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“W-who d-do I-I c-call?”
“My mother, Queen Erani, originally a Princess of Rama. She died a queen of Prozeus.”
Rowan did not protest further. She closed her eyes, her hands gripping mine and Aruna’s. Then, she started chanting. It was a familiar chant in the language of Rama. I had heard the exact strange words from my mother so many times.
A door slammed somewhere. Strange. There was barely any wind in Tarkus. Even the oasis where the Seers lived was often hot. You would not expect much of a breeze here. Then, there it was. We could feel it ourselves.
It seemed that a medium’s appeal could also create some wind. But would Rowan be able to conjure a storm? My mother had never done so, at least not when I knew her.
Then, there it was.
That voice.
“Metheus? Why did you call on me, Metheus?”
My mother’s voice sounded like a beautiful crystal, tinkling with the wind. It had always been soothing. It still was, then.
“Mother, can you let us see how you are connected with the Touch? Are you of the Touch?”
There was a soft gasp. Then what sounded like a sob, but soon my mother seemed cheerful. A smile played on Rowan’s face. It was eerie because she looked like both my mother and my sister. It was like seeing a younger version of my mother, Queen Erani, herself.
The hand being held by Aruna tugged urgently. Rowan was taking some of the Head Seer’s power so that all would see her vision of us in the room.
Then, there it was.
I saw my mother and father as a young couple. My mother looked so much like Rowan. They were seated in a courtyard, unlike the one in Prozeus. This one looked like it was near the desert sands, showing what looked like Rama.
“Come with me, Erani,” my father said.
“Why would I do that?” she asked, but the tilt of her brow was flirtatious, and the smile on her face showed that she liked him.
“You know that not everyone wants us together,” she claimed.
“Why not?”
“The colors of our skin -” she started.
“Who thinks about these things nowadays, Erani? We are in Arrowspear, not Ruzata or Mogochislenia. We do not deal in hate. Or do we?”
“Perhaps you are right, Doro. However, I am still of Rama and you of Prozeus. I am an unexpected and possibly unwise choice.”
“There is nothing unwise about me choosing you,” my father insisted fervently.
“Your woman – the Prozeus duchess – she wants you. Is she not your lover?”
I frowned. I knew my father had women before my mother came along, but this sounded more serious than mere dalliances. A duchess?
“She was. It is all over now. After I met you, I parted ways with her.”
“Oh, Doro. I wish I could simply forget another woman’s pain.”
“She is now betrothed to someone else, Erani!” my father’s voice raised a notch, but his face revealed a slight fear that he would hurt her. Offend her, somehow. I remembered how in love they were.
“Why did you not tell me, then? Are you now courting me because Devorah is about to get married?”
Devorah? Could it be? Could they be talking about Ari’s mother?
“No. Of course, not. Erani, I have known you for two years now. The betrothal is recent.”
