Yet when I emerged from the stall, I was surprised to see Ras Onchi beside the sinks, obviously waiting for me.
For a moment I considered letting my confusion show, then decided against it. I inclined my head instead and said in Nirva—the common tongue of the north long before the Arameri had imposed Senmite on the world—“Good afternoon to you, Auntie.”
She smiled, flashing a mouth that was nearly toothless. Her voice lacked for nothing, though, when she spoke. “And to you,” she said in the same language, “though I’m no auntie of yours. You’re Arameri, and I am nothing.”
I flinched before I could stop myself. What does one say to something like that? What did Arameri say? I didn’t want to know. To break the awkwardness, I moved past her and began to wash my hands.
She watched me in the mirror. “You don’t look much like your mother.”
I frowned up at her. What was she about? “So I’ve been told.”
“We were ordered not to speak to her, or your people,” she said quietly. “Wohi and I, and Wohi’s predecessor. The words came from the Consortium Overseer, but the sentiment?” She smiled. “Who knows? I just thought you might want to know.”
This was rapidly beginning to feel like an entirely different conversation. I rinsed my hands, picked up a towel, and turned to her. “Have you got something to say to me, Old Aunt?”
Ras shrugged and turned to head for the door. As she turned, a necklace that she wore caught the light. It had an odd sort of pendant: like a tiny gold treenut or cherrystone. I hadn’t noticed it before because it was half-hidden on a chain that dipped below her neckline. A link of chain had caught on her clothing, though, pulling the pendant up into view. I found myself staring at it rather than her.
“I have nothing to tell you that you don’t already know,” she said, as she walked away. “If you’re Arameri, that is.”
I scowled after her. “And if I’m not?”
She paused at the door and turned back to me, giving me a very shrewd look. Unthinkingly I straightened, so that she would think better of me. Such was her presence.
“If you’re not Arameri,” she said after a moment, “then we’ll speak again.” With that, she left.
I went back to Sky alone, feeling more out of place than ever.
I had been given three nations to oversee, as T’vril reminded me that afternoon, when he came to continue my hurried education in Arameri life.
Each of the three lands was bigger than my Darr. Each also had its own perfectly competent rulers, which meant that I had very little to do with regard to their management. They paid me a regular stipend for the privilege of my oversight, which they probably resented deeply, and which instantly made me wealthier than I’d ever been.
I was given another magic thing, a silvery orb that would, on command, show me the face of any person I requested. If I tapped the orb a certain way, they would see my face, hovering in the air like some sort of decapitated spirit. I had been the recipient of such messages before—it was how I’d gotten the invitation from Grandfather Dekarta—and I found them unnerving. Still, this would allow me to communicate with my lands’ rulers whenever I wished.
“I’d like to arrange a meeting with my lord cousin Relad as soon as possible,” I said after T’vril finished showing me how to use the orb. “I don’t know if he’ll be any friendlier than Scimina, but I take heart in the fact that he hasn’t tried to kill me yet.”
“Wait,” T’vril muttered.
Not promising. Still, I had a half-formed strategy in my head, and I wanted to pursue it. The problem was that I did not know the rules of this Arameri game of inheritance. How did one “win” when Dekarta himself would not choose? Relad knew the answer to that question, but would he share it with me? Especially when I had nothing to offer in return?
“Tender the invitation anyhow, please,” I said. “In the meantime, it might be wise for me to meet with others in the palace who are influential. Who would you suggest?”
T’vril considered for a moment, then spread his hands. “You’ve already met everyone here who matters, except Relad.”
I stared at him. “That can’t be true.”
He smiled without humor. “Sky is both very large and very small, Lady Yeine. There are other fullbloods, yes, but most of them waste their hours indulging all sorts of whims.” He kept his face neutral, and I remembered the silver chain and collar Scimina had put on Nahadoth. Her perversity did not surprise me, for I had heard rumors of far worse within Sky’s walls. What astounded me was that she dared play such games with that monster.
“The few fullbloods, halfbloods, and quarters who bother to do any legitimate work are often away from the palace,” T’vril continued, “overseeing the family’s business interests. Most of them have no hope of winning Dekarta’s favor; he made that clear when he named his brother’s children potential heirs rather than any of them. The ones who stay are the courtiers—pedants and sycophants for the most part, with impressive-sounding titles and no real power. Dekarta despises them, so you’d do better to avoid them altogether. Beyond that there are only servants.”
I glanced at him. “Some servants can be useful to know.”
He smiled unselfconsciously. “As I said, Lady Yeine—you’ve already met everyone who matters. Though I’m happy to arrange meetings for you with anyone you like.”
I stretched, still stiff after the long hours of sitting at the Salon. As I did so, one of my bruises twinged, reminding me that I had more than earthly problems to worry about.
“Thank you for saving my life,” I said.
T’vril chuckled with a hint of irony, though he looked pleased. “Well, as you suggested… it could be useful to have influence in certain quarters.”
I inclined my head to acknowledge the debt. “If I have the power to help you in any way, please ask.”
“As you like, Lady Yeine.”
“Yeine.”
He hesitated. “Cousin,” he said instead, and smiled at me over his shoulder as he left my apartment. He really was a superb diplomat. I supposed that was a necessity for someone in his position.
I went from the sitting room into my bedroom and stopped.
“I thought he’d never leave,” said Sieh, grinning from the middle of my bed.
I took a deep breath, slowly. “Good afternoon, Lord Sieh.”
He pouted, flopping forward onto his belly and regarding me from his folded arms. “You’re not happy to see me.”
“I’m wondering what I’ve done to deserve such attention from a god of games and tricks.”
“I’m not a god, remember?” He scowled. “Just a weapon. That word was more fitting than you know, Yeine, and how it burns these Arameri to hear it. No wonder they call you a barbarian.”
I sat in the reading chair beside the bed. “My mother often told me I was too blunt,” I said. “Why are you here?”
“Do I need a reason? Maybe I just like being around you.”
“I would be honored if that were true,” I said.
He laughed, high and carefree. “It is true, Yeine, whether you believe me or not.” He got up then and began jumping on the bed. I wondered fleetingly whether anyone had ever tried to spank him.
“But?” I was sure there was a but.
He stopped after his third jump and glanced at me over his shoulder, his grin sly. “But it’s not the only reason I came. The others sent me.”
“For what reason?”
He hopped down from the bed and came over to my chair, putting his hands on my knees and leaning over me. He was still grinning, but again there was that indefinable something in his smile that was not childlike. Not at all.
“Relad isn’t going to ally with you.”
My stomach clenched in unease. Had he been in here all along, listening to my conversation with T’vril? Or was my strategy for survival just so painfully obvious? “You know this?”
He shrugged. “Why would he? You’re useless to him. He has his hands
full dealing with Scimina and can’t afford distractions. The time—of the succession, I mean—is too close.”
I had suspected that as well. That was almost surely why they’d brought me here. It was probably why the family kept a scrivener in-house, to ensure that Dekarta didn’t die off schedule. It might even have been the reason for my mother’s murder after twenty years of freedom. Dekarta didn’t have much time left to tie up loose ends.
Abruptly Sieh climbed into the chair with me, straddling my lap, knees on either side of my hips. I flinched in surprise, and again when he flopped against me, resting his head on my shoulder.
“What are you—?”
“Please, Yeine,” he whispered. I felt his hands fist in the cloth of my jacket, at my sides. The gesture was so much that of a child seeking comfort that I could not help it; the stiffness went out of me. He sighed and snuggled closer, reveling in my tacit welcome. “Just let me do this a moment.”
So I sat still, wondering many things.
I thought he had fallen asleep when he finally spoke. “Kurue—my sister, Kurue, our leader inasmuch as we have one—invites you to meet.”
“Why?”
“You seek allies.”
I pushed at him; he sat back on my knees. “What are you saying? Are you offering yourselves?”
“Maybe.” The sly look was back. “You have to meet with us to find out.”
I narrowed my eyes in what I hoped was an intimidating look. “Why? As you said, I’m useless. What would you gain from allying with me?”
“You have something very important,” he said, serious now. “Something we could force you to give us—but we don’t want to do that. We are not Arameri. You have proven yourself worthy of respect, and so we will ask you to give that something to us willingly.”
I did not ask what they wanted. It was their bargaining chip; they would tell me if I met with them. I was rabidly curious, though—and excited, because he was right. The Enefadeh would make powerful, knowledgeable allies, even hobbled as they were. But I dared not reveal my eagerness. Sieh was nowhere near as childish, or as neutral, as he pretended to be.
“I will consider your request for a meeting,” I said in my most dignified voice. “Please convey to the Lady Kurue that I will give you a response in no more than three days.”
Sieh laughed and jumped off me, returning to the bed. He curled up in the middle of it and grinned at me. “Kurue’s going to hate you. She thought you’d jump at the chance, and here you are keeping her waiting!”
“An alliance made in fear or haste will not last,” I said. “I need a better understanding of my position before I do anything that will strengthen or weaken it. The Enefadeh must realize that.”
“I do,” he said, “but Kurue is wise and I’m not. She does what’s smart. I do what’s fun.” He shrugged, then yawned. “Can I sleep here, sometimes, with you?”
I opened my mouth, then caught myself. He played innocent so well that I’d almost said yes automatically.
“I’m not sure that would be proper,” I said at last. “You are very much older than me, and yet clearly underage. It would be a scandal, either way.”
His eyebrows flew up almost into his hairline. Then he burst out laughing, rolling onto his back and holding his middle. He laughed for a long time. Eventually, a bit annoyed, I got up and went to the door to summon a servant and order lunch. I ordered two meals out of politeness, though I had no idea what, or whether, gods ate.
When I turned, Sieh had finally stopped laughing. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching me, thoughtful.
“I could be older,” he said softly. “If you’d rather have me older, I mean. I don’t have to be a child.”
I stared at him and did not know whether to feel pity, nausea, or both at once.
“I want you to be what you are,” I said.
His expression grew solemn. “That isn’t possible. Not while I’m in this prison.” He touched his chest.
“Do—” I did not want to call them my family. “Do others ask you to be older?”
He smiled. It was, most horribly, very much a child’s smile. “Younger, usually.”
Nausea won. I put a hand to my mouth and turned away. Never mind what Ras Onchi thought. I would never call myself Arameri, never.
He sighed and came over, wrapping arms around me from behind and resting his head on my shoulder. I did not understand his constant need to touch me. I didn’t mind, but it made me wonder who he cuddled when I was not around. I wondered what price they demanded of him in exchange.
“I was ancient when your kind first began to speak and use fire, Yeine. These petty torments are nothing to me.”
“That’s beside the point,” I said. “You’re still…” I groped for words. Human might be taken as an insult.
He shook his head. “Only Enefa’s death hurts me, and that was no mortal’s doing.”
In that moment there was a deep, basso shudder throughout the palace. My skin prickled; in the bathroom something rattled for an instant, then went still.
“Sunset,” Sieh said. He sounded pleased as he straightened and went to one of my windows. The western sky was layered clouds, spectrum-painted. “My father returns.”
Where had he gone? I wondered, though I was distracted by another thought. The monster of my nightmares, the beast who had hunted me through walls, was father to Sieh.
“He tried to kill you yesterday,” I said.
Sieh shook his head dismissively, then clapped his hands, making me jump. “En. Naiasouwamehikach.”
It was gibberish, spoken in a singsong lilt, and for an instant while the sound lingered, my perception changed. I became aware of the faint echoes of each syllable from the room’s walls, overlapping and blending. I noticed the way the air felt as the sounds rippled through it. Along my floor into the walls. Through the walls to the support column that held up Sky. Down that column to the earth.
And the sound was carried along as the earth rolled over like a sleepy child, as we hurtled around the sun through the cycle of seasons and the stars around us did a graceful cartwheel turn—
I blinked, momentarily surprised to find myself still in the room. But then I understood. The earliest decades of the scrivening art’s history were littered with its founders’ deaths, until they’d restricted themselves to the written form of the language. It amazed me now that they’d even tried. A tongue whose meaning depended upon not only syntax and pronunciation and tone, but also one’s position in the universe at any given moment—how could they even have imagined mastering that? It was beyond any mortal.
Sieh’s yellow ball appeared out of nowhere and bounced into his hands. “Go and see, then find me,” he commanded, and threw the ball away. It bounced against a nearby wall, then vanished.
“I’ll deliver your message to Kurue,” he said, heading toward the wall beside my bed. “Consider our offer, Yeine, but do it quickly, will you? Time passes so swiftly with your kind. Dekarta will be dead before you know it.”
He spoke to the wall and it opened before him, revealing another narrow dead space. The last thing I saw was his grin as it closed behind him.
7
Love
HOW STRANGE. I have only now realized that this whole affair was nothing more than one family squabble pitted against another.
From my window in Sky, it seemed as though I could see the whole of the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms. That was a fallacy, I knew; scriveners have proven that the world is round. Yet it was easy to imagine. So many winking lights, like stars on the ground. My people were audacious builders once. We carved our cities into mountainsides and positioned our temples to make a calendar of the stars—but we could never have built anything like Sky. Nor could the Amn, of course, not without the aid of their captive gods, but this is not the main reason Sky is deeply, profoundly wrong in Darre eyes. It is blasphemy to separate oneself from the earth and look down on it like a god. It is more than blasphemy; it is dangerous. We can never be g
ods, after all—but we can become something less than human with frightening ease.
Still… I could not help drinking in the view. It is important to appreciate beauty, even when it is evil.
I was very tired. I had been in Sky for little more than a day, and so much of my life had changed. In Darr, I was effectively dead. I had left no heirs, and now the council would appoint some other young woman, of some other lineage, as ennu. My grandmother would be so disappointed—and yet this was nothing more than what she had feared all along. I was not dead, but I had become Arameri, and that was just as bad.
As an Arameri, I was expected to show no favoritism to my birthland and consider the needs of all nations equally. I had not done so, of course. As soon as T’vril and Sieh were gone, I had contacted each of my assigned nations and suggested—knowing full well that a suggestion from an Arameri heir is not a suggestion—that they consider resuming trade with Darr. It had not been an official trade embargo, the lean years since my mother’s defection from the Arameri. We could have protested an embargo to the Consortium, or found ways to circumvent it. Instead, every nation that hoped to curry favor with our rulers simply chose to ignore Darr’s existence. Contracts were broken, financial obligations abandoned, lawsuits dismissed; even smugglers avoided us. We became pariah.
So the least I could do with my newfound, unwanted Arameri power was to accomplish part of my purpose in coming here.
As for the rest of my purpose… well. The walls of Sky were hollow, its corridors a maze. This left many places wherein the secrets of my mother’s death could hide.
I would hunt them down, every one.
I had slept well my first night in Sky. Worn out by shock and running for my life, I didn’t even remember lying down.
On the second night, sleep stubbornly refused to come. I lay in the too-big, too-soft bed of my quarters, staring up at the glowing ceiling and walls that made my room bright as day. Sky embodied the Bright; the Arameri allowed no darkness here. But how did the other members of my illustrious family get any sleep?
The Inheritance Trilogy Page 6
