burning leaves.
Her sister sat neatly in a row of other applicants barely three metres away from her, all of them there for the Guild induction ceremony. Her father sat beside her, and for the first time in months he looked entirely present.
His little girl was finally achieving her long held dream, and that gave them all something to hold onto amidst the slow tide of grief.
Ennai's back was straight, her slender form sheathed in a silk tunic decorated with twining flowers, and her eyes fixed firmly on the Master leading the ceremony. Once he'd finished his speech he would ask each of the applicants to approach the front and join in the tea ceremony that was their formal welcome to the Guild.
It would have been Master Bristos up there, Irikah reflected, if it hadn't been for Thane. She hadn't seen him since their last meeting, and she'd heard nothing from him. His silence told her everything she needed to know.
She'd tried to get in touch with Hehran about the orchids but he never replied, and she couldn't pluck up the courage to go back to the glasshouse.
If she saw those beautiful orchids it would only hurt. The truth was too raw. She wanted to keep them. She wanted Thane. But whilst he killed people there was no way she could have those hands near her, or build a life with someone so steeped in blood.
What would it take for you to stop?
She'd let herself drift away again. Irikah dug her nails into her arm and let the nip of pain focus her on the present, an action she'd taken all too often lately. His kiss still tortured her, leaving her powerless in its grasp, and she struggled to break free.
Ennai rose from her place and approached the front, her gaze finally sliding over to them.
"Ennai Ektrepho," the Master intoned, and she sank gracefully to her knees beside the tea table. Someone brought her lacquered case over, and set it before them.
Irikah caught her breath. Her father shifted beside her.
Ennai opened the case, and took from it all the implements that would be her constant companion through her training, tools that had been passed down through their family specially for this purpose.
Once everything was laid out Ennai took the hot water from the low burning stove beside her and began.
It was like a dance. The pouring, and stirring, the preparation of the leaves, and all of it done with Ennai's nimble grace. She had practised for this moment time and time again, until her family knew the ritual as though it was their own.
Their mother had hoped to see this, and Irikah felt her heart catch as her father's hand slipped into hers. They would have to witness it in her stead.
The first cup was poured, and it was time for her father to step forward. As part of the ritual the guardians were asked to attend and pass their child over into the care of the Guild that would now shape their life.
Irikah watched as her father crossed the room on bare feet and sat down beside Ennai, followed by the Master.
To Irikah's surprise, Ennai motioned for her to come forward. She couldn't help a confused glance at Brina who merely nodded towards her and mouthed 'Go.'
Irikah made her way to the front and sat down in the empty space, conscious of the eyes upon her and the incense drifting through the air, of the dust in the faint beam of light that passed through the coloured windows, and the subtle scent of tea.
The Master began to speak, his voice curling around them all and drawing them into the moment.
"This is the beginning of Ennai's journey, and all of us must play our parts. Sere Ektrepho, as Ennai's father it is you who must begin, as you have guided Ennai's life."
Her father raised the first cup, took a sip then placed it carefully on the table. He then raised the cup to Ennai, who murmured words of acceptance before taking it between her slender fingers, and offering it to the Master. He dipped his head to her, and passed the second cup to Ennai.
"Now you are part of the Guild. We will be as family until you leave this place, and as family we will guide you in this, your chosen life, Lady Ennai Ektrepho of the Ranir Guild," he said, watching Ennai as she sipped the tea and set the cup down.
There was one cup left. Irikah felt her eyes prickle with tears. This cup, the last cup, was one offered to a nominated guardian, a person whom they trusted to watch over them in their endeavours. Ennai lifted the cup to her, her blue hand bright against the white cup.
"Irikah, would you honour me by accepting this?"
"I will."
Their fingertips brushed, and Irikah felt the weight of the cup in her hands as she brought it to her face and tasted the tea. She had entered into a sacred agreement, one that had been in place for as long as the guilds themselves. It surprised her that she had been chosen for the task.
When they had practised this it had always been Brina who played this part, their eldest sister with the quick words and unending patience.
She caught her elder sister's eye, and Brina dipped her head with a smile.
Their part in the ceremony had ended, and they rose, returning to their places to watch the last few families take part.
It passed in a blur. The taste of tea on her tongue, the flowered back of her little sister, and the soft words of the Master.
Her sister was embarking on a new life. She would finally achieve everything she had hoped for, and Irikah was happy for her. For the rest of them life would stay the same, the only difference being the absence of Ennai. Irikah thought back to her empty apartment not with relish, but with a sudden clutch of loneliness.
As they filed outside, leaving Ennai behind, Irikah stood in the waning light beside her family and said her goodbyes. Brina was returning to her family. Tivan was going home to his wife. She was returning home with their father.
They had all agreed to keep an eye on him, and Irikah had been happy to make sure he got through those first days in an empty house. Once she had craved independence, but now she found herself hiding from it, telling herself she was doing it for her father. That much was true, but the sight of her apartment was more than she could bear.
They journeyed back together, discussing the ceremony and Ennai's first week at Guild.
It was not until they reached the house that reality finally took hold of them. It was silent and dark, the lingering scent of tea in the air. Once Mara would have been there, bustling round the kitchen and ordering them about. Ennai would have been sat at the table with her tea set, inventing recipes and begging them to try a cup.
Now it was just Irikah and her father. Irikah fell back on what she knew best. Tradition.
She lit the lamps, humming as she did so, and set the large kettle on to heat as she started preparing food. The simple presence of the everyday sounds made everything easier. Her father wandered into the kitchen and sat down at the driftwood table to watch her cook.
Irikah brought him a cup of smoky tea, then set herself down next to him. The silence grew, filled with the distance that Irikah had set between them.
"Thank you, Iri. I know Brina asked you to stay," her father said with a wry smile. "What would we do without Brina, hmm? She reminds me of your mother. You all do."
"All of us? Even Tivan?"
"Even Tivan. Brina got your mother's bossiness. You got her stubbornness, and Tivan got her artistic temperament."
"Tell me how you met her," Irikah asked, and her father looked surprised.
"You know that story well enough."
"No, we always heard it from mother. I want to hear it from you," Irikah said, resting her hand lightly on her father's. She could indeed recall her mother's words, the laughter lighting her eyes as she recounted the tale to her rapt children, but she'd never heard it from her father.
He gazed into the distance, his memories swirling before him.
"My unit and I…we'd finally been granted shore leave. We'd been stuck out on one of the colonies for months, and it had been very quiet. We were all ready to stretch our legs a little. Have some fun."
Her father smiled slightly, then sighed.
"By the time we made it back to base the next day we were all, shall I say, a little worse for wear. As we got closer to base we saw them, demonstrators, waving their placards and shouting. Usually I would have ignored them but…" He shrugged. "It must have been the drink. I started arguing with one. He was so young, shouting at me like he knew something I didn't. Damn kids, always thinking they know better."
"You weren't much more than a kid," Irikah reminded him.
"No, but I was old enough to have seen some action, get some sense knocked into me. He kept shouting. I thought he was just noise, nothing more. And then he hit me. I didn't see her coming, I just heard this voice, and when I opened my eyes…'Golden as the sun, as Arashu herself. She stood over me, and in her gaze there was anger and tenderness, and something else.' "
He paused, and Irikah remembered the look her mother would get when she told this story.
"Mara asked me if I was alright. She helped me up. And then… you know that glare. I've never seen anyone back away as fast as he did, the fool that hit me. We swopped details. A few months later I was given permission to leave, and that was it."
"You don't talk about your time in the army," Irikah said, taking a sip of tea then getting up to check the food.
"No. It was a whole other life. You can't imagine what it is like, Iri, and I wouldn't want you to. Mara and I, well, we wanted you to be free of the Compact." His voice took on a depth she hadn't heard before. "Once you become part of it, it shapes your life until you cannot imagine anything else. You become a tool to be used. You don't get to make your own decisions."
"You don't agree with the Compact?"
"We owe the hanar a great debt. But to take a child, and mould them into something for your own use is…regrettable. Especially if that use is something that would stain their soul."
I passed into their guardianship at the age of six.
Irikah felt a flare of emotion, and for a moment she had to turn away from her father.
"You had to kill people, didn't you? That is what they trained you to do."
"From the age of ten, yes. I was a soldier for eight years before I met your mother. I saw enough fire fights," her father replied calmly. "It wasn't easy. It's never easy taking another creature's life, and for drell it is harder than most. But I did what I had to do. I did the job I was trained for."
Trained to kill, to take lives. And each life would be recalled in perfect detail, every moment picked over. She'd been lucky enough to live a life of ease, surrounded by people she loved. Thane hadn't been so lucky.
"Iri?"
"I'm sorry." She ladled the stew into the waiting bowls and carried them over to the table. "Here, it won't be as good as mother's."
They sat silent, testing the stew. She was right. It was nowhere near as good as Mara's would have been, but her father was gracious enough not to say anything.
"You've never asked about that before. I hope I haven't upset you."
"You haven't. Thank you for being honest," Irikah said, and she made herself smile at him.
The evening passed peaceably enough, and after a while Irikah made her excuses and climbed the stairs to bed. Her room had stayed almost exactly the same, and as she curled under the covers she thought back to her time there when she was small.
She'd been happy. Her greatest worries had been nothing more than whether her friends at school liked her, and her worst memories were of her brother's accident, and the time she accidentally insulted a hanar.
Irikah tried to imagine lying in bed remembering kills made that day, of being someplace without a family who loved you no matter what mistakes you made. Who kept you safe.
It was impossible. Irikah turned over, and kicked her cover off, staring blindly at the wall. She could see the blossoms falling, the sunshine on her skin, and the shadow bent before her. May it bring you peace when all around is dark. She knew what she had to do.