She was all but invisible when she reached the main gate of the palace. She was known here, and recognized, from the many visits she had made to her son when he lived in the royal nursery with the god-child, Gys- kouras. She was not greeted, as she passed into the interior corridors, for much the same reason.
There were others here who knew her, who mumbled a greeting with their eyes averted from hers as they picked up their pace to be gone from her shadow as quickly as possible. It was, perhaps, a great honor to be the mother of a godling. Certainly the slave-dancer who’d been the mother of the other child did well by her servants, suite, and jewels, but such motherhood did not inspire mortal friendship. In truth, though, Seylalha, with her lithe beauty, would have found her nest of luxury without Gyskouras’s help and Illyra, confidante to half of Sanctuary, had never had any friends.
Aside from Dubro and Walegrin, whose relationship to her was defined in ways other than friendship, there was only one to whom Illyra could bare her soul: Molin Torchholder. And it was a sorry state when a god- less S’danzo claimed counsel with a Rankan priest.
At that moment, however, Illyra wore her isolation like armor and strode by the stairway that would have taken her to Molin’s cluttered suite. She had her destination clearly in mind; a sheltered cloister that caught the sun without the chill wind. A place certain to have flowers even this late in the year.
The little courtyard was empty-deserted for considerable time and given over to weeds. Two hardy roses held onto brown-edged blooms, their scent all the stronger for the frost that had doomed them. The rest was yellow-top, white lace, and, in the most sheltered comer, a patch of fiery demons-eyes. Illyra was grateful she had no allergies as she gathered an armful of the blooms and settled onto a sunlit stone bench to weave them into a garland. She’d learned the flower braiding in a vision once. Her mother had certainly never taught her, nor Dubro, nor Moonflower, who’d told her what she’d needed to know about womanhood and her gift. She’d learned other things as well: bits of song and poetry, snippets of lovemaking, tricks for killing with a knife or sword. She knew too much to be just one person-and she’d loved Lillis because she yearned to share herself with someone, anyone, who would understand.