“This is the perfect spot,” he said as they reached a secluded part of the lake. The high bank behind them shielded them from the view of the near estate. The thick layers of reeds warded them from the view of the rest of the shore.
A scarlet dragonfly buzzed past to hover over the green water.
The first good day of spring had arrived.
Ōbhin stood in the water, his chest bare, watching her with arms folded across his chest. His hands were naked. She smiled at him as Chames spread out the quilted blanket on the shore. She didn’t resist as he pulled her down.
“You know I’m glad,” Chames said.
“Oh?” she asked, glancing at Dualayn’s son. She could see the older man in the younger’s face, though Chames lacked the round jowls and soft cheeks. He had the brash angles of youth.
“That you found happiness,” he said, opening the basket and revealing the contents: purloined food and a bottle of strawberry currant. “You deserve to be happy.”
“Chames . . .” She blushed and then leaned against her promised’s shoulder. “You make me happy.”
“For now,” he said. “But not forever.”
Lightning crackled on the horizon. A storm lurked on the far side of the lake beyond the watching Ōbhin.
“I wanted it to be forever,” she said, taking his hand. Her fingers slid in them. “This moment here.”
“I did, too.” He smiled at her. For some reason, he looked soaked, like a deluge had swept over him. He wore only a shirt, his waistcoat around her shoulders. “I wanted this spring to never end.”
“But you got sick,” she said, memories intruding. She wanted to banish them.
“Don’t blame yourself,” Chames said. “It’s not your fault I died. You know that.”
She nodded and leaned her cheek on his wet shoulder. “Part of me wishes we never came out here.”
“And the other?”
“Remembers that hour here as the happiest point of my life. What if the storm never reaches us?”
“Then you would be stuck in a dream.” He stroked her hand. “Be happy. Don’t let my father steal any more from you. He’s a bastard who’s caused you enough pain.”
“I won’t,” she said, staring at Ōbhin. “I won’t forget you just because I found someone else.”
Chames stroked her head. “Just be happy. If I could have warned you about my father sooner, I would have. I didn’t know. Not until it was too late.”
His lips kissed hers. As the dream fled, her body waking, she clutched to the fading Chames. She didn’t want to let him go, but he became mist, the foggy vapors from Lake Ophavin that melt away in the morning sun. Her fingers passed through him.
She opened her eyes to see Ōbhin lying beside her, sleeping. She glanced out the window. Dawn lightened the horizon. She sighed and rested her head on his chest. Ōbhin breathed in sharply and shifted, groaning.
“Morning?” he mumbled.
“Yeah.” She chewed on her lower lip. “I dreamed of Chames.”
*
“Dreams are a resonance of the tones,” Ōbhin told Avena after listening to her dream of her past lover. A strange jealousy danced around the edges of his emotions. Nothing sharp. Nothing like he’d felt with Taim. Ōbhin knew he had nothing to fear. Chames had died. She only had her memories of him. She didn’t want to lose those.
He could understand that. Respect that.
“He said his father was a bastard,” Avena said. She sat beside him, her chemise hanging off her shoulders and falling down her body like mist risen from the snow higher up the mountain and spilling down its forested slopes. “It felt so real. Like he was there. He wanted me to be happy.”
“Maybe it was him.” Ōbhin shifted. “In Qoth, we believe that sometimes our souls don’t melt into the harmony of the Seven Tones. Our music still lingers. Wanting to communicate. Or maybe just the echoes of strong songs reverberating around through the immaterial.”
“Through where Tones broadcast. My mind.” Avena’s brow tightened. “If Chames thought his father was a bastard, did he know about the secret lab? Did he witness something? The last time I saw Chames, his father took him in there and . . .” She shuddered. “No, no, Dualayn loved his family. His wife and son. He wouldn’t hurt them.”
Ōbhin’s stomach sank. The lie spilled easily from his lips. “Of course not. But if Chames’s soul is lingering, watching you, then he knows what his father would do. I’d hate my own father if he’d done something like that.”
Does my father hate me for what I did? Shame for killing Taim had driven Ōbhin from Qoth. He had taken Foonauri with him, promising her a new life. He wondered about her. Had she found happiness in Guirreu, Ondere’s capital, to the south? Did that rich man she’d seduced shower her in jewels and luxuries? Do you hate me, Foonauri, for dragging you across the world?
I hate myself for doing it. I should have left you behind, but I’m selfish. I cling too tight. He glanced at Avena. She’d become his reason for escaping the darkness. She made him feel too much to stay in the mire, but if she were to die, would he be lost?
He’d have to be careful with Avena. Too much could destroy her as
