Prince of Storms Read Online Free PDF Page B

won’t say. And you won’t hear. Without words, we are saved.

    Honorable Jinda ceb Horat and Most Beautiful Ones.
    I came among you, a foreigner. Lost in the great void, I found rescue among you. You knew the pain of separation and abandonment in the void, and mercifully brought me to a saving ground. For that I give you humble thanks.
    Then I was a stranger in the cocreation of your great people. I did not speak your language or sit in Manifest. You did not know my heart, nor I yours. To learn, I asked for the tutelage of Nistoth, and as a Beautiful One, he accepted me, making me a member of those he instructed. For this I thank him with great fervor.
    Even though the Jinda ceb were kind, I missed my husband and my land. Time was a slow dance for my husband. We did not know what would happen to him, though you graciously allowed me to view him in his different world. I looked in upon him and I could barely perceive that he moved. He looked still as stone, but that was wrong. He did move, like a seed moves in the soil toward germination, he advanced toward his terrible fate. Thousands of days passed for me, during which time I suffered to know what would become of him. I looked every day, each time seeing a different position for him. He was moving toward things we could not know.
    When I finally saw that the Tarig meant to kill my husband, having him in prison, and Lord Ghinamid risen from his bier, I feared the death of the last hope of the Rose (that dark and splendid realm). I begged Nistoth to intervene though it would be an aggression, and not properly shared in Manifest. I urged the Beautiful One to haste. The Rose will die. My husband will die. Bring me into the Entire, I pleaded, and for the love the Beautiful One bore me, he carried me over.
    I do not know what effect this had in Manifest. I do not know if my departure was seen as ill considered. If there were unintended consequences I wish to express my deep remorse. I owed you nothing but honor and to submit to instruction as I had asked. I value every day I spent in the artistry of your lives, though it was an ache in my heart to be far from home.
    I did not say good-bye. My hope was to see my Jinda ceb friends again when you came home to the Entire. By my husband’s decree, that will be soon.
    I look forward with joy to seeing Nistoth again and my many Jinda ceb friends. I will be at your disposal to help you, if someone so unworthy as I can have anything to offer your most honorable selves.
    â€”Ji Anzi

    With his advisors, Quinn listened to the messenger’s report.
    â€œIt was as quiet as an Adda floating to ground. As gentle as a curtain opening.” The sturdy Jout spoke with a poetic sensibility. But the subject was cosmic geography: the minoral of the Jinda ceb brought into conjunction with the Entire.
    The Jout had finished his description of the great reconnection of the lost minoral of the Paion, although he had only witnessed the opening of the Scar to reveal the new minoral behind. He was a godder, it appeared. All of Zhiya’s operatives were godders or had pretended to be. This one wore a white sash as evidence of his calling.
    Quinn sat on a bench in the main room of the command tent. His occupation force—such as it was—looked like a camp. Some might wish for him to have formal quarters.
    Zhiya was one. She hated the title he’d adopted. But: “Regent,” she said,this being a council meeting, “the Jinda ceb may need a protective force near their minoral. They’re hated. An incident wouldn’t be helpful.”
    â€œThey beat back the Tarig for a thousand thousand days.” Quinn thought the Jinda ceb could take care of themselves.
    Tai stood by, wearing his jeweled sword as always and with active scrolls in case something needed recording.
    Anzi sat serene and warmer toward him today, if he judged aright. Thinking of her tangled in green silk robes sent a flash of desire through