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He smiled at her with little humour. ‘Us commonfolk will be spared the ordeal, although I imagine some public display will be in the offing. These symbols are necessary, if only to ease our anxiety.’
‘Lady Sandalath’s mind is broken,’ said Sorca, squinting at the bowl of her pipe.
‘There is a steep toll to trauma,’ Prok replied. ‘Her mind must distance itself, find a place of retreat. Possibly,’ he mused, ‘a childhood memory, some refuge.’
‘She speaks like no child, surgeon.’
‘No, I suppose not. Something has twisted in her soul.’
‘Do you fear for the child?’
He shot her a glance. ‘Which one?’
Sorca looked away, said nothing as she smoked. Then, abruptly, she spoke again, though her tone was laconic. ‘How fares the ledger, I wonder?’
‘Excuse me? What ledger?’
She made a face. ‘Who died, I mean. Lord Anomander? Captain Ivis? What of Lord Draconus himself?’ When he made no answer, she continued. ‘I like the gate sergeant, Yalad. So very earnest, don’t you think? And considerate, of the lady, and the girl-child. I hope he still lives.’
‘It falls to that, doesn’t it? Details of administration now, with you clerks and list-makers venturing out from the shadowy alcoves. Who gets what, who pays, who gets paid. Missives sent out to families in the countryside, regretful in tone, yet urging an everlasting pride in the ones who sacrificed their lives defending … whatever.’
She studied him through the smoke. ‘You dislike my kind, don’t you?’
He shrugged. ‘The need for organization demands attention, once the dust settles, or, in this case, once the blood sinks into the mud. Do I dislike the clerks, so crucial to civilization’s vitality?’ He let out a breath. ‘Probably. Scratching styluses instead of familiar faces, columns and lists instead of dreams and desires. Life’s sacred wonder, reduced to notations. What do we give up, Sorca, with this need to organize, categorize, summarize?’
‘Granted,’ she said, ‘mine is a soulless task, a task demanding soullessness, a task ensuring a soul’s surrender. You cannot imagine, Surgeon Prok, the soul’s slow death, in the repetitive twitching of a hand.’
Prok studied her for a long moment, and then he stepped close, reached down, and took her hand. She lifted her gaze to him, and managed a broken smile.
* * *
‘Hello, Mother,’ said Orfantal, rising from the bench. ‘This is her? My sister.’
Sandalath stood near the door, holding the hand of the small girl with the raven-black hair and luminous eyes. Her eyes remained fixed upon her son, wondering what it was about him that frightened her. The steadiness of his solemn gaze seemed to drain all certainty from her, and she felt a burgeoning desire to abase herself before him, seeking forgiveness.
He strode forward then, smiling at Korlat. ‘I’m Orfantal,’ he said to her. ‘Your brother. I’m here to take care of you.’ He glanced up at Sandalath. ‘Isn’t that right, Mother?’
She shook her head. Waking nightmares had begun plaguing her. Something was stirring inside, all cruel edges and stinging rebuke, as if some part of her now hovered overhead, whispering down a host of unpleasant truths. ‘You weren’t good enough for any of them. The children he dragged from you, one failure after another. He pushed them through—’ She shook her head a second time. He was a god, she now replied to her other self. He chose me. Me!
‘Mother?’
Sandalath nodded. ‘No. She will protect you, not the other way round. Even if it takes her life, Orfantal, she will protect my perfect, beautiful child.’ She paused. ‘I may not always be there, you see. I may have to go away again.’ She pulled her hand free of Korlat’s grip, and it proved easier to do than expected. ‘Take her now,’ she said to Orfantal. ‘I am going to my room.’
‘Your room?’
‘I have lived in the Citadel before, you know!’ Her harsh retort made both children flinch, and Korlat hurried to Orfantal, and he took his sister into his arms and lifted her, anchoring her on one hip.
Sandalath saw Korlat’s small, pudgy arms wrap themselves tight about her son’s neck. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s better. I never planned on you, Orfantal. It was all a mistake. But now I see. There was a reason, after all, a reason for you. You count, but she doesn’t.’
‘I love her already,’ said Orfantal.
‘She’ll grow past you—’
‘I know,’ he said.
‘And she will protect you for ever.’
‘Soon,’ he said, ‘I will be as her younger brother. There is the blood of an Azathanai in her.’
