“Give me your hand and close your eyes,” Rhys said. “I want you to imagine yourself back in the bayou.”

“When?”

“When you’d taken the boat and were searching. Just before the Wolf found you.”

He leaned in and took Sabine’s outstretched hand. This was a memory spell he could only use on other Irin. It didn’t work on humans, and it didn’t work on a reluctant subject, but Sabine was open to sharing. She’d shown no reluctance to answer their questions. He cradled her palm in his and spread her fingers, using his other hand to write a spell into her palm.

“Do you see yourself there?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He touched his own talesm prim, activating the spells he’d written over his life. He searched for those his father taught him and those his mother helped him with. Angharad the Sage was known for her empathy, but when the subject was willing, she could extend that ability to all her senses, not only feelings. Rhys carried her blood, and his mother had taught him how to access the same power through written spells instead of spoken ones.

“Picture it in your mind,” he said.

The memory that Rhys caught hints of wasn’t clear in any sense, but it gave him impressions. Scents, mainly. Water carrying a faint essence of rotting wood and salt. Cypress and pine trees. He could hear the swishing sound of a tail moving in the water and a woman humming an indistinguishable tune.

His hands hurt. He’d blistered them poling through the water, ducking under branches, and following narrow pathways through the flooded forest. He was hungry. Desperately hungry.

He could hear birds in the distance, calling through the trees. A distinct bugle that cut through the dense tapestry of insects in the early morning fog.

“Rhys.”

He blinked his eyes open, his finger still tracing the spell over Sabine’s palm. Meera had her hand on his shoulder.

“Was I speaking?” he asked.

Meera looked confused. “Yes, in the Old Language.”

“What did I say?”

“You were singing an Irina song. An old children’s rhyme.”

“Which one?” He tried to reorient himself from the vision. “It was likely what Sabine was singing or thinking in the memory just now.”

Meera said, “Anya niyah, mashak tamak.”

Rhys drummed his fingers on his knee. “The boat rocks, pull to shore. I know that rhyme.”

“We all do, don’t we? It makes sense if Sabine was singing that,” Meera said. “She was frightened and alone.”

Sabine smiled. “Why would I sing a children’s song?”

“You were a singer desperate for another one of your kind to find you,” Rhys said. “Just because it’s a nursery rhyme doesn’t mean it’s not powerful.”

Anya Niyah was a simple song most Irin children were taught when they were small. But like all nursery rhymes, it had a hidden meaning.

Anya niyah. The boat is rocking. Things are unstable in the world. It was a plea and a prayer directed by children to the Creator when life was uncertain or they felt fear.

Mashak tamak. Pull to shore. Go home. Seek the familiar. The Creator responds to his children by leading them home.

But Irin adults knew that mashak tamak had another meaning as well. When a child who was singing it truly felt fear and need, it was a song of attraction. A simple magic that would pull an adult to them. It was a pull Rhys had felt himself.

“The Wolf found you because you called her,” Rhys said, looking up. “You called out while you were going through the bayou.” He squeezed Sabine’s hand before he released it. “I have a sense of the place now. It’s not clear, but it’s more than I had before.” He looked at Meera. “I need an audio file of birdcalls. I’m not familiar with the birds here. There was one in particular that was very distinctive.”

She nodded. “I can’t promise you they’ll be helpful. There were birds around in the early nineteenth century that are probably extinct now.”

“We can try.”

Sabine and Roch stood and exchanged a look before Sabine spoke. “If you don’t need us for anything else,” she said, “I’d like to spend the rest of the day with Roch.”

“Of course.” Rhys stood with them. “You know… a simple mating ceremony doesn’t take long. I know I don’t know either of you well, but if you want to be together, this sickness shouldn’t hold you back. And there are healing spells only a mate can sing.”

Sabine gave him a sad smile. “You don’t understand.”

Rhys looked at Roch. “You’re devoted to her and no one else. You are her other half whether she is in her right mind or not. If you could dream walk with her, it could center her, even when her mind is unwell.” He looked at Sabine. “He won’t leave you. Not ever. Whether you think you’re the best for him or not. If you were sick in body, you wouldn’t have these doubts. Being sick in the mind is no different.”

Roch looked like he wanted to add something, but he didn’t. Rhys saw him squeeze Sabine’s hand tight before he nodded and pulled her away.

“Anya niyah,” Meera whispered behind him. “Mashak tamak.”

“Yes.” When life was uncertain, as it was so often for the Irin, it was even more important to have people you could call your home. Rhys turned to her. “Will they listen to me?”

“I don’t know. I’ve told them similar things, but they know I care for them. You’re an objective observer. They might give more weight to your words.”

He was frustrated that he couldn’t do more. It was quite obvious to him that they were mates in every sense except formally.

Rhys held out his hand to Meera. “Will you show me Havre Hélène?”

She had the same look in her eye as she’d had when he’d asked her to dance. Desire and stubborn defiance. He didn’t know what the latter was about, but the former was starting to become clear.

Meera was maddening and brilliant and confusing and enticing. She was untouchable and irresistible. Both his mind and body were attracted to her, but Rhys was starting to grasp a deeper truth.

With a woman like Meera—heir of a magical legacy or not—he might just fall in love.

* * *

They walked for an hour around the farm, Meera pointing out the different technical aspects of growing and processing sugarcane while Rhys listened. She managed to make anything interesting, just by her own passion and intellect.

“Is it very different here?” he asked. “From where you grew up?”

“Yes, very different. The weather, the people, the food. The closeness of the community here.” She waved at two women walking to the house from the cane fields. “Everyone works together. There are fewer boundaries. Fewer set roles. And of course a lot fewer people. We have a cook and a healer and a forewoman for the farm. But if the cook is tired, then my father fills in. If Alosia wants to visit the city, another will tend to our wounds. It’s very different in that sense.”

“Udaipur was more formal.”

“It is much more formal.” She smiled. “I’ll have to go back eventually. This is… kind of a vacation for me.”

“A vacation to find a lost strain of Irina martial magic?”

She glanced at him sideways. “I want to find history. You’re the one looking for war.”

“I’m looking for knowledge, but only to share it with those who would bring balance.”

Something about his words softened the firm set of her mouth.

“Balance,” she said. “Yes, Vasu and I talk about balance.”

“Now would be a good time to explain him.”

Meera shrugged. “There is nothing to explain. He appeared to Anamitra when she was a child and followed her through her life. I wouldn’t call him a friend or an ally, but… he’s not an enemy either. He’s not anything like other Fallen.”

“That I can confirm.” He glanced down and watched the light play in her hair as they walked under dappled shade. “And you’ve known him since you were a child?”

“As soon as I was given to Anamitra, Vasu appeared for a visit.”

“Given to her?”

Meera raised her eyebrows. “Yes, of course. I was her heir.”

“But your parents—”

“They were there. They have always been there. They were part of Anamitra’s retinue and then became my retinue when Anamitra passed into the heavens.”

Rhys paused under a spreading dogwood tree. “So your parents didn’t raise you?”

“In a sense they did.” A frown creased her forehead. “But it was mostly Anamitra and her servants.”

Rhys didn’t know what to say to that, but a part of him ached for her. “Were there other children?”

She shook her head. “Not that I was allowed to play with. But I had pets. Anamitra kept birds, and the Tomir warriors breed a wonderful line of taji dogs in Udaipur. They were my favorite.”

Dogs and birds and a fortress of people guarding her.

“Don’t try to make my childhood tragic, Rhys.” Meera smiled at him. “It wasn’t. It was very rich and very privileged, even if it was isolated. I had a wonderful life and I was surrounded by family. But I was raised for more than myself. The heir of Anamitra must return to Udaipur at some point, and she must make herself available to counsel any petitioners or scholars in need. That is how it must be, especially now that singers have returned to the Elder Council. They will need the wisdom that I carry.”

“And you’re content with this?”

She looked at him. “What about you? I know who you are too. Are you saying the great library of Glast doesn’t call you?”

“No, it doesn’t. I would be there if I wanted to be, but the work I’m doing in Istanbul is important. I want a stable and secure world for everyone, not just scribes. Singers deserve equal status in our world, and right now that means finding ways for them to defend themselves.”

“Yes, defense. Not war.”

“Sometimes war is defense.”

“How?” Meera asked. “Why do we limit ourselves in this way? What use is language if we don’t use it to communicate?”

“With our enemies?”

“With anyone.” She paused. “Yes, our enemies. Yes, with free Grigori. Yes, with each other. I’m not just here looking for lost magic or dying languages. The Irin here found a peace that lasted for five hundred years. No other population of Irin on earth have matched that before or since. I’m looking for the Wolf, yes. But I’m also looking for peace.”

He was staring at her and he couldn’t look away. She wasn’t just an idealist, she was a visionary.

She’ll either change the world or get herself killed.

And there was no way in heaven or on earth that Rhys could walk away.

“Well, I don’t know about finding peace,” he said. “But I can help you find the Wolf. Istanbul can exist without me for a while.”

“What about Glast?”

“There are many other scribes of Gabriel’s line in Glast,” he said. “They don’t need me.”

“But they want you, don’t they?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Well, I have been told I’m very handsome.”

Meera laughed and walked past him. “I said handsome, not very handsome.”

“The very was in your voice.” He followed along the path behind her. “I could hear it. I’m very perceptive.”

She laughed louder. “And very humble.”

“Exceptionally humble, really. Very clever.”

“Do continue.” She waved her hand in royal fashion. “I need to know my new assistant’s qualifications.”

Assistant? Yes, he could be her assistant. Especially if he got to watch her walk ahead of him like this, her hips swaying beneath another bright summer dress. “I’m also very curious.”

“And very persistent?”

“Very persistent.” He caught up with her. “And very… attracted.”

She stopped walking, but she didn’t look at him.

“Meera,” he said softly. “Surely you feel—”

“It’s not a good idea, Rhys.”

“Why? Because you don’t have relationships with Irin men?”

“That’s one of the reasons.”

“So you’ve never experienced—”

“Don’t assume.” She turned and looked up at him. A hint of the mischievous woman he’d met in New Orleans had returned. “There are songs of sacred lovemaking that are taught only by the singers of Udaipur. Scrolls of magical congress preserved by the Tomir warriors.” Her gaze was direct. “I am well-educated in all aspects of Irina history.”

She walked away, leaving Rhys’s mind reeling.

Scrolls of magical congress? He thought he’d read everything, but he hadn’t read those. His mind was churning and his body was screaming for him to follow Meera.

Tell me more.

Show me more.

Heaven above, please show me more.

A loud bell rang at the main house, signaling the start of the midday meal.

* * *

Roch and Sabine hid themselves away for the rest of the day, but Roch found him the next morning before Rhys had found any tea.

“Yes?” He opened the door of the small guest cottage. “Oh, it’s you. Good morning. Where can I find some damned tea?”

Roch smiled. “Main house will have it. Patiala only drinks tea, so there’s always hot water on the stove.”

“Good.” Rhys scratched the stubble he been indulging for the past few days and squinted at the bright morning on the farm. Verdant lawn stretched to the cane fields, dotted by cottages and small garden plots. Smoke rose from the outdoor kitchen behind the house, and he could already hear hammers and saws going. The haven was a hive of activity.

“How many scribes live here?” he asked.

“A few.” Roch shrugged. “Most of us came with our mothers or our mates. I was born at a different haven just north of here. My parents left a few year ago after the elder singers took seats on the council again, but I stayed.”

“Because of Sabine.”

Roch nodded.

“How is she this morning?”

“The same.” Roch started walking away. “Come up to the library in the main house when you’ve found your tea. Patiala wants to meet you.”

“Lovely.” Rhys yawned and stretched his arms over his head, enjoying the soft morning breeze that rustled the cane in the distance. Birds sang from the oak trees, and he could hear laughter and music from different corners of the haven. He even caught a hint of Sabine’s gramophone and wondered what Roch meant by “the same.”

It wasn’t his business. He should keep his nose out of it.

Meera’s mother on the other hand…

He hadn’t missed Sabine’s slip, and he hadn’t dismissed it, even though Meera had sailed right past it as if nothing had been said. Coming to be her mate? It was an interesting twist to an already interesting situation. Maybe Patiala had intentions she hadn’t told Meera. Maybe Meera wasn’t keen on her mother’s interference. Heaven knew Rhys could understand that.

He decided to shave. After all, this meeting might be far more interesting than he was expecting.

* * *

Patiala of Udaipur, niece of Anamitra and mother of Meera, was smaller than he’d imagined. Tiny, in fact. She was the same size as her daughter and appeared roughly the same age, but while Meera had soft curves he wanted to handle, Patiala had muscle intended to intimidate.

“So,” she said from the head of the table, “tell me what you will do to further my daughter’s research.”

“I have some ideas having to do with a memory I was able to extract from Sabine yesterday. One of those ideas has to do with tracking avian populations in the Atchafalaya Basin where Meera believes the Wolf is living. Another has to do with tracking folklore among human populations.”

Patiala’s eyebrows went up. “You play no games, scribe.”

“I have no interest in being reticent with information.” Rhys glanced to a side door where Meera had just entered the library. “Your daughter is brilliant, and we’ll find the Wolf faster if everyone is forthright and works together.”

Patiala looked pointedly at Meera. “Indeed.”

“Don’t look at me that way. I’ve shared my information with Rhys,” Meera took across the table from Rhys. “He’s seen the research I’ve done so far.”

“Most of what Meera has collected is important for preservation, but it’s not geographically significant. If your haven desires to find Atawakabiche, I believe my tactics will do that most quickly. However, I’ll need her help when we locate the singer.”

“Why?”

“She’s hidden herself for somewhere around three hundred years. She obviously doesn’t want to be found. It’s far more likely she’ll speak to one of her sisters than to a scribe she doesn’t know.”

Patiala folded her hands under her chin. “And you’re confident you can find her?”

Rhys recalled the feelings of desperation, hunger, and fear Sabine had passed to him with her memory. “I think if the Wolf truly believes we need her, we will find her.”

“Interesting.”

Patiala fell silent, and Rhys took the opportunity to drink his tea. It was a truly excellent Darjeeling that she’d poured for him and his first indication that Patiala might not hate him. He certainly couldn’t tell from her expression. It wasn’t often outside Turkey that Rhys found a tea enthusiast as passionate as he was, but this well-balanced blend from Nepal would send the tea blenders of Istanbul into raptures.

Patiala said, “I find your confidence reassuring, scribe. I was told you are a proud man.”

“I am,” Rhys said. “I am the best at what I do. I was born from a line of scribes who have been guarding Gabriel’s library for thousands of years. I have no false modesty about my abilities.” He kept his eyes locked on Patiala, absorbing the intense stare of the Irina singer and warrior without flinching. “But despite how my brothers joke, I am not arrogant. I can work well with others if they are equal to me.”

Patiala turned to Meera. “I approve of him.”

“Mata, don’t start with this.”

“You avoid this part of your life, Abha.”

“Don’t.” Meera’s expression hardened and she turned away from her mother. “Just don’t.”

Rhys knew he needed to tread carefully. He was getting a picture of what might have put the reluctant look in Meera’s eyes when it came to a relationship with him, but assumptions were dangerous.

“I’m pleased and honored to work with your daughter.” He directed his words to Patiala. “It’s clear her work on language and cultural preservation is very important, and it will likely create a bridge for us with the Wolf. We are asking her for a favor, so Meera’s work will assuage any suspicions Atawakabiche might have about us merely using her for her magic.”

“Pragmatic too.” Patiala sipped her tea. “But you do intend to record her martial magic if you are able.”

“Absolutely. The singers in Vienna need it if they’re ever to regain their leverage over the council and be seen as equals.”

“I like your thinking,” Patiala said. “Yes, equality is what we need.”

“Equals in war,” Meera said. “Equals in violence. Equals in destruction. This is the equality we strive for?”

“Equals in a language the scribes’ council currently understands,” Rhys said. “After the elder singers regain status, then we can work on changing hearts and minds.”

Patiala set her tea down on the table. “I really approve of him.”

“I wonder why,” Meera muttered.

Before the conversation could get any more fraught for Rhys, he rose. “I hope you don’t mind if I try to find Roch this morning. I’d like for him to be our guide, and I think I may have a way of convincing him.”

“You are excused,” Patiala said. “Thank you for your candor, Rhys of Glast.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned to Meera, nodded, and walked out of the room, feeling like he’d just passed a test.