The Inheritance Trilogy

by N. K. Jemisin

  I flashed her my most winning smile, which made her eyes even colder. Perhaps I was too old for that to work anymore. “You could simply have called me,” I said. “Like you did two nights ago.”

  She blinked, distracted from her own anger so easily that I knew she wasn’t that upset. “Do you think that would work?”

  I shrugged, though I was less nonchalant about it than I let her see. “We’re going to have to try it sometime, I suppose.”

  “Yes.” She let out a deep sigh, but then her eyes drifted to the servants now assiduously attacking the soiled area around the Vertical Gate. One of them was even cleaning the gate itself, though carefully, using a clear solution and taking great pains not to step on any of the black tiles.

  “You knew them?” I asked. Softly, in case she’d cared for them.

  “Of course,” she said. “Neither was any threat to me.” As near a declaration of friendship as it got with this family. “They managed our shipping concerns in High North and on the islands. They were competent. Sensible. Brother and sister, like—” Deka and me, I suspected she would have said. “A great loss to the family. Again.”

  By the bleakness of her expression, I realized suddenly that she was not surprised by the manner of their deaths. And her wording had been another clue, as had Wrath’s warning.

  “I’m hungry,” I said. “Take me somewhere with food and eat with me.”

  She glared. “Is that a command?”

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m not forcing you to obey it, so no.”

  “There are many kinds of force,” she said, her gaze as hard as stone. “If you tell my mother—”

  I groaned in exasperation. “I’m not a tattletale! I’m just hungry!” I stepped closer. “And I want to talk about this somewhere private.”

  She blinked, then flushed—as well she should have, because she should’ve caught my hints. Would have, if her pride hadn’t interfered. “Ah.” She hesitated, then looked around the forecourt as if it were full of eyes. It usually was, one way or another. “Meet me at the cupola of the library in half an hour. I’ll have food brought.” With that she turned away in a swirl of fur and whiteness, her shoes clicking briskly on the daystone as she walked.

  I watched her walk away, amused until I realized my eyes were lingering on the slight curves of her hips and their even slighter sway, thanks to her stiff, haughty walk. That unnerved me so badly that I stumbled as I backed down the steps. Though there were only servants to see me—and they were carefully not looking, probably on Morad’s orders—I still quickly righted myself and slipped into the garden as a cover, pretending to look at the boring trees and flowers with great fascination. In truth, however, I was shaking.

  Nothing to be done for it. Shevir had gauged my age at sixteen, and I knew full well what that age meant for mortal boys. How long before I found myself curled in a sweating knot, furiously caressing myself? And now I knew whose name I would groan when the moment struck.

  Gods. How I hated adolescence.

  Nothing to be done for it, I told myself again, and opened a hole in the ground.

  It did not take long to reach the library. I emerged between two of the massive old bookshelves in a disused corner, then made my way along the stacks until I reached the half-hidden spiral staircase. Kurue had built the library’s cupola as a reward for those palace denizens who loved the written word. They usually found it only by browsing the stacks and sitting quietly for a while, losing themselves in some book or scroll or tablet. It made me obscurely proud that Shahar had found it—and then I grew annoyed at that pride and more annoyed at my annoyance.

  But as I reached the top of the staircase, I stopped in surprise. The cupola was already occupied, and not by Shahar.

  A man sat on one of its long cushioned benches. Big, blond, dressed in a suggestively martial jacket that would have looked more so if it hadn’t been made out of pearlescent silk. The cupola’s roof was glass, its walls open to the air (though as magically protected from the winds and thinner air as the rest of the palace). A shaft of sunlight made a churning river of the man’s curly hair, and jewels of his jacket buttons, and a sculpture of his face. I knew him at once for Arameri Central Family even without looking at the mark on his brow, because he was too beautiful and too comfortable.

  But when he turned to me, I saw the mark and stared, because it was complete. All the scripts I remembered: the contract binding the Enefadeh to the protection and service of Shahar’s direct descendants, the compulsion that forced Arameri to remain loyal to their family head… all of it. But why did only this man, out of all the Central Family, wear the mark in its original form?

  “Well, well,” he said, his eyes raking me with the same quick analysis.

  “Sorry,” I said uneasily. “Didn’t know anyone was up here. I’ll try someplace else.”

  “You’re the godling,” he said, and I stopped in surprise. He smiled thinly. “I think you must remember how difficult it is to keep a secret in this place.”

  “I managed, in my day.”

  “Indeed you did. And a good thing that was, or you would never have gotten free of us.”

  I lifted my chin, feeling annoyed and belligerent. “Is that really a good thing in the eyes of a fullblood?”

  “Yes.” He shifted then, setting aside the large, handsomely bound book that had been in his lap. “I’ve just been reading about you and your fellow Enefadeh, actually, in honor of your arrival. My ancestors really had a monster by the tail, didn’t they? I feel exceedingly fortunate that you were released before I had to deal with you.”

  I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to understand my own wariness. “Why don’t I like you?”

  The man blinked in surprise, then smiled again with a hint of irony. “Maybe because, if you were still a slave and I your master, you’re the one I would put the shortest leash on.”

  I wasn’t sure if that was it, but it didn’t help. I had never trusted mortals who guessed at how dangerous I was. That usually meant they were just as dangerous. “Who are you?”

  “My name is Ramina Arameri.”

  I nodded, reading the lines of his face and the frame of his bones. “Remath’s brother?” No, that wasn’t quite right.

  “Half brother. Her father was the last family head. Mine wasn’t.” He shrugged dismissively. “How could you tell?”

  “You look Central Family. You smell like her. And you feel”—I glanced at his forehead—“like power that has been leashed.”

  “Ah.” He touched his forehead with a self-deprecating little smile. “This does make it obvious, doesn’t it? True sigils were the norm in your day, I understand.”

  “True sigils?” I frowned. “What do they call those trimmed-down ones, then?”

  “Theirs are called semisigils. Aside from Remath, I am the only member of the family who currently wears a true sigil.” Ramina looked away, his gaze falling on a flock of birds swirling around a Tree branch in the distance. They took off, gliding away, and he followed their slow, steady flight. “It was given to me when my sister took her place as head of the family.”

  I understood then. The true sigil enforced loyalty to the family head at the cost of the wearer’s will. Ramina could no more act against his sister’s interests than he could command the sun to set.

  “Demons,” I said, feeling an unexpected pity for him. “Why didn’t she just kill you?”

  “Because she hates me, I suppose.” Ramina was still watching the birds; I couldn’t read his expression. “Or loves me. Same effect either way.”

  Before I could reply, I heard footsteps on the spiral staircase. We both fell silent as two servants came up, bowing quickly toward Ramina and throwing me uncomfortable looks as they set up a wooden tray and put a large platter of finger foods on it. They left quickly, whereupon I went over to the tray and crammed several items into my mouth. Ramina lifted an eyebrow; I bared my teeth at him. He sniffed a bit and looked away. Good. Bastard.

  I was ful
l after only that mouthful, which made me happy because it proved I wasn’t fully mortal yet. So I belched and began licking my fingers, which I hoped would disgust Ramina. Alas, he did not look at me. But a moment later, he glanced toward the steps again as Shahar emerged from the floor entrance. She nodded to me, then spotted Ramina and brightened. “Uncle! What are you doing up here?”

  “Plotting to take over the world, obviously,” he said, smiling broadly at her. She went over and hugged him with real affection, which he returned with equal sincerity. “And having a lovely conversation with my new young friend here. Did you come to meet him?”

  Shahar sat down beside him, glancing from him to me and back. “Yes, though it’s just as well you’re here. Do you know what’s happened?”

  “Happened?”

  She sobered. “Nevra and Criscina. They—Soldiers brought the bodies this morning.”

  Ramina grimaced, closing his eyes. “How?”

  She shook her head. “The masks, again. This time it…” She made a face. “I didn’t see the result, but I smelled it.”

  I sat down on a bench opposite them, in the cupola’s shadows, and watched them. The light making an aura of their curls. Their identical looks of sorrow. Yes, it was so obvious I wondered why Remath bothered to try and keep it secret.

  Ramina got to his feet and began pacing, his expression ferocious. “Demons and darkness! All the highbloods will be livid, and rightly so. They’ll blame Remath for not finding these bastards.” He stopped abruptly and turned to Shahar, his eyes narrowing. “And you will be in greater danger than ever, Niece, if these attackers have grown that bold. I wouldn’t advise travel for some time.”

  She frowned a little at this, but not in a surprised way. No doubt she had been thinking the same thing since the forecourt. “I’m scheduled to go to the Gray this evening, to meet with Lady Hynno.”

  The Gray? I wondered.

  “Reschedule it.”

  “I can’t! I asked for the meeting. If I reschedule, she’ll know something’s wrong, and Mother has decreed that any news of these murders is to remain secret.”

  Ramina stopped and looked pointedly at me. I flashed him a winning smile.

  Shahar made a sound of exasperation. “She also decreed that I’m to give him whatever he wants.” She glowered at me. “He saw the bodies, anyway.”

  “Yes,” I said, “but I would appreciate an explanation to go with those bodies. I take it this sort of thing has happened before?”

  Ramina frowned at my forwardness, but Shahar only slumped, not bothering to hide her despair. “Never a fullblood before. But others, yes.”

  “Other Arameri?”

  “And those who support our interests, sometimes, yes. Always with the masks and always deadly. We’re not even sure how the culprit gets the victims to put the mask on. The effects are different every time, and the masks burn up afterward, as you saw.”

  Amazing. In the old days, no one would have dared to kill an Arameri, for fear of the Enefadeh being sent to find and punish the killers. Had the world overcome its fear of the Arameri to that degree in just a few generations? The resilience—and vindictiveness—of mortals would never cease to astound me.

  “Who do you think is doing it, then?” I asked. They both threw me irritated looks, and I raised my eyebrows. “Obviously you don’t know, or you would have killed them. But you must suspect someone.”

  “No,” said Ramina. He sat down, crossing his legs and tossing his long mane of hair over the back of the seat. He regarded me with active contempt. “If we suspected someone, we would kill them, too.”

  I grew annoyed. “You have the masks, however damaged. Have the scriveners forgotten how to craft tracking scripts?”

  “This is not the same,” said Shahar. She sat forward, her eyes intent. “This isn’t scrivening. The scriveners have no idea how this, this… false magic works, and…” She hesitated, glancing at Ramina, and sighed. “They can’t stop it. We are helpless against these attacks.”

  I yawned. I didn’t time it that way, didn’t do it deliberately to suggest that I didn’t care about their plight, but I saw them both scowl at me, anyway. When I closed my mouth, I glowered back. “What do you want me to say? ‘I’m sorry’? I’m not, and you know it. The rest of the world has had to live with this kind of terror—murders without rhyme or reason, magic that strikes without warning—for centuries. Thanks to you Arameri.” I shrugged. “If some mortal has figured out a way to make you know the same fear, I’m not going to condemn them for it. Hells, you should be glad I’m not cheering them on.”

  Ramina’s expression went blank, in that way Arameri think is so inscrutable when it really just means they’re pissed and trying not to show it. Shahar, at least, was honest enough to give me the full force of her anger. “If you hate us so much, you know what to do,” she snapped. “It should be simple enough for you to kill us all. Or”—her lip curled, her tone turning nasty—“ask Nahadoth or Yeine to do it, if you don’t have the strength.”

  “Say that again!” I shot to my feet, feeling quite strong enough to slaughter the whole Arameri family because she was being a brat. If she’d been a boy, I would have slugged her one. Boys could beat each other and remain friends, however; between boys and girls the matter was murkier.

  “Children,” said Ramina. He spoke in a mild tone, but he was looking at me, palpably tense despite that oh-so-calm face. I appreciated his acknowledgment of my nature. It did help to calm me, which was probably what he’d hoped for.

  Shahar looked sulky, but she subsided, and after a moment I, too, sat down, though I was still furious.

  “For your information,” I spat, crossing my legs and not sulking, thank you, “what you’re describing isn’t false magic. It’s just better magic.”

  “Only the gods’ magic is better than scrivener magic,” Shahar said. I could hear her trying for calm dignity, which immediately made me want to torment her in some way.

  “No,” I said. To alleviate the urge to annoy her, I shifted to lie down on the bench, putting my feet up on one of the delicate-looking columns that supported the roof. I wished my feet had been dirty, though I supposed that would only have inconvenienced the servants. “Scrivening is only the best thing you mortals—pardon me, you Amn—have come up with thus far. But just because you haven’t thought of anything better doesn’t mean there can’t be anything better.”

  “Yes,” said Ramina with a heavy sigh, “Shevir has already explained this. Scrivening merely approximates the gods’ power, and poorly. It can only capture concepts that are communicated via simple written words. Spoken magic works better, when it works.”

  “The only reason it doesn’t work is because mortals don’t say it right.” The bench was surprisingly comfortable. I would try sleeping up here some night, in the open air, beneath the waning moon. It would feel like resting in Nahadoth’s arms. “You get the pronunciation right, and the syntax, but you never master the context. You say the words at night when you should only say them by day. You speak them when we’re on this side of the sun, not that side—all you have to do is consider the seasons, for gods’ sake! But you don’t. You say gevvirh when you really mean das-ankalae, and you take the breviranaenoket out of the…” I glanced at them and realized they weren’t following me at all. “… You say it wrong.”

  “There’s no way to say it better,” said Shahar. “There’s no way for a mortal to understand all that… context. You know there isn’t.”

  “There’s no way for you to speak as we do, no. But there are other ways to convey information besides speech and writing. Hand signs, body language”—they glanced at each other and I pointed at them—“meaningful looks! What do you think magic is? Communication. We gods call to reality, and reality responds. Some of that is because we made it and it is like limbs, the outflow of our souls, we and existence are one and the same, but the rest…”

  I was losing them again. Stupid, padlock-brained creatures. They were smart
enough to understand; Enefa had made certain of that. They were just being stubborn. I gave up and sighed, tired of trying to talk to them. If only some of my siblings would come to visit me… but I dared not risk word getting out about my condition. As Nahadoth had said, I had enemies.

  “Would you consent to work with Shevir, Lord Sieh?” asked Ramina. “To help him figure out this new magic?”

  “No.”

  Shahar made a harsh, irritated sound. “Oh, of course not. We’re only giving you a roof over your head and food and—”

  “You have given me nothing,” I snapped, turning my head to glare at her. “In case you’ve forgotten, I built the roof. If we’re going to get particular about obligations, Lady Shahar, how about you tell your mother I want two thousand years of back wages? Or offerings, if she prefers; either will keep me in food for the rest of my mortal life.” Her mouth fell open in pure affront. “No? Then shut the hells up!”

  Shahar stood so fast that on another world she would have shot into the sky. “I don’t have to take this.” In a flurry of fur and smolder, she went down the steps. I heard the click of her shoes along the library’s floors, and then she was gone.

  Feeling rather pleased with myself, I folded my arms beneath my head.

  “You enjoyed that,” said Ramina.

  “Whatever gave you that impression?” I laughed.

  He sighed, sounding bored rather than frustrated. “It might amuse you to bicker with her—in fact, I’m sure it does amuse you—but you have no idea of the pressure she’s under, Lord Sieh. My sister has not been kind to her in the years since you almost killed her and caused her brother to be sent away.”

  I flinched, reminded of the debt I owed to Shahar—a reminder that Ramina had no doubt meant to deliver. Uncomfortable now, I took my feet off the column and turned onto my belly, propping myself up on my elbows to face him.