“And you’re still you,” Sieh said urgently, half-following me as I paced. “You’re the daughter Kinneth would have had. You don’t have Enefa’s memories or personality. You don’t think like her. That means you’re strong, Yeine. That comes from you, not her.”
I laughed wildly; it sounded like a sob. “How would you know?”
He stopped walking, his eyes soft and mournful. “If you were her,” he said, “you would love me.”
I stopped, too, pacing and breathing.
“And me,” said Zhakkarn. “And Kurue. Enefa loved all her children, even the ones who eventually betrayed her.”
I did not love Zhakkarn or Kurue. I let out the breath I’d held.
But I was shaking again, though part of that was from hunger. Sieh’s hand brushed mine, tentative. When I did not pull away this time, he sighed and took hold of me, pulling me back to the bed to sit down.
“You could have gone your whole life never knowing,” he said, reaching up to stroke my hair. “You would have grown older and loved some mortal, maybe had mortal children and loved those, too, and died in your sleep as a toothless old woman. That was what we wanted for you, Yeine. It’s what you would have had if Dekarta hadn’t brought you here. That forced our hand.”
I turned to him. This close, the impulse was too strong to resist. I cupped his cheek in my hand and leaned up to kiss his forehead. He started in surprise but then smiled shyly, his cheek warming under my palm. I smiled back. Viraine had been right; he was so easy to love.
“Tell me everything,” I whispered.
He flinched as if struck. Perhaps the magic that bound him to obey Arameri commands had some physical effect; perhaps it even hurt. Either way, there was a different kind of pain in his eyes as he realized I had issued the command deliberately.
But I had not been specific. He could have told me anything—the history of the universe from its inception, the number of colors in a rainbow, the words that cause mortal flesh to shatter like stone. I had left him that much freedom.
Instead, he told me the truth.
13
Ransom
WAIT. SOMETHING HAPPENED BEFORE THAT. I don’t mean to get things so mixed up; I’m sorry, it’s just hard to think. It was the morning after I found the silver apricotstone, three days before. Wasn’t it? Before I went to Viraine, yes. I got up that morning and readied myself for the Salon, and found a servant waiting for me when I opened the door.
“Message for you, Lady,” he said, looking immensely relieved. I had no idea how long he’d been standing out there. Servants in Sky knocked only when the matter was urgent.
“Yes?”
“Lord Dekarta isn’t feeling well,” he said. “He will not be joining you for today’s Consortium session, should you choose to attend.”
T’vril had intimated that Dekarta’s health played a factor in his attendance at the sessions, though I was surprised to hear it now: he had seemed fine the day before. And I was surprised he’d bothered to send word. But I hadn’t missed that last bit; a subtle reprimand for my skipping the session the day before. Suppressing annoyance, I said, “Thank you. Please convey my wishes for a swift recovery back to him.”
“Yes, Lady.” The servant bowed and left.
So I went to the highbloods’ gate and transferred myself down to the Salon. As I had expected, Relad was not there. As I had feared, Scimina was. Once again she smiled at me, and I merely nodded back, and then we sat beside each other, silent, for the next two hours.
The session was shorter than usual that day because there was only a single item on the agenda: the annexation of the small island nation Irt by a larger kingdom called Uthr. The Archerine, former ruler of Irt—a stocky, red-haired man who reminded me vaguely of T’vril—had come to lodge a protest. The king of Uthr, apparently unconcerned about this challenge to his authority, had sent only a proxy on his behalf: a boy who looked not much older than Sieh, also red-haired. Both the Irti and the Uthre were offshoots of the Ken race, a fact that apparently had done nothing to foster genial relations between them.
The core of the Archerine’s appeal was that Uthr had filed no petition to begin a war. Bright Itempas detested the chaos of war, so the Arameri controlled it strictly. The lack of a petition meant the Irti had had no warning of their neighbor’s aggressive intent, no time to arm, and no right to defend themselves in any way that would have caused deaths. Without the petition, any enemy soldiers killed would be treated as murders and prosecuted as such by the law-keeping arm of the Itempan Order. Of course, the Uthre could not legally kill, either—and they hadn’t. They had simply marched into the Irtin capital in overwhelming numbers, literally forced its defenders to their knees, and booted the Archerine out into the street.
My heart went out to the Irti, though it was clear to me they had no hope of succeeding in their appeal. The Uthre boy defended his people’s aggression simply: “They weren’t strong enough to hold their land against us. We have it now. It’s better that a strong ruler hold power here than a weak one, isn’t it?”
And that was what the whole matter boiled down to. What was right mattered far less than what was orderly, and the Uthre had proven their ability to keep things orderly by the simple fact that they’d taken Irt without shedding a drop of blood. That was how the Arameri would see it, and the Order, too, and I could not imagine the Nobles’ Consortium daring to disagree.
In the end, to no one’s surprise, they did not: the Irt appeal was rejected. No one even proposed sanctions against Uthr. They would keep what they had stolen, because making them give it back was too messy.
I could not help frowning as the final vote was read. Scimina, glancing over at me, let out a soft amused snort that reminded me of where I was; quickly I schooled my expression back to blankness.
When the session ended and she and I descended the steps, I kept my eyes forward so that I would not have to look at her, and I turned toward the bathroom so I would not have to travel back to Sky with her. But she said, “Cousin,” and at that point I had no choice but to stop and see what in the unknown demons’ names she wanted.
“When you’ve had time to settle in back at the palace, would you be interested in having lunch with me?” She smiled. “We could get to know each other better.”
“If you don’t mind,” I said carefully, “no.”
She laughed beautifully. “I see what Viraine meant about you! Well, then; if you won’t come out of courtesy, perhaps curiosity will draw you. I have news of your homeland, Cousin, that I think will interest you greatly.” She turned and began walking toward the gate. “I’ll see you in an hour.”
“What news?” I called after her, but she did not stop or turn back.
My fists were still clenched by the time I got to the bathroom, which was why I reacted badly to the sight of Ras Onchi sitting in one of the parlor’s plush chairs. I stopped, my hand reaching automatically for a knife that was not in its usual place on my back. I’d chosen to strap it to my calf, under my full skirts, since it was not the Arameri way to go armed in public.
“Have you learned yet what an Arameri should know?” she asked, before I could recover.
I paused, then pushed the bathroom’s door firmly closed. “Not yet, Auntie,” I said at last. “Though I’m not likely to, since I’m not truly Arameri. Perhaps you could tell me, and stop riddling about.”
She smiled. “So very Darre you are, impatient and sharp-tongued. Your father must have been proud.”
I flushed, confused, because that had sounded suspiciously like a compliment. Was this her way of letting me know that she was on my side? She wore Enefa’s symbol around her neck…“Not really,” I said, slowly. “My father was a patient, cool-headed man. My temper comes from my mother.”
“Ah. It must serve you well, then, in your new home.”
“It serves me well everywhere. Now will you please tell me what this is about?”
She sighed, her smile fading. “Yes. There isn’t
much time. Forgive me, Lady.” With an effort that made her knees crack—I winced in sympathy—she pushed herself up out of the chair. I wondered how long she’d been sitting there. Did she wait for me after every session? Again I regretted skipping the previous day.
“Do you wonder why Uthr didn’t file a war petition?” she asked.
“I imagine because they didn’t need to,” I said, wondering what this had to do with anything. “It’s nearly impossible to get a petition approved. The Arameri haven’t allowed a war in a hundred years or more. So the Uthre gambled on being able to conquer Irt without bloodshed, and fortunately they were successful.”
“Yes.” Ras grimaced. “There will be more of these ‘annexations,’ I imagine, now that the Uthre have shown the world how to do it. ‘Peace above all; this is the way of the Bright.’ ”
I marveled at the bitterness in her tone. If a priest had heard her, she’d have been arrested for heresy. If any other Arameri had heard her—I shuddered, imagining her skinny frame walking onto the Pier with Zhakkarn’s spear at her back.
“Careful, Auntie,” I said softly. “You won’t live to a ripe old age, saying such things out loud.”
Ras laughed softly. “True enough. I’ll be more careful.” She sobered. “But think of this, Lady Not-Arameri: maybe the Uthre didn’t bother to petition because they knew another petition had already been approved—quietly, mingled in with other edicts the Consortium has passed in the past few months.”
I froze, frowning. “Another petition?”
She nodded. “As you said, there hasn’t been a successful petition for a century, so of course two petitions would never be approved back-to-back. And perhaps the Uthre even knew that other petition was more likely to pass, since it served the purposes of someone with a great deal of power. Some wars, after all, are useless without death.”
I stared at her, too thrown to hide my confusion or shock. An approved war petition should have been the talk of the entire nobility. It should have taken the Consortium weeks to discuss it, much less approve it. How could anyone get a petition through without half the world hearing of it?
“Who?” I asked. But I was already beginning to suspect.
“No one knows the petition’s sponsor, Lady, and no one knows what lands are involved, either as invader or target. But Uthr borders Tema on its eastern side. Uthr is small—bigger now—but their ruling family and the Teman Triadice have links of marriage and friendship going back generations.”
And Tema, I realized with a belated chill, was one of the nations beholden to Scimina.
Scimina, then, had sponsored the war petition. And she had kept its approval quiet, though that had probably required a masterwork of political maneuvering. Perhaps helping Uthre conquer Irt had been part of that. But that left two very crucial questions: why had she done it? And what kingdom would soon fall victim to the attack?
Relad’s warning: If you love anyone, anything, beware.
My mouth and hands went dry. I now wanted, very badly, to go and see Scimina.
“Thank you for this,” I said to Ras. My voice was higher than usual; my mind was already elsewhere, racing. “I’ll make good use of the information.”
She nodded and then hobbled her way out, patting my arm in passing. I was too lost in thought to say good-bye, but then I recalled myself and turned, just as she opened the door to leave.
“What is it that an Arameri should know, Auntie?” I asked. It was something I had wondered since our first meeting.
She paused, glanced back at me. “How to be cruel,” she said very softly. “How to spend life like currency and wield death itself as a weapon.” She lowered her eyes. “Your mother told me that, once. I’ve never forgotten it.”
I stared at her, dry-mouthed.
Ras Onchi bowed to me, respectfully. “I will pray,” she said, “that you never learn this for yourself.”
Back in Sky.
I had regained most of my composure by the time I went in search of Scimina’s apartment. Her quarters were not far from my own, as all fullbloods in Sky are housed on the topmost level of the palace. She had gone one step further and claimed one of Sky’s greater spires as her domain, which meant that the lifts did me no good. With a passing servant’s aid I found the carpeted stairs leading up the spire. The stairway was not a great height—perhaps three stories—but my thighs were burning by the time I reached the landing, and I wondered why she’d chosen to live in such a place. The fitter highbloods would have no trouble and the servants had no choice, but I could not imagine someone as infirm as, say, Dekarta, making the climb. Perhaps that was the idea.
The door swung open at my knock. Inside I found myself in a vaulted corridor, lined on either side by statues, windows, and vases of some sort of flowering plant. The statues were of no one I recognized: beautiful young men and women naked and in artful poses. At the end the corridor opened out into a circular chamber that was furnished with cushions and low tables—no chairs. Scimina’s guests were clearly meant to either stand or sit on the floor.
At the center of the circular room, a couch sat on an elevated dais. I wondered whether it was intentional on Scimina’s part that this place felt so much like a throne room.
Scimina was not present, though I could see another corridor just beyond the dais, ostensibly leading into the apartment’s more private chambers. Assuming she meant to keep me waiting, I sighed and settled myself, looking around. That was when I noticed the man.
He sat with his back propped against one of the room’s wide windows, his posture not so much casual as insolent, with one leg drawn up and his head lolling to the side. It took me a moment to realize he was naked, because his hair was very long and draped over his shoulder, covering most of his torso. It took me another moment to understand, with a jarring chill, that this was Nahadoth.
Or at least, I thought it was him. His face was beautiful as usual, but strange somehow, and I realized for the first time that it was still—just one face, one set of features, and not the endlessly shifting melange that I usually saw. His eyes were brown, and not the yawning pits of black I recalled; his skin was pale, but it was a human pallor like that of an Amn, and not the glow of moonshine or starlight. He watched me lazily, unmoving except to blink, a faint smile curving lips that were just a shade too thin for my tastes.
“Hello,” he said. “It’s been a while.”
I had just seen him the night before.
“Good morning, Lord Nahadoth,” I said, using politeness to cover my unease. “Are you… well?”
He shifted a little—just enough for me to see the thin silver collar ’round his neck and the chain that dangled from it. Abruptly I understood. By day I am human, Nahadoth had said. No power save Itempas Himself could chain the Nightlord at night, but by day he was weak. And… different. I searched his face but saw none of the madness that had been there my first night in Sky. What I saw instead was calculation.
“I am very well,” he said. He touched his tongue to his lips, which made me think of a snake testing the air. “Spending the afternoon with Scimina is usually enjoyable. Though I do grow bored so easily.” He paused, just for a breath. “Variety helps.”
There was no doubt as to what he meant—not with his eyes stripping my clothing as I stood there. I think he meant for his words to unnerve me, but instead, strangely, they cleared my thoughts.
“Why does she chain you?” I asked. “To remind you of your weakness?”
His eyebrows rose a touch. There was no true surprise in his expression, just a momentary heightening of interest. “Does it bother you?”
“No.” But I saw at once by the sharpening of his eyes that he knew I was lying.
He sat forward, the chain making the faintest of sounds, like distant chimes. His eyes, human and hungry and so very, very cruel, stripped me anew, though not sexually this time. “You’re not in love with him,” he said, thoughtful. “You’re not that stupid. But you want him.”
I d
id not like this, but I had no intention of admitting it. There was something in this Nahadoth that reminded me of a bully, and one did not show weakness before that.
While I considered my response, however, his smile widened.
“You can have me,” he said.
I worried, for the briefest of instants, that I would find the thought tempting. I needn’t have worried; all I felt was revulsion. “Thank you, but no.”
He ducked his eyes in a parody of polite embarrassment. “I understand. I’m just the human shell, and you want something more. I don’t blame you. But…” And here he glanced up at me through his lashes. Never mind bully; what lurked in his face was evil, pure and plain. Here was the sadistic glee that had gloried in my terror that first night, all the more disturbing because this time it was sane. This version of Nahadoth gave truth to the priests’ warning tales and children’s fears of the dark.
And I did not like being alone in the room with him. Not one bit.
“You do realize,” he drawled, “that you can never have him? Not that way. Your weak mortal mind and flesh would shatter like eggshells under the onslaught of his power. There wouldn’t be enough left of you to send home to Darr.”
I folded my arms and gazed pointedly at the corridor beyond Scimina’s couch-throne. If she kept me waiting much longer I was going to leave.
“Me, though…” Abruptly he was on his feet and across the room and entirely too close. Startled, I lost my pose of indifference and tried to face him and stumble back all at once. I was too slow; he caught me by the arms. I had not realized until then how very big he was, taller than me by more than a head and well-muscled. In his night form I barely noticed his body; now I was very, very aware of it, and all the danger that it posed.
He demonstrated this by spinning me around and pinning me again from behind. At this I struggled, but his fingers tightened on my arms until I cried out, my eyes watering from the pain. When I stopped struggling, his grip eased.
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