Epilogue #3
It didn't take long for the xintari – a role that was, from what I'd gleaned, a bit like a government clerk if that clerk also was a death priest and lawyer – to appear from the hallways behind us, and I immediately folded myself back up into the shape of a perfect virra, quiet as I stood next to Araxis's side.
The xintari, younger than I expected with a short crest and an incredibly ornate cowl, opened a gleaming opal door set into the shelves to produce a scroll, unfurling it carefully on a lectern mounted to the floor, presumably for this very purpose.
I watched as Araxis and the xintari reviewed the names in our creche's record.
Quietly, Araxis murmured the names to be added, each one copied in as he spoke the syllables.
I watched, chest tight and aching, as the xintari paused after hearing my name, thinking for a moment before writing an abayan approximation into the Creche Thiel record.
And, look, I'm appropriately embarrassed that I got misty eyed over some paperwork, but how could I be unaffected by what it meant?
I would be there forever now. I would be part of this creche for as long as Xitera existed.
Even a stricken creche, though the lights in their archives might be dimmed, wouldn't be removed.
Everything became part of Xitera's history, the cultural archives of all abaya.
It was all here, forever – or for however long empires lasted.
Araxis must have felt the same flare of tenderness that I did, because he looked up at me the moment the xintari finished writing my name, and his eyes gleamed with the same liquid warmth and certainty.
Once the list of adults was finished, Araxis took the stylus from the xintari and added his assent, declaring the list complete.
And then they added the names of the three children of Creche Thiel, who watched with massive eyes and pleased, gleaming skin, as they were written officially into the creche.
The spectre of illegitimacy was, with the stroke of a pen, banished forever.
I tipped my head against Araxis's shoulder once it was done and the xintari left, giving us privacy to inter the remains of those our creche had lost. The particulars of the ceremony were lost on me, but Celravi sang a beautiful, haunting song; Yalrinn read a poem; and then, with infinite tenderness, the metallic cases that held fragments of Inniral and Avelthe were tucked away within the shelves where all the dead of Creche Thiel who had made the long journey back to Adralne resided.
Araxis didn't cry and I didn't either, but my eyes still grew hot and Adrathi buried her face against my thigh while I stroked her crest, gentle.
"Should we give them some time?" I murmured, trying not to look at Evreni and Yalrinn as they wept.
I thought Evreni, in particular, wouldn't want me to see.
Araxis nodded, and we stepped out of the little alcove to a small seating area just beyond.
Vivith gathered the children up and brushed past us.
"We will see you later tonight in the suite," they said with a quick, backwards glance.
"Do not forget: we are eating early so that we might take the children to see –"
"Yes, The Shadow of the Swordsworn," Araxis finished, lips twitching. "Sashen has reminded me twice a day for the last three days."
I was maybe a little excited about seeing a theatrical production in person, and this time I'd be able to understand what they were saying. Well, mostly. I'd still miss a lot of subtext. But who needed subtext when there were swords?
Vivith trilled, and for a microsecond, their nose wrinkled in amusement before they brushed the expression away.
"I might gently suggest you take the opportunity to change before the show," they added, dry.
"You are both looking – decidedly creased.
" And with a disapproving look that was entirely bullshit and we all knew it, Vivith turned and headed away with three happy children in tow.
"Some might say creased," I said. "I like to think glowing."
He trilled then, and opened his mouth to say something else – which probably would have been very cute; everything he said was pretty fucking cute these days, when he wasn't being incisive and brilliant in meetings and on the floor of the Assembly – but it was then that Celravi rounded the corner, a sound of distress sharp in her throat.
At once, Araxis was on his feet. "Are you well?"
"I – Yes." Celravi's eyes were bright, her mouth trembling. One hand was pressed to her chest, rubbing distantly to self-soothe some distress. "But – Araxis, I know you have not had an inavil here to tend to the dead in many years, so I thought it my duty to do so."
"That is kind of you," Araxis said, reaching for her hand and taking it in his. At the touch, she softened a little, her subvocal losing its sharper edge. "Tell me: what has upset you?"
Celravi, who had never seem distressed in all the time I'd known her, swallowed, her skin as pale as her crest. "Araxis, your Thalidi is not here."
I watched the words land, watched it in the way Araxis's spine straightened, vertebrae by vertebrae, in the way his shoulders stiffened, in the sudden, tense energy that rippled through his frame. "What do you mean, she is not here?" he asked, voice low.
"Her reliquary is not interred here. I have checked. She is not here."
I watched the two of them and saw the way they were looking at one another, wide-eyed and shocked.
As if something awful had happened. "Does that mean that they –" I couldn't exactly ask if they'd desecrated her corpse when they murdered her.
"That her remains weren't returned to the archive?
Is that common when there are executions? "
Araxis released Celravi's hand and turned to me, his features tight.
I could hear a low, distant whine from his throat, not quite distress, but close to it, or maybe layered with something else.
"No, Sashen," he said in uneven Standard, as if he wished to communicate with me in a way he was absolutely certain I would follow, as if what he was about to explain was so important that he couldn't risk misunderstanding.
"Any arkathi who is executed is still interred with their creche.
It is an Assembly proceeding, and so the Assembly assures it is handled appropriately.
Or – they are meant to. If our Thalidi is not here – If she has not been laid to rest with our ancestors –"
He turned back to Celravi, something unspoken passing between them. "I agree," she said. "It is the only explanation."
When he looked back at me, his eyes were gleaming with silver tears, reflecting the blue light overhead. "Sashen, it can only mean one thing: our Thalidi is alive."