Looking closer, she began to understand. Sometimes this manifestation of Mirar’s memories had spoken using Leiard’s voice. He had found it disturbing, understandably. He was afraid she would be repelled by it.

“I have always managed to regain control,” he assured her.

“I see. I can understand why that would worry you, but why does it concern Arleej? I would have thought she’d be happy to have this link with your former leader.”

“It’s just that…” He paused. “It doesn’t bother you?” he asked hesitantly.

Auraya shrugged. “They’re only memories. They’ve been quite useful to me, actually. What you told me about the Siyee was invaluable.”

He looked away and she sensed he was still troubled.

“It bothers me,” he said. “He doesn’t like us together. He says we endanger my people.”

Auraya felt a small stab of hurt. A part of him didn’t want her. That’s not entirely true, she told herself. These memory links are from a man who hated and feared the gods and who was killed by Juran at the gods’ bidding. Of course I spark an echo of fear in his mind.

“I don’t agree with him,” Leiard said.

“So you argue with him?”

He looked at her in surprise. “Yes. But…not when you’re here.”

She smiled, relieved. “Then I am good for you.”

His lips curled up at the corners. “Yes.”

Yet she sensed a hesitation. She looked deeper and understood. To give in to this other personality would also bring peace. It was tempting, sometimes. She sat down and wound her arms around him.

“We’ll fight him together then. I’ll help you any way I can. When this war is over,” she added. “Can you wait that long?”

He ran his fingers through her hair. “I’d wait centuries for a moment with you.”

She grinned. “There you go, getting all romantic on me again. You’ll only have to wait a day, not centuries. I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

She leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were warm. Pleasant memories rose. She wanted to touch him, but resisted. Instead she pulled away and stood up.

“You had better get dressed and see me out.”

He pouted, then grinned and threw off the blankets. Naked, he began to gather his clothes from the floor. She watched him dress. There was something both fascinating and sobering about this reclothing. As if he was putting on an identity at the same time. When he had finished, he ushered her to the entrance like a respectful and attentive host.

“It was pleasant meeting with you again, Auraya of the White,” he said formally.

She nodded. “As always, I hope. Give Dreamweaver Elder Arleej my assurances.”

“I will.”

He held open the tent flap and she stepped outside. Lamplight from within spilled out, illuminating the dark shapes of other tents. Then the flap closed and all was darkness.