No Idrisi.

No men (because women never left Idris) in simple, tunic-style clothes that stood out in this display of color and excess. No men lingering off to the side, trying to force space between themselves and the others. No men actually mourning at this memorial.

This was merely a spectacle of compassion.

I pushed aside my uncertainties about Aaru’s deal with Altan as I slipped my hand into his, then tapped against his knuckles. ::Are you all right?::

The tension in his jaw eased, and he brushed his thumb against the inside of my wrist before he replied, ::I will be. Did you see him?::

At first, I thought he meant Nine (no), or the high magistrate (he wasn’t here yet), or Ilina’s father (still no), but when I followed his gaze westward, toward the cliffs and water, I saw who he meant.

Idris.

The god of silence loomed on the far side of the sea, golden sunlight spilling around him like honey. Hunched over in thought, Aaru’s god sat there while his people suffered. While ships like the Chance Encounter searched for survivors. While refugees washed up on foreign shores, isolated and scared.

I stared at Idris over there, just sitting, and I hated him a little. I hated all of the gods, willing to leave us like this. ::Who do you think is next?:: I asked Aaru, not thinking about how insensitive the question was until it escaped.

::Could be anyone. I had never dreamed Idris might be first. Could be—:: Aaru’s head snapped up, and he stared toward the door. ::Mother.::

His warning almost came too late. A small cry bubbled up inside my chest, but I bit it down as my mother strode through the doorway, surveying the garden as though considering whether she might purchase it.

She looked good, dressed in a long Daminan gown of clover green that whispered around her ankles. Her hair had been straightened and pinned back, revealing her strong cheekbones. Gold bangles chimed around her wrists, though they might as well have been cuffs. She was in the high magistrate’s custody, after all.

Mother’s cool gaze lit across the garden, coming toward me.

Quickly, I turned away and stepped behind one of the slender palms—not to hide, but to obscure myself. ::Warn her,:: I tapped to Aaru, and then slipped toward the edge of the roof like I wanted to look across the city.

The pressure of Aaru’s presence eased as he walked toward my mother.

Then her voice carried through the garden. “You’re—”

Though it must have been painful for him to not only speak aloud but interrupt as well, Aaru did. The drone of conversation eclipsed his voice, but I could feel it deep within my spirit. Like a skipped heartbeat, or shift of the earth, he affected me in unseeable ways.

Mother’s voice came again, a curl at the end like a question, but the words were lost to distance. Several moments later, Aaru returned to my side, and his finger tapped against the railing, next to mine. ::She will not come to you.::