The Power and the Glory

Book 4 Chapter II: Brother and Sister

I have to remind myself to breathe -- almost to remind my heart to beat! -- Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

The tea was too hot for Abi's taste. She watched the steam rise from its surface as if it was the most interesting thing she'd ever seen. She took note of things she'd never considered worthy of notice before. The teacup was white and painted with blue flowers. It was the sort of teacup that had a lid[1] -- something that before now she'd only seen in Mirio's house, or when the Gengxinese ambassador was visiting. The tea was a blend she didn't recognise, and it smelled much sweeter than anything she was used to.

The person opposite her set his teacup down with a faint clink. Abi didn't have to look up to know he was staring at her. She could feel the weight of his stare like something pressing down on her. It was deeply uncomfortable.

Everything that happened since the meeting in the garden was a blur in Abi's mind. She couldn't remember how she had ended up in a tea shop in a part of the city frequented by foreign tourists, or if she had said anything to her... to the... What was he, anyway? The logical part of her mind refused to accept the evidence of her eyes. Imrahil was dead. Imrahil had drowned years ago--

And his body was never found, a little voice whispered. He has no grave. Just a memorial with his name on it.

The shop was warm but Abi shuddered. She wasn't sure if she was cold or if it was the effect of the stranger staring at her so intently. Part of her wanted to yell at him to stop. Another part wanted to ignore him in the vain hope that maybe he would go away. Most of her just wanted the world to start making sense again.

This morning Abi had thought she'd know everything about herself and her family. She was the ninth child of Hartanna and Mihasrin. She had an older half-brother and her oldest full brother had died tragically when she was a child. She was the most scandalous person in her family. Now everything she thought she'd known had been uprooted. She could hardly have felt more confused if the sun had risen in the west, or if she'd drunk water and found it was dry.

A small group of musicians in the corner played a tune she faintly recognised. A noisy party of foreign tourists -- from Ublad, judging by their language -- sat at the next table. Steam still rose from the surface of Abi's tea. She picked up the cup and took a sip, carefully avoiding looking at the stranger opposite her.

Aunt Jiarlúr would be looking for her soon. Maybe she was already turning the Gengxinese palace upside down, trying to find Abi and not knowing she wasn't there. Aunt Jiarlúr, who would immediately recognise her long-lost and supposedly-dead nephew. Abi trembled at the thought of what would happen if her aunt ever met-- But that was ridiculous. The man sitting opposite her wasn't Imrahil. He was just a very strange foreigner living in the Gengxinese court. She'd just been tricked by a passing resemblance to a portrait. Even if Imrahil was still alive, it was impossible he'd look exactly like a portrait painted over a thousand years ago. And people didn't just stumble upon long-lost siblings. It was all ridiculous and it made her head hurt to think about.

She was so lost in her thoughts that it gave her a start when the stranger finally spoke.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

His voice was quiet and even, and he spoke Saoridhian with an upper-class accent. Her parents' accent. Abi flinched involuntarily. Then she forced herself to look up and meet his eyes.

Even though she'd only seen his portrait once, Imrahil's face was stamped on her memory. If she'd been given a pencil and a piece of paper she could have drawn him. She stared at the stranger and it was like seeing the portrait again. He was thinner and paler, but that was the only difference between them. His eyes were still pure silver and unusually large. With a jolt she realised they were the exact same shape as her grandfather's. There was something about the shape of his nose and mouth that reminded her of her mother.