"This isn't Saqri," she said. "This is the girl that was in the boat with you."

He stood over the head of the bed, looking down. "Saqri is in the center of the camp, surrounded by her people. This . . . this is the only person who truly cared whether I lived or died during this entire terrible nightmare. Her name is Qinnitan. For a year she was in my dreams and in my thoughts. She was my companion, my friend, my ..." He stopped and shook himself angrily. "Now she is dying . . . and we never even spoke face-to-face. Never touched ..." He turned abruptly and walked out.

Briony stood for a moment, gazing down at the motionless girl. If she lived, it was impossible to tell. She showed no movement of breath, no sign of the animation that plays over a sleeper's face even in quiet slumber.

Who are you? Briony wondered. Briony wondered. And what were you to my brother, really? Would you have loved him? Would you have cared for him? And what were you to my brother, really? Would you have loved him? Would you have cared for him?

"How long will she live?" she asked the two Qar women, but although they both looked up at her words, neither answered.

"I'm sorry, Barrick," she said when she had found him again. "I didn't know. But that is all the more reason ..."

"Cease, Briony, I beg you." He moved away when she would have touched his arm. "You will say it is all the more reason to cleave to the family I have, but you do not understand. I am no longer one of you." I am no longer one of you."

"What? An Eddon . . . ?"

He laughed harshly. "Oh, I am an Eddon all right. Everywhere I go others suffer in my stead. You must know that by now. How many of the men who came with you died so that you could regain Father's throne? How many others because the Tollys wanted it in the first place? And how many of the Qar have died because our ancestor stole Sanasu from her own family?"

A memory struck her, from the last time she had talked to their father. "There is something you must know ..."

But Barrick did not seem to hear her. "In fact, now that I think on it, the number of current victims doesn't matter, because eventually the Qar will all all have died because of what our family did to them. So if I can repay even a little of the debt that the Eddons owe to Saqri and Ynnir and even Yasammez, then that is what I must do." have died because of what our family did to them. So if I can repay even a little of the debt that the Eddons owe to Saqri and Ynnir and even Yasammez, then that is what I must do."

The memory was washed away by anger. "You speak of Yasammez Yasammez that way? The b.i.t.c.h that murdered so many of our people?" that way? The b.i.t.c.h that murdered so many of our people?"

He waved his hand. "Go away, Briony-you cannot understand. We have no more to say to each other. Soon enough the Qar will be gone from here and I will go with them. You can rebuild your houses in peace-we are too few to trouble mankind again."

"When I saw you, I wondered at how much you had changed, Barrick," she told him. "But now I see that in the most important ways you are no different. It's still your own sorrows you care about and no one else's, and you still turn away from love and kindness as though it were an attack."

Her brother's pale face showed nothing-he seemed as unmoved as the sea itself. Briony turned and walked out of the cavern.

46.

The Guttering Candle " . . . He told Zoria that if she could lead him out of Kerniou, the Orphan could return to the world and the sun, but if she faltered or failed, he would have to remain among the dead forever."

-from "A Child's Book of the Orphan, and His Life and Death and Reward in Heaven"

HE COULD FEEL HER TRYING not to be amused, although he did not know why. The exact nature of what Saqri found funny often eluded him. Your sister has departed. Did it not go well? Your sister has departed. Did it not go well?

You know it didn't. You know it as well as I do, I'm sure.

I was not with you. I felt you, but at a distance. Still, the emotions were very great!

Even as she teased him with that strange indulgence she had begun to show toward him since she had been struck down, he could feel her fighting against her own growing weakness. Unlike Saqri, he was only just learning how to politely not notice things. Don't mock Don't mock, he told her. I am in pain. I am in pain.

Of course you are. But it is unnecessary. The People have ended. Never was it promised that we would all meet our ends in the same instant, but I doubt not this will be our last generation, at least for those of the long-lived. A few of us shall straggle on for years, but the Defeat has finally come. Your people do not carry quite the same burden as we do, so you likely do not understand that knowing the end has arrived is almost a relief to us. I am sorry I will not be here to see the last, bright flowering that will come of it-I am certain the art and music will be glorious and frightening in a thousand subtle ways!

But if there is no longer a People, Barrick Eddon, there is no need for you to sacrifice yourself. The Fireflower of all our mothers will be gone soon. Then someday soon, even if your time is elongated by what has happened to you, it will happen to you, too, dear manchild-the last Fireflower will flicker and die. Without the Fireflower's light, the Deep Library will become a stagnant pond. And without the memory of who we are, we will dwindle and die like any mute creatures. The song will go on without our voices. . . .

It was as if the closer she moved toward death, the older she became. She seemed nearly as ancient as Yasammez now. Perhaps it's the nearness of eternity and whatever it brings Perhaps it's the nearness of eternity and whatever it brings, he thought, but did not share it with her.

When you have finished your moment with the mortal girl, she told him, she told him, come to me. I would like to see you with my eyes. come to me. I would like to see you with my eyes.

He stood over Qinnitan for a long while, trying not to think. Before he left he lowered himself to his knees and took her hand, but it was so limp and cold, he could not bear to hold it. He kissed it and laid it back on her breast.

Saqri was on a bed that Barrick had asked be made, although if the queen of the fairies had been given her way, she would have been laid on the naked rocks and covered only with her cloak. If we are given the choice of how to die, If we are given the choice of how to die, she had said, she had said, we of the old ways, then we prefer the elements just as they are. It is good to learn to deal with the chill of night, because as it comes, death also blows its cold breath upon us. We learn to move less and think more. we of the old ways, then we prefer the elements just as they are. It is good to learn to deal with the chill of night, because as it comes, death also blows its cold breath upon us. We learn to move less and think more.

But you aren't being given any choice, Barrick had told her, and so the Daughter of the First Flower was kept comfortable and warm because she was too weak to have it be otherwise. I will not let you die here in this place, I will not let you die here in this place, Barrick had sworn to her. Barrick had sworn to her. I will return you to the People's House. I will return you to the People's House.

Foolish boy. Like Yasammez, I will die when the Book says I must die.

Liar. You are alive now when anyone else would have long since crossed the river. It is the strength of your will that gives us this time and you know it.

You saw your sister, she said. she said. She burns more brightly than I had guessed. She would have made a good mate for you. She burns more brightly than I had guessed. She would have made a good mate for you.

Barrick could only stare at her. That is disgusting. That is disgusting.

Not among our kind-not in our ruling family. I loved Ynnir before I hated him, and hated him before I loved him. I knew him each moment of my life. That is how entwined we were. But your ways are not ours, I realize.

Don't say such things. Besides, she and I are no longer close. I've changed too much.

Have you?

You know I have!

She smiled at him. It was such a small wrinkle of her lips that someone watching less carefully might have missed it. "All can be foretold," as the Oracles say. In truth, I think you should stay with your people . . . I am sorry, Barrick Eddon-with your other people.

Never! I can never live among them again. I am nothing like that anymore.

She went on as though he had not responded. I meant no insult. You have earned your blood with us as well, there is no doubt. Even the smallest and most distant of the People's clans will know about you. I meant no insult. You have earned your blood with us as well, there is no doubt. Even the smallest and most distant of the People's clans will know about you.

Barrick didn't care about such things-what did any kind of fame matter when the rest of his life would be little better than a long funeral procession as the Qar and their knowledge slowly died away? And at last he would die, too, either alone among a people that his family had helped destroy or as an alien in the land of his birth. Either way he would be a stranger to those around him.

Be of good cheer, Saqri told him. Saqri told him. Life is short at best. Even the long span of Yasammez was a mere flicker beside the stars, and the stars too will go dark some day. Life is short at best. Even the long span of Yasammez was a mere flicker beside the stars, and the stars too will go dark some day.

There was nothing to be said to such a blindingly joyful sentiment. Barrick nodded and turned away.

No, she said. she said. Come back. Please sit beside me. Come back. Please sit beside me.

When he had seated himself, he looked at her more carefully. Saqri seemed almost translucent, like a candle that had become little more than a sh.e.l.l, its wick burned far down inside it. Though he knew her blood was red like his, it was not apparent from the outside just now; she seemed to be something other than flesh, like the petal of a white lily.

Why did it all happen? he asked at last. he asked at last.

She did not need to ask him what he meant. It had to, dear manchild. The balance was too precarious to last forever. When Crooked finally died, everything tumbled loose. Now our time is over. It had to, dear manchild. The balance was too precarious to last forever. When Crooked finally died, everything tumbled loose. Now our time is over.

But why? Even without both halves of the Fireflower, there must be something left for the People! They don't have to simply lie down and die.

Almost a smile again. No, they need not lie down and die, Barrick-but our great age of blooming is over. Perhaps something will come after . . . perhaps . . . but I cannot see it. . . . No, they need not lie down and die, Barrick-but our great age of blooming is over. Perhaps something will come after . . . perhaps . . . but I cannot see it. . . .

She was growing tired, he knew, and he dared not waste her strength. Still, when she was gone, there would not be another person on all the earth who would understand him. Have I told you what I have found? Have I told you what I have found?

Her eyes fluttered but stayed closed. No, tell me, manchild. No, tell me, manchild.

It was just like the time before he knew the full horror of his father's illness, those days when Olin would move and talk like a man who had spent the previous days unpleasantly drunk. Poor, blighted man. He understood what plagued him less than I do, and I still cannot fathom it all . . . Poor, blighted man. He understood what plagued him less than I do, and I still cannot fathom it all . . . To Saqri he said, To Saqri he said, I learned from some of the Xixian prisoners that there may still be tribes of the People living in the southern deserts and the hills-the Xixians call them Khau-Yisti. And there are tales of beings who must have some kinship to our People in the islands to the south and west of Xand as well . . . I learned from some of the Xixian prisoners that there may still be tribes of the People living in the southern deserts and the hills-the Xixians call them Khau-Yisti. And there are tales of beings who must have some kinship to our People in the islands to the south and west of Xand as well . . .

He realized that Saqri was not listening anymore-she had fallen back into her deep, deep sleep, a retreat to a place just this side of death. Each time it was harder to draw her out, each time she returned there more quickly. Soon the other half of the Fireflower would be gone forever.

Ynnir? What shall I do?

But that voice had also fallen silent.

"Elan, just speak to me. Surely that is not too much to ask from a man who has loved you as truly as I have?"

She frowned at him, but not in anger. "You know I care for you, Matt. I will always be grateful that you tried so hard to rescue me from Hendon."

"Tried? Did!"

"Of course. For a time. But things have changed now-you must see that."

"See what? That you are throwing me over for a dying man . . . ?"

She drew back from him. "Gailon won't die! Back at Summerfield Court, he will have the best physicians. He can't die! The G.o.ds would not let such a miracle occur only to s.n.a.t.c.h it away!"

After the past weeks, Matt Tinwright had a different view of what sort of thing the G.o.ds would and wouldn't do, but he knew it was pointless to argue. Elan had loved Gailon Tolly since she was a girl, and now she would be able to nurse the dying man through his last months.

"There are miracles all around you, Elan," he said. "I should be dead! I was shot in the heart with a bolt from a crossbow. But the very prayer book I tried to give you stopped the arrow." He took the small book from his doublet and held it out. Torn parchment flowered from a jagged hole in the cover as big as a silver coin. "Look! My blood is on its back pages! If I hadn't had it, the arrow would have reached my heart, but instead it merely gouged me. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"It means that I was right to return it, Master Tinwright. If I had accepted your gift, you would have died."

Tinwright slumped. He had barely slept during the nights since Midsummer. Sometimes he thought that if he couldn't have Elan, his heart would break and he would die, too-sooner than Gailon Tolly, perhaps-and wouldn't Elan feel sorry then . . . !

"Come here," she said, lifting her pale hands. "Let me give you a kiss." And to his immense sadness, she did-a chaste, sisterly peck on the cheek. "I will never forget you, Matt. I will never forget you, or your sister, or your mother ..."

"n.o.body forgets my mother," he said bitterly.

"You could be a better son to her, you know. She only wants what is best for you. ..."

Tinwright's aching heart immediately shrank inward a little, nestling deeper in his ribs. He began to say something sour, then realized that he and Elan were not even speaking the same tongue any more. "Best for me? You must think I'm a child."

"I think you are a good, kind man."

"Which it does not take a poet to understand is the same as saying, 'I don't need you any more,' 'I don't need you any more,' am I right?" am I right?"

"Don't be angry, please."

"Angry?" He stood up and bowed. "Not at all, my lady, not at all. No, I am happy, because I have learned an important thing about love today-and that's a poet's proper study, isn't it-love? Farewell, Elan. I wish you and Gailon very well."

But when he looked back from the doorway after this n.o.ble, poetic leavetaking, Elan M'Cory wasn't even watching him leave with eyes full of regret and longing, as he had hoped. She had returned to her st.i.tchery.

"I saw no sign of him," Chert reported to Opal as he slumped onto the seat. "I asked all over town, and no one else has, either."

Opal could barely muster the strength to look up. "Why did he lie to me? Why did he tell me I would see him again?"

Chert sat beside her on the bench and wished for the hundredth time that they didn't have to shelter in his brother's house, but their own place on Wedge Road was too close to the area where Durstin Crowel and the renegade Tolly supporters held out against capture.

As if to remind him of all the miseries in his life, Nodule Blue Quartz picked this particular moment to come down the stairs and into the dust parlor that was currently serving as his brother's and sister-in-law's place of refuge. "Ah, Chert. Sitting about, I see. Surely you can find some way to pitch in and help-the Elders know, there is plenty to do these days." He nodded slowly, as if the weight of his responsibilities made even such simple movements difficult. "And someone was here from the guildhall claiming you are wanted upground at the castle." He laughed, but there was more than a little anger in it. "I imagine someone has simply mistaken you for me, but the fool of a messenger kept saying no, it was you who was wanted, so I suppose you must go and find out." Nodule nodded to Opal, shouldered on his cloak, and went out the front door.

Chert had barely heard what his brother said about the summons; he was still chewing over the insult. Pitch in and help? It was he who almost destroyed everything, Pitch in and help? It was he who almost destroyed everything, Chert thought. Chert thought. My own brother. He tried to stop me without even bothering to find out what I was doing. My own brother. He tried to stop me without even bothering to find out what I was doing.

Another thought came to him, one that had been there all along but he had been too busy to entertain. I had something to do with all that happened-with things turning out better than they might have otherwise. With the end of that autarch fellow. With us all being alive. I had something to do with all that happened-with things turning out better than they might have otherwise. With the end of that autarch fellow. With us all being alive. For a moment Chert wanted to run after his older brother and skull him with a rock. For a moment Chert wanted to run after his older brother and skull him with a rock. Me. Not him. Me. Not him. But so far most of Funderling Town knew only enough of what had happened to understand that Chert had been instrumental in destroying their most sacred places. But so far most of Funderling Town knew only enough of what had happened to understand that Chert had been instrumental in destroying their most sacred places.

He was startled out of his reverie by Opal's hand closing on his arm, a hard squeeze with fingernails in it. "Go to her," she said.

"What? Go to whom? Why?"

Opal's deep, crippling sadness had fallen away, replaced by a feverish intensity only marginally less worrisome. "To the princess, of course, since you must go up to the castle anyway. You saved her life! She will help us!"

"Saved her life? Perhaps. But she also saved mine. I told you, it was nothing so simple as ..."

"Tell her we need her to find our boy! Tell her all Flint did! She cannot turn you down-she owes you!"

"But, my love, Princess Briony has more than enough to do ..."

"What could be more important than finding our boy, you old fool? You heard what Antimony said-he saved Beetledown so he could deliver the Astion! And the Qar-Flint did things for the Qar, too, although I never quite understood. But . . . but our boy matters matters. Tell her that. Flint matters. She must help him!"

Chert shook his head, though he knew the battle was already lost. "I cannot simply go to Briony Eddon, the princess regent of all the March Kingdoms, and say, 'You must find our son.' She will think me mad."

"She will think you a father." Opal had that look, the one she wore when something was agreed upon, even if she was the only one agreeing. "She had a father herself-in fact she has just lost him. She will understand."

Chert sighed. The pain of Flint's absence was terrible, but he felt certain that begging the mistress of all Southmarch for her help wouldn't change things. If he still lived, Flint would not be found unless he wanted to be found. A new thought chilled him. If they never found Flint, would Opal ever be happy again?