With an effort, Michel started toward Dominic. He's no longer Menelaos, as I am no longer Honoria. And both of us must make peace with that. As he came close, the great bronze wings of Dominic's aura drew in protectively. Michel realized that he, too, had drawn in his wings, and with an effort, relaxed. He came within touching distance and reached out, palm up. "Hail, Ninshubur," Michel said, in the ancient language of the House. Like so many things in the past two weeks, it felt strange and at the same time utterly familiar. "It is good to meet again."
Dominic's aura pulsed, and then, slowly, as if he expected Michel to attack, he grasped the proffered hand. "Hail, Ea, and the morning light shine upon you. It is, indeed, good to meet again." His fingers curled around Michel's hand and would not let go.
Michel felt a surge of pity. Dominic looked hopeful, desolate, and very lonely. "Peace be with you," he said. Surprising himself as well as the other djinn, he leaned forward to give a quick, chaste Kiss of Peace.
Dominic flinched. "Don't feel sorry for me."
"I don't. In fact, I'm very angry with you! But ... I hope we can come to a truce."
"Truce?"
"Can we live amicably?"
"I mean you no harm," Dominic said, touching the spot on his cheek where Michel had kissed him. His gaze was hungry.
Michel stepped back. "Not any more than you have done?"
Dominic forbore saying whatever else he had planned, and said instead, "Very well, if it is a truce you want, I will make a truce with you. Furthermore, I beg your pardon, most humbly, for forcing your consent to be Transformed, Michel de la Roche-en-Ardennes."
Michel dipped his chin, his back rigid. "Then we have a truce between us, for the good of the House. And I--" The next words were difficult to speak. "I beg your pardon for--" kissing you, "--attacking you unjustly, when I awoke. I was ... confused."
"Has your confusion passed?" Dominic asked, ironically.
Michel, stabbed by Honoria's memory of Menelaos, who would never have shown such raw hurt or anger to her, did not reply.
Dominic's nostrils flared. Then he said, "I accept your apology." As if he couldn't help himself, he went on. "I have one question for you. Have you chosen simply to deny that you were once Honoria?"
"Honoria is dead," Michel grated. Liar, she whispered in his mind.
"Dead to me, I see," Dominic said, his face averted. "Well, but you are alive, and that is worth more than any penalty I might be called upon to pay."
"Even your own life?"
"There is no torment in the Underworld, nor any care, nor love. I would die for you with more joy than I have lived without you." His aura fluttered like a dying heart.
Michel covered his eyes. He could not bear the other's suffering, nor dredge up any part of the fury he had felt on waking and realizing the luck of the Underworld had deserted him. Them.
Damn, agreed Honoria.
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