Narseh

Justin stood by the stables, holding Iride’s reins, when little Justina toddled toward him on her unsteady legs.

“She’s so big!” she gasped, gazing at the horse with wide-eyed awe.

The mare was chestnut, and so was Justina — how could she be anything else, born to two red-haired parents? She was growing so fast. It seemed to Narseh that only yesterday she had been a sweet, slightly bald infant, and now she was already such an independent little girl.

“For you, yes. But she’s gentle,” Justin reassured her with a smile, scooping her up into his arms.

“Would you like to give her a treat?” Narseh suggested. “Trust begins with a gift.”

“What does she like?” Justina asked.

“She likes apples. Or, here…” Narseh handed her a small piece of dried fig.

Justina clutched the treat in her tiny fist, hesitated, then stretched out her hand. The mare touched her palm with soft lips, carefully took the fig, and smacked her lips in satisfaction.

Justina giggled.

“She liked it!”

“Of course,” Narseh nodded. “And she likes you, too.”

“What do you think, Mother?” Justin turned to his mother, who stood a little apart — a woman with neatly arranged silver hair, wrapped in a richly embroidered cloak. The air was crisp, the garden only just beginning to stir after winter.

When Lyn had crafted Justin’s persona as Patrician Aquila, he had sworn that not even his own mother would recognize him. But he had been wrong. Julia Claudia had recognized her son — or perhaps Justin had revealed himself to her, once it became clear that he was no longer in danger of an untimely death. Narseh wasn’t sure. They kept his true identity a secret, and the more distant relatives still believed Justin to be dead. But Julia Claudia had become a frequent guest at the Owl House. Her husband and other son had passed away, and Justin’s return from the land of the dead — or rather, from the land of the Arya, though to her mind it was surely the same thing — had been a miracle. It touched Narseh deeply, how this otherwise sharp-tongued woman softened around Justin, afraid that fate might steal him from her again. Though, of course, she did not approve of his methods of raising his daughter, let alone his relationship with that woman.

“Putting a three-year-old on a horse — and a girl at that…” she muttered doubtfully.

“If we only lead the horse by the reins, it’s perfectly safe,” Justin tried to reassure her. “Iride is very calm.”

But that was not the only thing worrying his mother. Narseh usually tried not to read the thoughts of Lady Julia Claudia, but at that moment, she was thinking too loudly.

Justin, of course, raises her this way out of kindness, because he thinks it’s right — but what will become of her later? She’ll grow up believing she can do anything, and then she’ll face the real world, where women are raised to be women…

“Don’t worry,” Narseh said softly. “If we don’t show Justina many things, how will she ever know what she loves, who she wants to be? The world is vast, and no matter how she turns out, she will find people like herself somewhere. Perhaps she will take a liking to the land of the Arya?”

“The land of the Arya, of all things… And who will inherit my estate then?”

“Mother, it is far too early for you to be thinking about that!” Justin exclaimed.

“Well…” Julia Claudia relented. “She is of an old family of riders, after all…” Then, as if to clarify, she added, “I mean our family, of course, not that woman’s, nor her demon-possessed father.”

Justin carefully set the girl onto the horse’s back.

“Don’t be afraid, I’ve got you,” he said.

And he truly did. He held her firmly by the waist with both hands. It was a miracle Lyn had wrought — some strange magic had given Justin his hand back. The hand, entirely black as if drawn in ink, looked odd, so Justin concealed it beneath plates that resembled a prosthetic. But it moved well.

The garden was covered with lilac clumps of blooming crocuses. The air smelled of grass, tree bark damp with dew, and young shoots. Narseh closed his eyes. Lately, he had been flooded with memories — painful yet precious, as if they might overflow at any moment. Even this scent — just the scent of a garden! — for a brief instant transported him back to his childhood, to the home of his first teacher. That teacher had been Afshin — not a healer, but an herbalist. Narseh’s parents had sent him to Afshin at the age of seven, thinking the boy’s interest lay in plants. Afshin quickly realized they were mistaken: Narseh could feel the life of plants, their delicate veins, their fragility. And yet, he did not see within them as he would soon see within people and animals — the currents he could direct, the wounds he could mend. But Afshin did not send him away. Your gift is stronger and rarer than that of those who speak with plants, he had said. But do not squander it where the human body can heal itself — plants will always be your faithful allies in medicine…

Narseh remembered sitting beside him, watching as Afshin dried flowers, ground leaves, blended thick ointments from roots. He recalled the white stone table where his teacher carefully arranged freshly picked herbs, explaining their properties in a gentle voice. All living things, Narseh, obey the same laws…

Smiling quietly at the memory, he took the mare by the reins, and they began a slow walk along the garden path.

“It’s so high up!” Justina gasped in fright.

Narseh halted.

“Are you scared?”

She nodded.

“In a good way or a bad way?” he asked gently. “If you don’t like it, you can get down.”

The girl thought for a moment.

“Mostly in a good way,” she finally decided.

They walked on.

“You have a big family?” Julia Claudia asked suddenly. “Lots of brothers and sisters?”

Narseh had not expected that turn in the conversation. To tell her about his family? No, why trouble her with war’s grim reminders…

“No, I’m an only child,” he said.

“You’re good with children.”

“Well… There are always many children.” He did not say there were. “When a new member of the clan is born, everyone helps — even the other children. It is hard work to give a child all the love and attention they deserve, and that burden should not fall on the parents alone. If a parent ever feels the slightest fatigue, the smallest trace of irritation — if even for a moment they regret that their duties distract them from their greater purpose — that is terribly wrong. And if you see even a shadow of such thoughts, how could you not help? So everyone helps however they can. And I helped too… It is such joy, caring for little ones! Watching them marvel at the world makes everything seem twice as bright…”

“A fine way of life,” Julia Claudia said skeptically. “But fit only for saints. If children are such joy, why did your parents never have another?”

A familiar, old pain. He might have had sisters or brothers… Yes, of course, he would have, if not for those last years of fear — the years when war loomed ever closer. And then—

Perhaps, in the end, it was better that they had not.

Silence stretched between them. Only the sound of the horse’s steps and Justina’s light laughter filled the air.

“Have I offended you somehow? I’m sorry, I’m a simple person, I say what’s on my mind...”

“No, no… They took their time because it’s a great responsibility. Everything had to be carefully considered, so that a child would be nothing but joy, not a burden. Besides, the Arya live longer than humans in Bizanth, and their fertile years last much later…”

“That’s true, Mother. With the Arya, you can hardly tell their age, even when they are old,” Justin interjected, clearly trying to steer the conversation away from uncomfortable territory.

“Well, not that you can’t tell at all, but… A healthy lifestyle helps a lot, until the body’s resources are depleted beyond what even magic can reverse.”

“So magic can make someone younger?” Julia Claudia asked with interest.

“I was talking primarily about lifestyle…” Narseh sighed.

Then Justin turned slyly to his daughter:

“And I’m not holding you anymore, have you noticed?”

For a moment, Justina clutched at the horse’s mane in fright. But then she proudly puffed out her chest:

“I’m riding all by myself! Look, Narseh, look, Grandma! By myself! Just like Mommy!”

A wave of tenderness swept over Narseh. He pictured his own mother on horseback — a sight he would never forget. She had been the best chovganplayer in their entire settlement. He could see it clearly: the wind tossing her long black braids, the sun glinting on the beads embroidered into her clothing, her infectious laughter as she and the other riders chased the woven ball with their long mallets, trying to drive it through the opposing team’s goal… And his father — the way he used to look at her! As a child, Narseh often wondered if anyone would ever look at him that way — or if he would look at someone else like that himself…

He surfaced from his thoughts to hear Julia Claudia asking the little girl:

“When did you last see your mommy? You must miss her.”

Justina’s face darkened.

“I do miss her… Mommy works a lot.”

“As if there aren’t enough men in politics already…” Julia Claudia pursed her lips. Justin replied:

“I, for one, think there are too many men in politics and far too few women.”

“Did you pick up such speeches from those Arya of yours?” she muttered. Whether it was meant as praise or reproach, Narseh couldn’t tell.

“Mommy works so there won’t be war,” Justina suddenly said, her voice clear and firm.

Justin laughed, though without much mirth.

“A three-year-old understands better than you do… And Mother, I’ve asked you more than once not to speak ill of the woman I love.”

“Well? Not so scary anymore?” Narseh asked the girl, hoping to defuse the brewing family quarrel.

“A little…”

“That’s normal — a little fear is good. It makes you careful and, in time, a skilled rider.” He leaned toward her and whispered: “Just don’t tell the horse you’re scared.”

Justina grinned mischievously.

“I won’t…”

She was already sitting much more confidently in the saddle.

“Papa, can I go faster?”

Justin laughed.

“Not yet. But when you’re older…”

Justina pouted.

“I’m already grown up!”

The mirror parchment tucked inside Narseh’s jacket flared warm. He took it out; the message was from Lyn:

Are you awake?

Narseh wanted to reply, Of course, it’s already ten in the morning :) — but then remembered that Lyn had spent half the night on horseback and had likely only gone to sleep at dawn — if he had slept at all.

Yes. I spent the night in your bed in our grotto, as you asked :) he replied. Why aren’t you sleeping a little longer? You must be exhausted. Did you and Ardashir safely deliver those people where they needed to be?

Yes, they are fine. I can’t sleep anymore, I’m already in the Great City, at a Council session. They’re probably going to talk about the Arabiya again because apparently, the world has run out of other topics... If no one bothers me, I might nap here for another hour. I promise I’ll be fresh and lively when we meet! Are you with Justin?

Yes, I’m with Justin, his mother, and his daughter. Narseh hesitated but decided to write: Seeing them fills me with both joy and sorrow. As always, I can’t stop thinking about my family... I’m probably just dampening everyone’s spirits.

How Lyn would react to the upcoming conversation was a mystery. Narseh had no idea how to bring up the subject. Lyn had never asked about his relatives... Maybe now he finally would?

But instead, Lyn replied:

I’m sure Justin is happy to see you, even if you talk his ear off about those qi flows in the body of yours... And I, before the Council, visited that very city I want to show you today. I think you’ll like it! I found an empty room where I caught a couple of hours of sleep. Rented it for another night too, by the way. And it has quite a large bed ;)

Narseh sighed. He should respond with something playful, but instead, he just tucked the parchment back into his jacket. In general, he liked exchanging messages with Lyn like this. But right now, he just wished Lyn were here. That he could see this beautiful spring morning, this wonderful little girl (though Lyn had seen her plenty of times and never showed much enthusiasm), her fear and delight, Justin’s pride...

With Ardashir, he might have written something like that — and sometimes, he did. But Ardashir already knew about his longing for his family, knew about his dream of continuing his lineage... Their correspondence was different from how Narseh wrote to Lyn. Ardashir disliked discussing the minutiae of daily life and steadfastly refused to engage in any kind of erotic exchange — whether out of some lingering sense of propriety or because he knew full well that Narseh wouldn’t have minded in the least, and thus chose to tease him with this restraint (perhaps both). He wrote infrequently but at length, when he had something interesting to share — musings or events. He wrote beautifully. And though Narseh adjusted to his style, responding in kind — truthfully, he’d prefer more frequent messages. Even the smallest details — whether his beloved had woken up yet, where he had spent the night, what he had eaten — none of it was trivial to Narseh. Or if only Ardashir would stop keeping secret the things that so obviously should have been said long ago!

Narseh was still seething after the visions he had seen in Kiyanoush’s memory the night before.

And yet, despite all the grievances — oh, how he wished he could show them both what was in his head right now!

It was so easy to imagine that he was not in Justin’ villa garden but back in Juniper Land. He had been the same age as Justina when he first sat in the saddle before his mother, and it had been spring then, too… If only he could find the words to describe this to Lyn in a letter: how his mother had wrapped her arms around his waist, smiling down at him, telling him not to be afraid — he remembered it all as if it had happened only yesterday. How they had stood atop the hill, and from the horse’s back, the world stretched far and wide: mountains rising in the east and north, dense forests blocking the view to the west, but to the south — the river valley unfurled, vibrant with new shoots, swathed in soft mist, stirring from its winter slumber…

And he wanted to tell them about everything else, too — everything!

Lyn would understand. He had to understand…