“You lie!”
“—or pretended to enjoy it well enough that the difference wouldn’t have mattered. She had what it took to defeat Dekarta. You don’t.”
“Maybe not,” I snapped. “But at least I still have a soul. What did you trade yours for?”
To my surprise, Viraine’s glee seemed to fade. He looked down into the pit, the gray light making his eyes seem colorless and older than Dekarta’s.
“Not enough,” he said, and walked away. He moved past me into the corridor, heading for the lift.
I did not follow. Instead I went to the far wall of the chamber, sat down against it, and waited. After what seemed an eternity of gray silence—broken only by the faint, occasional suffering sounds of the poor soul in the pit—I felt a familiar shudder ripple through the palace’s substance. I waited awhile, counting the minutes until I judged that sunset’s light had faded enough from the evening sky. Then I got up and went to the corridor, my back to the oubliette. The gray light painted my shadow along the floor in a thin, attenuated line. I made certain my face was in that shadow before I spoke. “Nahadoth.”
The walls dimmed before I turned. Yet the room was brighter than it should have been, because of the light from the oubliette. For some reason, his darkness had no effect on it.
He watched me, inscrutable, his face even more inhumanly perfect in the colorless light.
“Here,” I said, and moved past him to the oubliette. The prisoner within was looking up at me, perhaps sensing my intent. It did not bother me to look at him this time as I pointed into the pit.
“Heal him,” I said.
I expected a furious response. Or amusement, or triumph; there really was no way to predict the Nightlord’s reaction to my first command. What I did not expect, however, was what he said.
“I can’t.”
I frowned at him; he gazed into the oubliette dispassionately. “What do you mean?”
“Dekarta gave the command that caused this.”
And because of his master sigil, I could countermand no orders that Dekarta gave. I closed my eyes and sent a brief prayer for forgiveness to—well. Whichever god cared to listen.
“Very well, then,” I said, and my voice sounded very small in the open chamber. I took a deep breath. “Kill him.”
“I can’t do that, either.”
That jolted me, badly. “Why in the Maelstrom not?”
Nahadoth smiled. There was something strange about the smile, something that unnerved me even more than usual, but I could not allow myself to dwell on it. “The succession will take place in four days,” he said. “Someone must send the Stone of Earth to the chamber where this ritual takes place. This is tradition.”
“What? I don’t—”
Nahadoth pointed into the pit. Not at the shuffling, whimpering creature there, but slightly away from it. I followed his finger and saw what I had not before. The floor of the oubliette glowed with that strange gray light, so different from that of the palace’s walls. The spot where Nahadoth pointed seemed to be where the light was concentrated, not so much brighter as simply more gray. I stared at it and thought that I saw a darker shadow embedded in the translucent palacestuff. Something small.
All this time it had been right beneath my feet. The Stone of Earth.
“Sky exists to contain and channel its power, but here, so close, there is always some leakage.” Nahadoth’s finger shifted slightly. “That power is what keeps him alive.”
My mouth was dry. “And… and what did you mean about… sending the Stone to the ritual chamber?”
He pointed up this time, and I saw that the ceiling of the oubliette chamber had a narrow, rounded opening at its center, like a small chimney. The narrow tunnel beyond went straight up, as far as the eye could see.
“No magic can act upon the Stone directly. No living flesh can come near it without suffering ill effects. So even for a relatively simple task, like moving the Stone from here to the chamber above, one of Enefa’s children must spend his life to wish it there.”
I understood at last. Oh, gods, it was monstrous. Death would be a relief to the unknown man in the pit, but the Stone somehow prevented that. To earn release from that twisted prison of flesh, the man would have to collaborate in his own execution.
“Who is he?” I asked. Below, the man had managed at last to sit down, though with obvious discomfort. I heard him weeping quietly.
“Just another fool caught praying to an outlawed god. This one happens to be a distant Arameri relation—they leave a few free to bring new blood into the clan—so he was doubly doomed.”
“H-he could…” I could not think. Monstrous. “He could send the Stone away. Wish it into a volcano, or some frozen waste.”
“Then one of us would simply be sent to retrieve it. But he won’t defy Dekarta. Unless he sends the Stone properly, his lover will share his fate.”
In the pit, the man uttered a particularly loud moan—as close to a wail as his warped mouth could manage. Tears filled my eyes, blurring the gray light.
“Shhh,” Nahadoth said. I looked at him in surprise, but he was still gazing into the pit. “Shhh. It will not be long. I’m sorry.”
When Nahadoth saw my confusion, he gave me another of those strange smiles that I did not understand, or did not want to understand. But that was blindness on my part. I kept thinking that I knew him.
“I always hear their prayers,” said the Nightlord, “even if I’m not allowed to answer.”
We stood at the foot of the Pier, gazing down at the city half a mile below.
“I need to threaten someone,” I said.
I had not spoken since the oubliette. Nahadoth had accompanied me to the Pier, me meandering, him following. (The servants and highbloods gave us both a wide berth.) He said nothing now, though I felt him there beside me.
“The Minister of Mencheyev, a man named Gemd, who probably leads the alliance against Darr. Him.”
“To threaten, you must have the power to cause harm,” Nahadoth said.
I shrugged. “I’ve been adopted into the Arameri. Gemd has already assumed I have such power.”
“Beyond Sky, your right to command us ends. Dekarta will never give you permission to harm a nation which has not offended him.”
I said nothing.
Nahadoth glanced at me, amused. “I see. But a bluff won’t hold this man long.”
“It doesn’t have to.” I pushed away from the railing and turned to him. “It only needs to hold him for four more days. And I can use your power beyond Sky… if you let me. Will you?”
Nahadoth straightened as well, to my surprise lifting a hand to my face. He cupped my cheek, drew a thumb along the bottom curve of my lips. I will not lie: this made me think dangerous thoughts.
“You commanded me to kill tonight,” he said.
I swallowed. “For mercy.”
“Yes.” That disturbing, alien look was in his eyes again, and finally I could name it: understanding. An almost human compassion, as if for that instant he actually thought and felt like one of us.
“You will never be Enefa,” he said. “But you have some of her strength. Do not be offended by the comparison, little pawn.” I started, wondering again if he could read minds. “I do not make it lightly.”
Then Nahadoth stepped back. He spread his arms wide, revealing the black void of his body, and waited.
I stepped inside him and was enfolded in darkness. It might have been my imagination, but it seemed warmer this time.
19
Diamonds
YOU ARE INSIGNIFICANT. One of millions, neither special nor unique. I did not ask for this ignominy, and I resent the comparison.
Fine. I don’t like you, either.
We appeared in a stately, brightly lit hall of white and gray marble, lined by narrow rectangular windows, under a chandelier. (If I had never seen Sky, I would have been impressed.) At both ends of the hall were double doors of polished dark wood; I assumed we faced th
e relevant set. From beyond the open windows I could hear merchants crying their wares, a baby fussing, a horse’s neigh, womens’ laughter. City life.
No one was around, though the evening was young. I knew Nahadoth well enough by now to suspect that this was deliberate.
I nodded toward the doors. “Is Gemd alone?”
“No. With him are a number of guards, colleagues, and advisors.”
Of course. Planning a war took teamwork. I scowled and then caught myself: I could not do this angry. My goal was delay—peace, for as long as possible. Anger would not help.
“Please try not to kill anyone,” I murmured, as we walked toward the door. Nahadoth said nothing in response, but the hall grew dimmer, the flickering torchlit shadows sharpening to razor fineness. The air felt heavy.
This my Arameri ancestors had learned, at the cost of their own blood and souls: the Nightlord cannot be controlled. He can only be unleashed. If Gemd forced me to call on Nahadoth’s power—
Best to pray that would not be necessary.
I walked forward.
The doors flung themselves open as I came to them, slamming against the opposite walls with an echoing racket that would bring half Gemd’s palace guard running if they had any competence. It made for a suitably stunning entrance as I strode through, greeted by a chorus of surprised shouts and curses. Men who had been seated around a wide, paper-cluttered table scrambled to their feet, some groping for weapons and others staring at me dumbly. Two of them wore deep-red cloaks that I recognized as Tok warrior attire. So that was one of the lands Menchey had allied with. At the head of this table sat a man of perhaps sixty years: richly dressed, salt-and-pepper-haired, with a face like flint and steel. He reminded me of Dekarta, though only in manner; the Mencheyev were High North people, too, and they looked more like Darre than Amn. He half-stood, then hovered where he was, more angry than surprised.
I fixed my gaze on him, though I knew that Menchey, like Darr, was ruled more by its council than its chieftain. In many ways we were merely figureheads, he and I. But in this confrontation, he would be the key.
“Minister,” I said, in Senmite. “Greetings.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re that Darre bitch.”
“One of many, yes.”
Gemd turned to one of his men and murmured something; the man hurried away. To supervise the guards and figure out how I’d gotten in, no doubt. Then Gemd turned back, his look appraising and wary.
“You’re not among many now,” he said slowly. “Or are you? You couldn’t have been foolish enough to come alone.”
I caught myself just before I would have looked around. Of course Nahadoth would choose not to appear. The Enefadeh had pledged to help me, after all, and having the Nightlord looming behind me like an overgrown shadow would have undermined what little authority I had in these men’s eyes.
But Nahadoth was there. I could feel him.
“I have come,” I said. “Not entirely alone. But then, no Arameri is ever fully alone, is she?”
One of his men, almost as richly dressed as Gemd, narrowed his eyes. “You’re no Arameri,” he said. “They didn’t even acknowledge you until these last few months.”
“Is that why you’ve decided to form this alliance?” I asked, stepping forward. A few of the men tensed, but most did not. I am not very intimidating. “I can’t see how that makes much sense. If I’m so unimportant to the Arameri, then Darr is no threat.”
“Darr is always a threat,” growled another man. “You man-eating harlots—”
“Enough,” said Gemd, and the man subsided.
Good; not wholly a figurehead, then.
“So this is not about the Arameri adopting me, then?” I eyed the man Gemd had silenced. “Ah, I see. This is about old grudges. The last war between our peoples was more generations back than any of us can count. Are Mencheyev memories so long?”
“Darr claimed the Atir Plateau in that war,” Gemd said quietly. “You know we want it back.”
I knew, and I knew that was a stupid, stupid reason to start a war. The people who lived on the Atir didn’t even speak the Mencheyev tongue anymore. None of this made any sense, and that was enough to make my temper rise.
“Who is it?” I asked. “Which of my cousins is pulling your strings? Relad? Scimina? Some sycophant of theirs? Who are you whoring for, Gemd, and how much have you charged to bend forward?”
Gemd’s jaw tightened but he said nothing. His men were not so well-trained; they bristled and glared daggers. Not all of them, though. I noted which ones looked uncomfortable, and knew that they were the ones through whom Scimina or another of my relatives had chosen to work.
“You are an uninvited guest, Yeine-ennu,” Gemd said. “Lady Yeine, I should say. You are interrupting my business. Say what you’ve come to say, and then please leave.”
I inclined my head. “Call off your plans to attack Darr.”
Gemd waited for a moment. “Or?”
I shook my head. “There is no alternative, Minister. I’ve learned a great deal from my Arameri relatives these last few days, including the art of wielding absolute power. We do not give ultimatums. We give orders, and those are obeyed.”
The men turned to look at one another, their expressions ranging from fury to incredulity. Two kept their faces blank: the richly dressed man at Gemd’s side and Gemd himself. I could see calculation in their eyes.
“You don’t have absolute power,” said the man beside Gemd. He kept his tone neutral, a sign that he was uncertain. “You haven’t even been named heir.”
“True,” I said. “Only the Lord Dekarta holds total power over the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms. Whether they thrive. Whether they falter. Whether they are obliterated and forgotten.” Gemd’s brow tightened at that, not quite a frown. “Grandfather has this power, but he may of course choose to delegate it to those of us in Sky who have his favor.”
I let them wonder whether I had earned that favor or not. It probably sounded like a sign of favor that I had been summoned to Sky and named a fullblood.
Gemd glanced at the man beside him before saying, “You must realize, Lady Yeine, that once plans have been set in motion, they can be difficult to stop. We will need time to discuss your… order.”
“Of course,” I said. “You have ten minutes. I’ll wait.”
“Oh for—” This was from another man, younger and bigger, one of the ones I had marked for an Arameri tool. He looked at me as if I were excrement on the bottom of his shoe. “Minister, you cannot seriously be considering this ridiculous demand!”
Gemd glared at him, but the silent reprimand clearly had no impact. The younger man stepped away from the table and came toward me, his whole posture radiating menace. Every Darre woman is taught to deal with such behavior from men. It is an animal trick that they use, like dogs ruffling their fur and growling. Only rarely is there actual threat behind it, and a woman’s strength lies in discerning when the threat is real and when it is just hair and noise. For now the threat was not real, but that could change.
He stopped before me and turned back to his fellows, pointing at me. “Look at her! They probably had to call a scrivener just to confirm she came out of an Arameri cunt—”
“Rish!” Gemd looked furious. “Sit down.”
The man—Rish—ignored him and turned back to me, and abruptly the threat became real. I saw it in the way he positioned himself, angling his body to put his right hand near my right side. He meant to backhand me. I had an instant to decide whether to dodge or reach for my knife—
And in that sliver of time, I felt the power around me coalesce, malice-hard and sharp as crystal.
That this analogy occurred to me should have been a warning.
Rish swung. I held still, tense for the blow. Three inches from my face Rish’s fist seemed to glance off something no one could see—and when it did, there was a high hard clacking sound, like stone striking stone.
Rish drew his hand away, startled and perha
ps puzzled by his failure to put me in my place. He looked at his fist, on which a patch of shining, faceted black had appeared about the knuckles. I was close enough to see the flesh around this patch blistering, beading with moisture like meat cooked over a flame. Except it was not burning, but freezing; I could feel the waft of cold air from where I stood. The effect was the same, however, and as the flesh withered and crisped away as if it had been charred, what appeared underneath was not raw flesh, but stone.
I was surprised that Rish took so long to begin screaming.
All the men in the room reacted to Rish’s cry. One stumbled back from the table and nearly fell over a chair. Two others ran over to Rish to try and help him. Gemd moved to help as well, but some powerful preservative instinct must have risen in the well-dressed man beside him; he grabbed Gemd by the shoulder to halt him. That turned out to be wise, because the first of the men who reached Rish—one of the Toks—grabbed Rish’s wrist to see what was the matter.
The black was spreading swiftly; nearly the whole hand was now a glittering lump of black crystal in the rough shape of a fist. Only the tips of Rish’s fingers remained flesh, and they transformed even as I watched. Rish fought the Tok, maddened with agony, and the Tok grabbed Rish’s fist in an effort to hold him still. Almost immediately he jerked away, as if the stone had been too cold to touch—and then the Tok, too, stared at his palm, and the black blotch that was now spreading there.
Not merely crystal, I realized, in the part of my mind that was not frozen in horror. The black substance was too pretty to be quartz, too flawless and clear in its faceting. The stone caught the light like diamond, because that was what their flesh had become. Black diamond, the rarest and most valuable of all.
The Tok began to scream. So did several others of the men in the room.
Through it all I remained still and kept my face impassive.
He shouldn’t have tried to hit me. He deserved what he got. He shouldn’t have tried to hit me.
And the man who tried to help him? What did that one deserve?
They are all my enemies, my people’s enemies. They should not have… they should not… Oh, gods. Gods.
The Inheritance Trilogy Page 20
