The Inheritance Trilogy

by N. K. Jemisin

  Something familiar: that darkness which is Nahadoth’s quintessence. It surrounded me, pressed in, until I had no choice but to yield to it. I felt things in me—sanity? self?—stretch, growing so taut that a touch would break them. This was the end, then. I was not afraid, not even when I became aware of a sound: a titanic, awful roar. I cannot describe it except to say something of that roar was in Nahadoth’s voice as he shouted again. I knew then that his ecstasy had taken us beyond the universe, and now we approached the Maelstrom, birthplace of gods. It would tear me apart.

  Then, just when the roar had become so terrible that I knew I could bear no more, we stopped. Hovered, pent.

  And then we fell again through gibbering strangeness and layered dark and whirlpools of light and dancing globes toward one globe in particular, blue-green and beautiful. There was a new roaring as we streaked down through air, trailing white-hot fire. Something glowing and pale reared up, puny then enormous, all spikes and white stone and treachery—Sky, it was Sky—and it swallowed us whole.

  I think I screamed again as, naked, skin steaming, I smashed into my bed. The shock wave of impact swept the room; the sound of it was the Maelstrom come to earth. I knew no more.

  25

  A Chance

  HE SHOULD’VE KILLED ME THAT NIGHT. It would have been easier.

  That’s selfish of you.

  What?

  He gave you his body. He gave you pleasure no mortal lover can match. He fought his own nature to keep you alive, and you wish he hadn’t bothered.

  I didn’t mean—

  Yes, you did. Oh, child. You think you love him? You think you’re worthy of his love?

  I can’t speak for him. But I know what I feel.

  Don’t be a—

  And I know what I hear. Jealousy does not become you.

  What?

  This is why you’re so angry with me, isn’t it? You’re just like Itempas, you can’t bear to share—

  Be silent!

  —but it isn’t necessary. Don’t you see? He has never stopped loving you. He never will. You and Itempas will always hold his heart in your hands.

  … Yes. That is true. But I am dead, and Itempas is mad.

  And I am dying. Poor Nahadoth.

  Poor Nahadoth, and poor us.

  I woke slowly, aware first of warmth and comfort. Sunlight shone against the side of my face, red through one of my eyelids. A hand rubbed my back in little arcs.

  I opened my eyes and did not understand what I saw at first. A white, rolling surface. I had fleeting memories of something else like it—frozen explosions—and then the memories swam away, deeper into my consciousness and out of reach. For a moment understanding lingered: I was mortal, not ready for some knowledge. Then even that vanished, and I was myself again. I was wearing a plush robe. I was sitting in someone’s lap. Frowning, I lifted my head.

  Nahadoth’s daytime form gazed back at me with frank, too-human eyes.

  I did not think, half-falling and half-leaping off his lap and rolling to my feet. He rose with me and a taut moment passed, me staring, him just standing there.

  The moment broke when he turned to the small nightstand, on which sat a gleaming silver tea service. He poured, the small liquid sound making me flinch for reasons I did not understand, and then held the cup forward, offering it to me.

  I stood naked before him, an offering—

  Gone, like fish in a pond.

  “How do you feel?” he asked. I flinched again, not sure I understood the words. How did I feel? Warm. Safe. Clean. I lifted a hand, sniffed my wrist; I smelled of soap.

  “I bathed you. I hope you’ll forgive the liberty.” Low, soft, his voice, as if he spoke to a skittish mare. He looked different from the day before—healthier for one, but also browner, like a Darre man. “You were so deeply asleep that you didn’t wake. I found the robe in the closet.”

  I hadn’t known I had a robe. Belatedly it came to me that he was still holding out the cup of tea. I took it, more out of politeness than any real interest. When I sipped, I was surprised to find it lukewarm and rich with cooling mint and calmative herbs. It made me realize I was thirsty; I drank it down greedily. Naha held out the pot, silently offering more, and I let him pour.

  “What a wonder you are,” he murmured, as I drank. Noise. He was staring and it bothered me. I looked away to shut him out and savored the tea.

  “You were ice cold when I woke up, and filthy. There was something—soot, I think—all over you. The bath seemed to warm you up, and that helped, too.” He jerked his head toward the chair where we’d been sitting. “There wasn’t anywhere else, so—”

  “The bed,” I said, and flinched again. My voice was hoarse, my throat raw and sore. The mint helped.

  For an instant Naha paused, his lips quirking with a hint of his usual cruelty. “The bed wouldn’t have worked.”

  Puzzled, I looked past him, and caught my breath. The bed was a wreck, sagging on a split frame and broken legs. The mattress looked as though it had been hacked by a sword and then set afire. Loose goosedown and charred fabric scraps littered the room.

  It was more than the bed. One of the room’s huge glass windows had spiderwebbed; only luck that it hadn’t shattered. The vanity mirror had. One of my bookcases lay on the floor, its contents scattered but intact. (I saw my father’s book there, with great relief.) The other bookcase had been shattered into kindling, along with most of the books on it.

  Naha took the empty teacup from my hand before I could drop it. “You’ll need to get one of your Enefadeh friends to fix this. I kept the servants out this morning, but that won’t work for long.”

  “I… I don’t…” I shook my head. So much of what had happened was dreamlike in my memory, more metaphysical than actual. I remembered falling. There was no hole in the ceiling. Yet, the bed.

  Naha said nothing as I moved about the room, my slippered feet crunching on glass and splinters. When I picked up a shard of the mirror, staring at my own face, he said, “You don’t look as much like the library mural as I’d first thought.”

  That turned me around to face him. He smiled at me. I had thought him human, but no. He had lived too long and too strangely, knew too much. Perhaps he was more like the demons of old, half mortal and half something else.

  “How long have you known?” I asked.

  “Since we met.” His lips quirked. “Though that can’t properly be called a ‘meeting,’ granted.”

  He had stopped and stared at me, that first evening in Sky. I’d forgotten in the rush of terror afterward. Then later in Scimina’s quarters—“You’re a good actor.”

  “I have to be.” His smile was gone now. “Even then, I wasn’t sure. Not until I woke up and saw this.” He gestured around the devastated room. “And you there beside me, alive.”

  I didn’t expect to be. But I was, and now I would have to deal with the consequences.

  “I’m not her,” I said.

  “No. But I’ll wager you’re a part of her, or she’s a part of you. I know a little about these things.” He ran a hand through his unruly black locks. Just hair, and not the smokelike curls of his godly self, but his meaning was plain.

  “Why haven’t you told anyone?”

  “You think I would do that?”

  “Yes.”

  He laughed, though there was a hard edge to the sound. “And you know me so well.”

  “You would do anything to make your life easier.”

  “Ah. Then you do know me.” He flopped down in the chair—the only intact piece of furniture in the room—one leg tossed over one arm. “But if you know that much, Lady, then you should be able to guess why I would never tell the Arameri of your… uniqueness.”

  I put down the shard of mirror and went to him. “Explain,” I commanded, because I might pity him, but I would never like him.

  He shook his head, as if chiding me for my impatience. “I, too, want to be free.”

  I frowned. “But if the N
ightlord is ever freed…” What did happen to a mortal soul buried within a god’s body? Would he sleep and never awaken? Would some part of him continue, trapped and aware inside an alien mind? Or would he simply cease to exist?

  He nodded, and I realized all of those thoughts and more must have occurred to him over the centuries. “He has promised to destroy me, should the day ever come.”

  And this Naha would rejoice on that day, I realized with a chill. Perhaps he had tried to kill himself before, only to be resurrected the next morning, trapped by magic meant to torment a god.

  Well, if all went as planned, he would be free soon.

  I rose and went to the remaining undamaged window. The sun was high in the sky, past noon. My last day of life was half over. I was trying to think of how to spend my remaining time when I felt a new presence in the room, and turned. Sieh stood there, looking from the bed to me to Naha, and back again.

  “You seem well,” I said, pleased. He was properly young again, and there was a grass stain on one of his knees. The look in his eyes, though, was far from childish as he focused on Naha. When his pupils turned to ferocious slits—I saw the change this time—I knew I’d have to intervene. I went to Sieh, deliberately stepping into his line of sight, and opened my arms to invite him near.

  He put his arms around me, which at first seemed affectionate until he picked me up bodily and put me behind him, then turned to face Naha.

  “Are you all right, Yeine?” he asked, sinking into a crouch. It was not a fighter’s crouch; it was closer to the movement of an animal gathering itself to spring. Naha returned his gaze coolly.

  I put my hand on his wire-tight shoulder. “I’m fine.”

  “This one is dangerous, Yeine. We do not trust him.”

  “Lovely Sieh,” said Naha, and there was that cruel edge in his voice again. He opened his arms in a mockery of my own gesture. “I’ve missed you. Come; give your father a kiss.”

  Sieh hissed, and I had a moment to wonder whether I had a chance in the infinite hells of holding him. Then Naha laughed and sat back in the chair. Of course he would know exactly how far to push.

  Sieh looked as though he was still considering something dire when it finally occurred to me to distract him. “Sieh.” He did not look at me. “Sieh. I was with your father last night.”

  He swung around to look at me, so startled that his eyes reverted to human at once. Beyond him, Naha chuckled softly.

  “You couldn’t have been,” said Sieh. “It’s been centuries since—” He paused and leaned close. I saw his nostrils twitch delicately once, twice. “Skies and earth. You were with him.”

  Self-conscious, I surreptitiously sniffed the collar of my robe. Hopefully it was something only gods could detect. “Yes.”

  “But he… that should’ve…” Sieh shook his head sharply. “Yeine, oh, Yeine, do you know what this means?”

  “It means your little experiment worked better than you thought,” said Naha. In the shadows of the chair, his eyes glittered, reminding me just a little of his other self. “Perhaps you could give her a try, too, Sieh. You must get tired of perverted old men.”

  Sieh tensed all over, his hands forming fists. I marveled that he allowed such taunts to work on him—but perhaps that was another of his weaknesses. He had bound himself by the laws of childhood; perhaps one of those laws was no child shall hold his temper when bullied.

  I touched his chin and turned his face back around to me. “The room. Could you…?”

  “Oh. Yes.” Pointedly turning his back on Naha, he looked around the room and said something in his own language, fast and high-pitched. The room was abruptly restored, just like that.

  “Handy,” I said.

  “No one’s better at cleaning up messes than me.” He flashed me a quick grin.

  Naha got up and went to browse one of the restored bookshelves, studiously ignoring us. Belatedly it occurred to me that he had been different before Sieh appeared—solicitous, respectful, almost kind. I opened my mouth to thank him for that, then thought better of it. Sieh had been careful to conceal that side of himself from me, but I had seen the signs of a crueler streak within him. There was very old, very bad blood between these two, and such things were rarely one-sided.

  “Let’s go somewhere else to talk. I have a message for you.” Breaking my reverie, Sieh pulled me to the nearest wall. We stepped through it into the dead space beyond.

  After a few chambers, Sieh sighed, opened his mouth, closed it, then finally decided to speak. “The message I carry is from Relad. He wants to see you.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. But I don’t think you should go.”

  I frowned. “Why not?”

  “Think, Yeine. You aren’t the only one facing death tomorrow. When you appoint Scimina heir, the first thing she’ll do is kill her baby brother, and he knows it. What if he decides that killing you—right now, before the ceremony—is the best way to earn himself a few extra days of life? It would be futile, of course; Dekarta’s seen what’s happened with Darr. He’ll just designate someone else the sacrifice, and tell that person to choose Scimina. But desperate men do not always think rationally.”

  Sieh’s reasoning made sense—but something else did not. “Relad ordered you to bring me this message?”

  “No, he asked. And he asks to see you. He said, ‘If you see her, remind her that I am not my sister; I have never done her harm. I know she listens to you.’ ” Sieh scowled. “Remind her—that was the only part he commanded. He knows how to speak to us. He left me the choice deliberately.”

  I stopped walking. Sieh got a few paces ahead before he noticed, and turned to me with a puzzled look. “And why did you choose to tell me?” I asked.

  A shadow of unease passed over his face; he lowered his eyes. “It’s true that I shouldn’t have,” he said slowly. “Kurue wouldn’t have allowed it, if she’d known. But what Kurue doesn’t know…” A faint smile crossed Sieh’s face. “Well, it can hurt her, but we’ll just have to hope that doesn’t happen.”

  I folded my arms, waiting. He still hadn’t answered my question, and he knew it.

  Sieh looked annoyed. “You’re no fun anymore.”

  “Sieh.”

  “Fine, fine.” He slid his hands into his pockets and shrugged with total nonchalance, but his voice was serious. “You agreed to help us, that’s all. That makes you our ally, not our tool. Kurue is wrong; we shouldn’t hide things from you.”

  I nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Thank me by not mentioning it to Kurue. Or Nahadoth or Zhakkarn, while you’re at it.” He paused, then smiled at me with sudden amusement. “Though it seems Nahadoth has his own secrets to hide with you.”

  My cheeks grew hot. “It was my decision.” I blurted the words, irrationally compelled to explain. “I caught him by surprise, and—”

  “Yeine, please. You’re not about to try and tell me you ‘took advantage of him’ or anything like that, are you?”

  As I had been about to say exactly that, I fell silent.

  Sieh shook his head and sighed. I was startled to see an odd sort of sadness in his smile. “I’m glad, Yeine—more glad than you know. He’s been so alone since the war.”

  “He isn’t alone. He has you.”

  “We comfort him, yes, and keep him from completely letting go of his sanity. We can even be his lovers, though for us the experience is… well, as strenuous as it was for you.” I blushed again, though some of that was at the disquieting thought of Nahadoth lying with his own children. But the Three had been siblings, after all. The gods did not live by our rules.

  As if hearing that thought, Sieh nodded. “It’s equals he needs, not pity offerings from his children.”

  “I’m not equal to any of the Three, Sieh, no matter whose soul is in me.”

  He grew solemn. “Love can level the ground between mortals and gods, Yeine. It’s something we’ve learned to respect.”

  I shook my head. This w
as something I had understood from the moment the mad impulse to make love to a god had come over me. “He doesn’t love me.”

  Sieh rolled his eyes. “I love you, Yeine, but sometimes you can be such a mortal.”

  Taken aback, I fell silent. Sieh shook his head and called one of his floating orbs out of nowhere, batting it back and forth in his hands. This one was blue-green, which teased my memories mercilessly. “So what do you plan to do about Relad?”

  “What—oh.” So dizzying, this constant switch between matters mundane and divine. “I’ll meet with him.”

  “Yeine—”

  “He won’t kill me.” In my mind’s eye, I saw Relad’s face from two nights ago, framed by the doorway of my room. He had come to tell me of Sieh’s torture, which even T’vril had not done. Surely he’d realized that if Scimina forced me to give up my secrets, she would win the contest. So why had he done it?

  I had a private theory, based on that brief meeting in the solarium. I believed that somewhere deep down, Relad was even less of an Arameri than T’vril—perhaps even less than me. Somewhere amid all that bitterness and self-loathing, hidden behind a thousand protective layers, Relad Arameri had a soft heart.

  Useless for an Arameri heir, if it was true. Beyond useless—dangerous. But because of it, I was willing to chance trusting him.

  “I could still choose him,” I said to Sieh, “and he knows that. It would make no sense, because it would guarantee my people’s suffering. But I could do it. I’m his last hope.”

  “You sound very sure of that,” Sieh said dubiously.

  I had the sudden urge to tousle Sieh’s hair. He might even enjoy it given his nature, but he would not enjoy the thought that triggered the impulse: Sieh really was a child in one fundamental way. He did not understand mortals. He had lived among us for centuries, millennia, and yet he had never been one of us. He did not know the power of hope.

  “I am very sure,” I said. “But I would be grateful if you’d come with me.”