The Inheritance Trilogy

by N. K. Jemisin

  Between these two stood a third woman: the most high Lady Arameri herself, head of the family and ruler of the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, resplendent in a deep red shawl-collared gown. Then to my further shock, all three women dropped to one knee—the steward smoothly, the lady and her heir somewhat less so. At the sight of their bowed heads, I couldn’t help laughing.

  “Well!” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Now this is a welcome. I had no idea I was so important. Have you actually been waiting here all day for me to come back?”

  “It’s no less a welcome than we would offer to any god,” said the lady. Her voice was low, surprisingly like Yeine’s. She looked older awake, with a ruler’s troubles and her own personality influencing the lines of her face, but she was still beautiful in a chilly, powerful way. And she was not afraid of me at all.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” I said, going to stand before her. I had not bothered to conjure or steal clothing for myself, which put certain parts of me right at the lady’s eye level, should she choose to look up. Could I needle her into doing so? “Very diplomatic, Lady Arameri, given that half my family wants to kill you and the other half couldn’t care less if the first half did. I assume Shahar told you everything?”

  She didn’t take the bait, damn her, keeping her gaze downcast. “Yes. My condolences on your loss of immortality, Lord Sieh.”

  Bitch. I scowled and folded my arms. “It’s not lost; it’s just mislaid for a while, and I am still a god whether I live forever or die tomorrow.” But now I sounded petulant. She was manipulating me, and I was a fool for letting her do it. I went to the windows, turning my back on them to hide my annoyance. “Oh, get up. I hate pointless formality, or false humility, whichever this is. What’s your name, and what do you want?”

  There was a whisper of cloth as they rose. “I am Remath Arameri,” the lady said, “and I want only to welcome you back to Sky—as an honored guest, of course. We will extend you every courtesy, and I have already set the scrivener corps to the task of researching your… condition. There may be little we mortals can do that the gods haven’t already attempted, but if we learn anything, we will share it with you, naturally.”

  “Naturally,” I said, “since if you can figure out how it happened to me, you might be able to do it to any god who threatens you.”

  I was pleased that she did not attempt to deny it. “I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t try, Lord Sieh.”

  “Yes, yes.” I frowned as something she’d mentioned caught my attention. “Scrivener corps? You mean the First Scrivener and his assistants?”

  “The mortal world has changed since you last spent time among us, Lord Sieh,” she said. A nice touch, that, making my centuries of slavery sound like a vacation. “As you might imagine, the loss of the Enefadeh—of your magic—was a great blow to our efforts to maintain order and prosperity in the world. It became necessary that we assume greater control over all the scriveners that the Litaria produces.”

  “So you have an army of scriveners, in other words. To go with your more conventional army?” I hadn’t paid attention to the mortal realm since T’vril’s death, but I knew he’d been working on that.

  “The Hundred Thousand Legions.” She did not smile—I got the impression she didn’t do that often—but there was a hint of wry irony in her voice. “There aren’t really a hundred thousand, of course. It just sounds impressive that way.”

  “Of course.” I had forgotten what a pain it was, dealing with Arameri family heads. “So what do you really want? Because I highly doubt you’re actually glad to have me here.”

  She did not dissemble, either, which I liked. “I’m neither glad nor displeased, Lord Sieh—though, yes, your presence does serve several useful purposes to the family.” There was a pause, perhaps while she waited to see my reaction. I did wonder why the Arameri could possibly want me around, but I imagined that would become clear soon enough. “To that end, I have informed Morad, our palace steward, to ensure that all your material needs are met while you’re here.”

  “It would be my honor and pleasure, Lord Sieh.” This from the black-haired woman. “We could begin with a wardrobe.”

  I snorted in amusement, liking her already. “Of course.”

  Remath continued. “I have also informed my daughter Shahar that you are now her primary responsibility. For the duration of your time here in Sky, she is to obey you as she would me and see to your comfort at any cost.”

  Wait. I frowned, turning back to Remath at last. The expression on Remath’s face—or rather, the intent lack of expression—made it clear that she knew full well what she had just done. The shocked look that Shahar threw at her back confirmed it.

  “Let me be sure I understand you,” I said slowly. “You’re offering me your daughter to do with as I please.” I glanced at Shahar again, who was beginning to look murderous. “What if it pleases me to kill her?”

  “I would prefer that you not do so, naturally.” Remath delivered this with sculptured calm. “A good heir represents a substantial investment of time and energy. But she is Arameri, Lord Sieh, and our fundamental mission has not changed since the days of our founding Matriarch. We rule by the grace of the gods; therefore, we serve the gods in all things.”

  Shahar threw me a look more raw than anything I’d seen since her childhood, full of betrayal and bitterness and helpless fury. Ah—now that was the Shahar I remembered. Not that this was as terrible as she seemed to think; our oath meant she had nothing to fear from me. Had she told Remath about that? Was Remath counting on a childhood promise to keep her heir safe?

  No. I had lived among the Arameri for a hundred generations. I had seen how they raised their children with careful, calculated neglect; that was why Shahar and Dekarta had been left to wander the palace as children. They believed any Arameri stupid enough to die in a childhood accident was too stupid to rule. And I had also seen, again and again, how Arameri heads found ways to test their heirs’ strength, even at the cost of their heirs’ souls.

  This, however… I felt my fists clench and had to work hard not to become the cat. Too dangerous, and a waste of magic.

  “How dare you.” It came out a snarl, anyway. “You think I’m some petty, simpleminded mortal, delighting in the chance to turn the tables? You think I need someone else’s humiliation to know my own worth? You think I’m like you?”

  Remath lifted an eyebrow. “Given that mortals are made in the gods’ image, no, I think we are like you.” That infuriated me into silence. “But very well; if it doesn’t please you to use Shahar, then don’t. Tell her what will please you. She’ll see it done.”

  “And is this to take precedence over my other duties, Mother?” Shahar’s voice was as cool as Remath’s, though higher pitched; they sounded much alike. But the fury in her eyes could have melted glass.

  Remath glanced over her shoulder and seemed pleased by her daughter’s anger. She nodded once, as if to herself. “Yes, until I inform you otherwise. Morad, please make certain Shahar’s secretary is informed.” Morad murmured a polite affirmative, while Remath kept watching Shahar. “Have you any questions, Daughter?”

  “No, Mother,” Shahar replied quietly. “You’ve made your wishes quite clear.”

  “Excellent.” In what I considered a brave gesture, Remath turned her back on her daughter and faced me again. “One more thing, Lord Sieh. Rumors are inevitable, but I would advise that you not make your presence—or rather, your nature—known during your time here. I’m sure you can imagine what sort of attention that would draw.”

  Yes, every scrivener and godphile in the palace would drive me to distraction with questions and worship and requests for blessings. And since this was Sky, there would also be the inevitable highbloods who wanted a little godly assistance with whatever schemes they had going, and a few who might try to harm or exploit me to gain prestige for themselves, and… I ground my teeth. “Obviously it would make sense for me to keep a low profile.”

&nb
sp; “It would, yes.” She inclined her head—not the bow of a mortal to a god, but a respectful gesture between equals. I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. Was she insulting me by not bothering to show reverence, or was she paying me the compliment of honesty? Damn, I couldn’t figure this woman out at all. “I’ll take my leave of you now, Lord Sieh.”

  “Wait,” I said, stepping closer so that I could look her in the eye. She was taller than me, which I liked; it made me feel more my old self. And she was at least wary of me, I saw when I stood closer. I liked that, too.

  “Do you mean me harm, Remath? Say you don’t. Promise it.”

  She looked surprised. “Of course I don’t. I’ll swear any oath you like on that.”

  I smiled, showing all my teeth, and for the barest instant I did smell fear in her. Not much, but even an Arameri is still human, and humans are still animals, and animals know a predator when one draws near.

  “Cross your heart, Remath,” I said. “Hope to die. Stick a needle in your eye.”

  She lifted an eyebrow at my nonsense. But the words of a god have power, regardless of what language we speak, and I was not quite mortal yet. She felt my intent, despite the silly words.

  “Cross my heart,” she replied gravely, and inclined her head. Then she turned and swept out, perhaps before she could reveal more fear, and certainly before I could say anything else. I stuck my tongue out at her back as she left.

  “Well.” Morad drew a deep breath, turning to regard me. “I believe I can find suitable garments for your size, though a proper fitting with the tailor would make things easier. Would you be willing to stand for that, Lord Sieh?”

  I folded my arms and conjured clothing for myself. A small and petty gesture, and a waste of magic. The slight widening of her eyes was gratifying, though I pretended nonchalance as I said, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to work with a tailor, too. Never been much for keeping up with fashion.” Then I wouldn’t need to expend more magic.

  She bowed—deeply and respectfully, I was pleased to see. “As for your quarters, my lord, I—”

  “Leave us,” snapped Shahar, to my surprise.

  After the slightest of startled pauses, Morad closed her mouth. “Yes, lady.” With a measured but brisk stride, she, too, left. Shahar and I gazed at each other in silence until we heard the door of Dekarta’s apartment shut. Shahar closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath as if for strength.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  I expected her to be sad. When she opened her eyes, however, the fury was still burning. Coldly. “Will you help me kill her?”

  I rocked back on my heels in surprise and slid hands into my pockets. (I always made clothes with pockets.) Considering for a moment, I said, “I could kill her for you right now, if you want. Better to do it while I still have magic to spare.” I paused, reading the telltale signs in her posture. “But are you sure?”

  She almost said yes. I could see that, too. And I was willing to do it, if she asked. It had never been my way to kill mortals before the Gods’ War, but my enslavement had changed everything. Arameri weren’t ordinary mortals, anyway. Killing them was a treat.

  “No,” she said at last. Not reluctantly. There was no hint of squeamishness in her—but then, I had been the one to teach her to kill, long ago. She sighed in frustration. “I’m not strong enough to take her place, not yet. I have only a few allies among the nobles, and some of my fullblood relatives….” She grimaced. “No. I’m not ready.”

  I nodded slowly. “You think she knows that?”

  “Better than I do.” Shahar sighed and slumped into a nearby chair, putting her head in her hands. “It’s always like this with her, no matter what I do. No matter how well I prove myself. She thinks I’m not strong enough to be her heir.”

  I sat down on the edge of a beautifully worked wooden desk. My butt settled more heavily than I intended, partly because my butt was bigger now and partly because I was feeling a little winded. Why? Then I remembered: the clothing I’d conjured.

  “That’s standard for Arameri,” I said to distract myself. “I can’t remember how many times I saw family heads put their children through all manner of hells to make sure they were worthy.” Fleetingly I wondered what the Arameri did for a succession ceremony now, since the Stone of Earth no longer existed and there was no need for a life to be spent in its inheritance. Remath’s master sigil, I’d noticed, had been the standard kind, complete with the old commanding language even though it was now useless. Clearly they maintained at least a few of the old traditions, however unnecessarily. “Well, it should be easy enough to prove you’re not weak. Just order the annihilation of a country or something.”

  Shahar threw me a scathing look. “You think the slaughter of innocent mortals is funny?”

  “No, it’s horrific, and I will hear their screams in my soul for the rest of existence,” I said in my coldest tone. She flinched. “But if you’re afraid of being seen as weak, then you have limited options. Either do something to prove your strength—and in Arameri terms, strength means ruthlessness—or quit now and tell your mother to make someone else heir. Which she should do, in my opinion, if she’s right and you aren’t strong enough. The whole world will be better off if you never inherit.”

  Shahar stared at me for a moment. Hurt, I realized, because I’d been deliberately cruel. But I’d also told the truth, however unpleasant she might find it. I’d seen the carnage that resulted when a weak or foolish Arameri took over the family. Better for the world and for Shahar, because otherwise her relatives would eat her alive.

  She rose from the chair and began to pace, folding her arms and nibbling her bottom lip in a way that I might have found endearing on another day and under better circumstances.

  “What I don’t understand is why your mother wants me here,” I said. I stretched out my offensively long legs and glared down at them. “I’m not even a good figurehead, if that’s what she’s thinking. My magic is dying; anyone who looks at me can see that something’s wrong. And she wants me to keep my godhood secret anyhow. This makes no sense.”

  Shahar sighed, stopping her pacing and rubbing her eyes. “She wants to improve relations between the Arameri and the gods. It’s a project her father began—mostly because you stopped visiting Sky when her grandfather, T’vril Arameri, died. She’s been sending gifts to the city’s godlings, inviting them to events and so on. Sometimes they actually show up.” She shrugged. “I’m told she even courted one as a potential husband. He didn’t accept, though. They say that’s why she never married; after being turned down by a god, she couldn’t settle for anything less without being seen as weak.”

  “Really?” I grinned at the idea of cold Remath trying to win one of my siblings’ love. Some of them might have been amused enough to allow a seduction. Which one had she propositioned? Dima, maybe; he would mount anything that held still long enough. Or Ellere, who could match any Arameri for hauteur and preferred stiff types like Remath—

  “Yes. And I suspect that’s why she tried to give me to you.” I blinked in surprise, and Shahar smiled thinly. “Well, you’re too young for her tastes. But not mine.”

  I leapt to my feet, taking several quick steps back from her. “That’s insane!”

  She stared at me, surprised by my vehemence. “Insane?” Her jaw tightened. “I see. I had no idea you found me so repellent.”

  I groaned. “Shahar, I’m the god of childhood. Would you please think about that for a moment?”

  She frowned. “Children are perfectly capable of marriage.”

  “Yes. And some of them even have children themselves. But childhood doesn’t last long under those conditions.” I shuddered before I could stop myself, folding my arms over my chest to match her posture. Paltry, inadequate protection. Impossible not to think of groping hands, grunting breaths. So many of Shahar’s forbears had loved having a pretty, indestructible, never-aging boy around—

  Gods, I was going to be sick. I leaned against th
e desk, trembling and panting.

  “Sieh?” Shahar had drawn near, and now she touched me, her hand warm against my back. “Sieh, what’s wrong?”

  “What do you do for fun?” I took deep breaths.

  “What?”

  “Fun, damn you! Do you do anything but scheme in your spare time, or do you actually have a life?”

  She glowered at me, and her petulance made me feel just a little better. I turned and grabbed her hand and dragged her across the room, onto Deka’s modestly sized bed. She gasped and tried to pull free of me. “What the hells are you doing?”

  “Jumping on the bed.” I didn’t take my shoes off. Worked better with them on. I stood awkwardly in the soft middle of the mattress and hauled her up with me.

  “What?”

  “You’re supposed to try and keep me happy, right?” I took her by the shoulders. “Come on, Shahar. It’s only been eight years. You used to love trying new things, remember? I offered to take you cloud jumping once and you leapt at the chance, until you remembered that I was a baby-killing monster.” I grinned, and she blinked, outrage fading as she remembered that day. “You kicked me down the stairs so hard I actually got bruises!”

  She uttered a weak, uncertain laugh. “I’d forgotten about that. Kicking you.”

  I nodded. “It felt good, didn’t it? You didn’t care that I was a god, that I might get angry and hurt you. You did what you wanted, damn the consequences.”

  Yes, at last, the old light was in her eyes. She was older, wiser, she would never do something so foolish today—but that didn’t mean she didn’t want to. The impulse was there, buried but not dead. That was enough.

  “Now try it again,” I said. “Do something fun.” I bounced a little on the bed’s soft, springy surface. She yelped and stumbled, trying to get her footing—but she laughed. I grinned, the nausea gone already. “Don’t think! Just do what feels good!”

  I jumped, really jumped this time, and the force of my landing nearly threw her off the bed. She shrieked in terror and excitement and sheer giddy release, and finally jumped in self-defense, wobbling badly because my jumping had thrown her off. I laughed and grabbed her and made her jump with me, as high as I could go without using magic. She cried out again when we actually got within arm’s reach of the room’s arched ceiling. Then we came down fast and hard, and something in Deka’s bed groaned in protest and I took us up again and she was laughing, laughing, her face alight, and on impulse I pulled her close and we overbalanced and went sideways and I had to use magic to make sure we landed safely on our backs, but that was fine because suddenly magic was easy again and I felt so good that I laughed and kissed her.