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“I have also wondered this.”
“But I lingered and woke for a bit, and that’s when I wrote myself…”
And then we both said that letter at the same time.
“Even though we did not burn the book, the way you argued against the slavery of the spirit trapped in it was … magnificent. I like that Holtish word. It is one of the few words in this cold tongue that sounds like it should be Ispanthian.”
Her voice was so good to hear that I laughed a little lest I should sob again.
“You were, too,” I said.
She looked at me intently. “I was what?”
“You were magnificent. Out there. In the Giantlands. You fought kynd and giant alike and laid them all low. You became beloved of the crowds even though you were kynd and they were not. You heard your name chanted by thousands.”
“These things are unimportant. You know there is only one I long to hear say my name.”
“Your lovely queen.”
“Oh yes, her as well. Two, then.”
“Wait, you were talking about your goddess?”
“Yes. Of course I was.”
“You know, if I suspected at all you were a false shadow of yourself, you just proved to me that you are the fucking original. You great nutter.”
She nodded, permitted herself a rare smile.
“I had dreams of my other self, or so I thought,” she said.
“What did you dream about?”
“Many things. But one most often,” she said.
“What?”
“I dreamt I was a tiger.”
I nodded, took her by the shoulders.
“You were, you fierce, mad thing. For what is a tiger’s sister but another tiger?”
When I led her to her dead self lying in state in the wrecked cloud-ship, she touched her own cheek briefly.
“How?” she said. “Did I make a good end?”
“Oh, the best,” I said, knuckling away a tear at how good it was to hear her voice. “You killed all the goblin ambassadors and a Moth Knight.”
“Ambassadors?” she said, alarmed.
“They’re all good and dead, and a city that might have allied with the horde is buried under ash.”
Might have.
Those words were going to hound me to my grave.
The queen of Erydon fixing her king’s bad wig as he lay dead of fright.
