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She faced him then, startled, prepared to be angry.
“Glad that you didn’t disappear,” said Olivenko. “Glad that you trusted me enough to stay.”
Param shook her head. “I can’t speed up time when I’m crying. Or slow myself down, or whatever it is I do. That’s why I learned not to let myself cry or scream. Instead I vanish. Only I’m trying
not to. Trying not to let it be a habit.”
“You want to do it only when you decide,” said Olivenko.
“Yes,” said Param.
“You’re not crying now,” said Olivenko. “But you’re still angry with your mother.”
“Angry at myself for letting her take me by surprise,” said Param.
“She’s your mother. Of course her plotting against you took you by surprise.”
“She’s not my mother, she’s Hagia Sessamin. She does things for royal reasons, not personal sentimentality.”
“That’s the lie she tells herself to excuse her crimes,” said Olivenko. “You can believe her if you want, but I don’t. I think she acts only for personal reasons, and never once thinks of the kingdom.”
Param felt her anger flare up, but stopped herself from speaking sharply. How could she defend her mother after what the woman had done to her?
“It’s like your father,” said Olivenko. “The best man I ever knew. He said that he was pursuing a way through the Wall for the benefit of the whole kingdom. He talked about how the opening of the border would free everyone, widen the world. But it was all very vague. What he really wanted was to find some reason to exist.”
“He was Sissamik,” said Param. “That’s a reason to exist.”
“It’s an office. A title. He told me once—just once, mind you—that he was a mere decoration on the costume of a deposed queen. An accessory, like shoes, like a hat. If his wife ruled, he would still have no power; since she did not, he was worse than useless.”
“He was wonderful,” said Param. “He was the only one who treated me like . . .”
“Like a daughter.”
“Like a little girl,” said Param. “But yes, like a daughter.”
“He found you fascinating. ‘She’ll be Sessamin someday, after her mother, and if she has power she’ll have the power to be a monster if she wants, like her great-grandmother, the boy-killer.’”
“He said that?”
“It wasn’t an insult—it was one of her self-chosen titles. She killed all her male relatives so that no man could rival her daughter for the Tent of Light. She chose Knosso to be your mother’s consort, and left strict instructions that he was to be killed after he fathered two daughters.”
“Two?”
“Just in case,” said Olivenko. “Your mother bore Rigg instead, and then Knosso never quite managed to sire another child on her. So he never found out whether someone would have carried out old Aptica Sessamin’s command. There had been a revolution in the meantime, but that didn’t mean some old royalist wouldn’t try to fulfill the old lady’s wish.”
“He must have talked very candidly with you.”
“More like he forgot I was there, and talked to himself. He wanted to do something great. Maybe he did—but then he died, so he didn’t get to enjoy the fruits of his labor. He passed through the Wall, and then drowned. Was there a moment there in which he said, ‘I did it!’ and savored his triumph? Or was it all just the hands of the monsters from the sea, dragging him down?”
“I thought you said he was unconscious.”
“That’s what the learned doctors declared, but I suspect it was only to console your mother. I think he was struggling. I think he was awake.”
“How awful.”
“Awful for a few moments, and then he was dead. The cruelest means of dying still ends the same. With release.”
“Release,” said Param. “It sounds pleasant.”
