change anything because it might jeopardize Westwind. And you'd never jeopardize Westwind.”
Ryba's arms tightened ever so slightly around her daughter. “I wouldn't do anything to threaten Dyliess.”
The silver-haired girl wriggled as if Ryba were holding her too tightly. “Ah . . . wah! Wah!”
“I know.” Nylan's voice was flat. “Nothing can be allowed to threaten her-or your dreams.”
“What about your dreams? Your mighty tower? What about your plans for the sawmill?”
“I've written them out, with sketches, and I've discussed them all with Huldran-even the gearing. She can finish building the mill. She'll do what you want, just like all the others.”
“The smith and the singer . . . off into the sunset, leaving the hard work for everyone else.” Ryba's lips twisted. Her eyes seemed bright, brighter than usual, and she looked down at the plank floor, then out the window. Her left hand stroked Dyliess's hair.
“You have a strange definition of hard work, Ryba.” Nylan snorted. "I did the building, and you and everyone else thought I was obsessed, crazy. But this past winter, no one complained when they were warm and cozy, when they had running warm and cold water.
“You schemed behind my back. You used me to get Siret and Istril pregnant. Who knows who else you tried with? And I didn't even see it. I should have, but I didn't. In my own clumsy way, I trusted you.” He looked toward the empty trundle bed in the corner. The cradle he had made was down on the fourth level with the guards. He swallowed. Should he even try to say more? “You don't trust anyone.”
“You've decided, haven't you?” she asked again. “The words don't matter. You've decided. You and Ayrlyn. Just go. Take what you need. I know you. You're so guilt-ridden you'll be more than fair. Just go. Let us get on with life.”
“Leave me some time with Dyliess.”
“Why? You're leaving.”
“You owe me more than that. I'm only asking for a little time with my daughter. She won't remember it-but I will.”
“You don't have to leave.” Ryba's voice was even, almost emotionless. “You've built Westwind. As you keep telling me.”
“No. I don't have to leave. I can have every guard here pity me. I can live here for the rest of my life, wondering whether I can trust you. I can risk everything and then wonder if you care, or if it's just for another monument or legacy for the future. Because I've come to care for someone else, what would happen to her? Would you drive her out or dispose of her?” Nylan's voice remained level. “After all, nothing can be allowed to get in the way of your dream.”
"It's not like that. I did what had to be done. Do you think that I liked killing Mran? Or seeing two-thirds of my crew wiped out? I relive that a lot. Do you think that I like seeing you leave, no matter what I've done? Do you think that I'll enjoy looking at all those cairns at the end of the meadow for the rest of my life? It's easy to criticize and to leave, Nylan.
It's a lot harder to build something and live with the pain."
“How you build is important, too,” the engineer answered.
“I built you and the guards an honest tower. An honest bath house. An honest smithy. Honest stables. Even the beginning of an honest metaled road to the rest of the world. You built with deception. You deceived me. You deceived Istril, Ayrlyn, and Siret. And, in the end, however long Westwind lasts, that deception will bring down your work.”
“You won't change, Nylan. You're just as deceptive as I am The difference is that I recognize it, and you won't.” Ryba stood, waiting for Nylan to take Dyliess. “What I build will last, and only your name will remain, a vague legend about a mighty mythical smith, and that will be because I had Ayrlyn write a song about you.”
“You have an answer for everything, don't you?”
“So
Ryba's arms tightened ever so slightly around her daughter. “I wouldn't do anything to threaten Dyliess.”
The silver-haired girl wriggled as if Ryba were holding her too tightly. “Ah . . . wah! Wah!”
“I know.” Nylan's voice was flat. “Nothing can be allowed to threaten her-or your dreams.”
“What about your dreams? Your mighty tower? What about your plans for the sawmill?”
“I've written them out, with sketches, and I've discussed them all with Huldran-even the gearing. She can finish building the mill. She'll do what you want, just like all the others.”
“The smith and the singer . . . off into the sunset, leaving the hard work for everyone else.” Ryba's lips twisted. Her eyes seemed bright, brighter than usual, and she looked down at the plank floor, then out the window. Her left hand stroked Dyliess's hair.
“You have a strange definition of hard work, Ryba.” Nylan snorted. "I did the building, and you and everyone else thought I was obsessed, crazy. But this past winter, no one complained when they were warm and cozy, when they had running warm and cold water.
“You schemed behind my back. You used me to get Siret and Istril pregnant. Who knows who else you tried with? And I didn't even see it. I should have, but I didn't. In my own clumsy way, I trusted you.” He looked toward the empty trundle bed in the corner. The cradle he had made was down on the fourth level with the guards. He swallowed. Should he even try to say more? “You don't trust anyone.”
“You've decided, haven't you?” she asked again. “The words don't matter. You've decided. You and Ayrlyn. Just go. Take what you need. I know you. You're so guilt-ridden you'll be more than fair. Just go. Let us get on with life.”
“Leave me some time with Dyliess.”
“Why? You're leaving.”
“You owe me more than that. I'm only asking for a little time with my daughter. She won't remember it-but I will.”
“You don't have to leave.” Ryba's voice was even, almost emotionless. “You've built Westwind. As you keep telling me.”
“No. I don't have to leave. I can have every guard here pity me. I can live here for the rest of my life, wondering whether I can trust you. I can risk everything and then wonder if you care, or if it's just for another monument or legacy for the future. Because I've come to care for someone else, what would happen to her? Would you drive her out or dispose of her?” Nylan's voice remained level. “After all, nothing can be allowed to get in the way of your dream.”
"It's not like that. I did what had to be done. Do you think that I liked killing Mran? Or seeing two-thirds of my crew wiped out? I relive that a lot. Do you think that I like seeing you leave, no matter what I've done? Do you think that I'll enjoy looking at all those cairns at the end of the meadow for the rest of my life? It's easy to criticize and to leave, Nylan.
It's a lot harder to build something and live with the pain."
“How you build is important, too,” the engineer answered.
“I built you and the guards an honest tower. An honest bath house. An honest smithy. Honest stables. Even the beginning of an honest metaled road to the rest of the world. You built with deception. You deceived me. You deceived Istril, Ayrlyn, and Siret. And, in the end, however long Westwind lasts, that deception will bring down your work.”
“You won't change, Nylan. You're just as deceptive as I am The difference is that I recognize it, and you won't.” Ryba stood, waiting for Nylan to take Dyliess. “What I build will last, and only your name will remain, a vague legend about a mighty mythical smith, and that will be because I had Ayrlyn write a song about you.”
“You have an answer for everything, don't you?”
“So
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