“I miss him,” Niko whispered. “I loved him, and sometimes I think I hated him. I’m nothing like him and don’t want to be. Yet somehow all I want is to live up to him.”
Anden understood how Niko felt, although he also knew his own grief had not yet fully arrived. Rather than shut down entirely, he’d thrown himself headlong into the things he could do: helping Shae to make the funeral arrangements, working on his election campaign, handling questions from the media and condolences from all parts of the clan including tributaries and overseas offices. On some level, he did not yet believe that Hilo was gone and expected his cousin to walk through the door at any minute. The mind cannot adjust quickly to a fundamental change in reality without breaking. If the moon vanished from the sky, people would not believe it; they would think it was a trick of light or clouds. Anden felt it would be a long time before he accepted the truth.
Niko turned to him. “Is there any way, any chance at all, that I can persuade you not to run for the Royal Council? If there is . . . I would ask you to be my Pillarman.” His expression was almost childlike in its hopefulness. “I trust you more than anyone, Uncle Anden. You’ve always been a Green Bone in your own way. You’ve never held any official position or lost yourself to the clan, yet everyone knows you’re a man of No Peak. You’re always honest with me. I’m going to need your advice now, more than ever.”
Anden looked down at his hands. In the silence, he could hear the mingled strains of harp music and the muted noise of people from the enormous gathering outside, too large to fit in the courtyard and spilling all over the estate grounds. “I’ve thought about suspending my campaign,” he admitted. “I’m not sure I can handle it right now, and it seems selfish. But then Jirhu asked me what I thought Hilo-jen would want me to do, and of course, I know the answer to that.” He raised his eyes back to his nephew. “I’m sorry, Niko-se. As you said, I’ve always made my own way in the clan without any official position. It’s been the right thing for everyone, I think. It should stay that way.”
Niko’s face fell, but he nodded as if it was the answer he’d been expecting. Anden added firmly, “You can always come to me, no matter what. I don’t have to be your Pillarman for that. And I’m not the only one, of course. Your aunt Shae says she’ll remain Weather Man for another year, and Terun Bin will be a worthy successor. Lott is a strong and prudent Horn, and there are the Juens, and your sister is the sort of Green Bone every clan needs. And your ma—she knows the clan best.”
“She hasn’t spoken to me.” Niko’s voice was quiet. “I think she blames me, again.”
Anden shook his head. Wen had not spoken to anyone as she kept vigil day and night for her husband’s spirit. If his presence were to appear to anyone, it would be to her. “It’s only because she loved Hilo so much that it seems that way to you. She’s too green in the soul to leave us for very long.” Anden stood. “If you’re willing to take my advice right now, I’d say you should choose Maik Cam to be your Pillarman. Your cousin has a lot of common sense and is an old friend that you can count on to care about you and always tell the truth.”
Niko was silent for a time. “Thank you, Uncle Anden,” he said at last, and stood as well. “If there’s anything else you need from the clan that would help your campaign—money, volunteers, anything at all—you only have to ask and it’s yours.”
The tentativeness and vulnerability slid away and he spoke like a Pillar. The sense of grave burden was still there, but there was also, Anden saw with relief, composure and acceptance. Anden felt a heavy weight lift off his chest, one that he hadn’t known had been sitting there until now. He’ll be okay.
As Anden left the study, he saw Wen come silently into the hall, walking slowly and with care, a white-clad vision of sorrow and dignity. She seemed unspeakably delicate yet enduring, like a finely wrought vessel, broken and hollowed out, but too strongly tempered to crumble off its pedestal.
Anden stepped aside as the widow and matriarch of No Peak walked past him toward Niko, her immaculately powdered face held as still as a ceramic mask. She stopped in front of her son. The Pillar’s fragile new confidence wavered and slipped off his shoulders. Anden saw his throat bob, twice, and his mouth trembled as he looked into her eyes. “Ma,” he said.
Wen did not speak, but her quiet strength seemed to fold in on itself like the petals of a flower in the cold. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms tightly around Niko with a whisper that Anden couldn’t hear. Like a child, Niko buried his face in her shoulder, and Anden, heart aching, quietly shut the door of the study.