With me traveled Enmitan Zobindi, a taciturn Maro man who was neither my husband nor a relative. (This was the talk of the town for weeks.) He earned the not-unfriendly nickname of Shadow, as in Desola's Shadow, because he was most often seen running errands around town for me. The town ladies, who eventually overcame their nervousness about approaching us, dropped polite hints during their weekly visits that I should just go ahead and marry the man, since he was doing the work of a husband, anyhow. I merely smiled, and eventually they got over it.
If they had asked, I might have felt contrary enough to tell them: Shiny wasn't doing all the work of a husband. At night we shared a bed, as we had done since the House of the Risen Sun. It was convenient, since the town house was drafty; I saved a lot of money on firewood. It was comforting, too, since more often than not, I awoke crying or screaming in the night. Shiny held me, and often caressed me, and occasionally kissed me. That was all I needed to regain my emotional equilibrium, so it was all I asked of him, and all he offered. He could not be Madding for me. I could not be Nahadoth or Enefa. Still, each of us managed to fulfill the other's basic needs.
He talked more, I should note. In fact, he told me many things about his former life, some of which I've now told you. Some of what he told me I'll never tell.
And-oh, yes. I had become blind, fully and truly.
My ability to see magic never returned after the battle with Dateh. My paintings were just paint now, nothing special. I still enjoyed creating them, but I could not see them. When I went for walks in the evening, I went slower, because there was no Tree glimmer or godling leavings to see by. Even if I'd still been able to perceive such things, there would have been nothing to see. Strafe was not Shadow. It was a very unmagical town.
It took me a long while to get used to this.
But I was human, and Shiny was more or less the same, so it was inevitable that things would change.
***
I had been in the garden planting, since it was finally full springtime. I had some winter onions cradled in my skirt, and my hands and clothes were stained with soil and grass. I'd put a kerchief on my head to hold back my hair and was thinking about anything but Shadow and old times. This was a good thing. A new thing.
So I was less than pleased to walk into my toolshed and find a godling waiting for me.
"Don't you look good," said Nemmer. I recognized her voice, but it still startled me. I dropped the onions. They thumped to the floor and rolled around for what sounded like an obscene amount of time.
Not bothering to pick them up, I stared in her direction. She may have thought I was astonished. I wasn't. It was just that I remembered the last time I'd seen her, at Madding's house. With Madding. It took me a moment to master my feelings.
Finally I said, "I thought godlings weren't allowed to leave Shadow."
"I'm the goddess of stealth, Oree Shoth. I do a lot of things that I'm not supposed to." She paused in surprise. "You can't see me, can you?"
"No," I said, and left it at that.
So did she, thankfully. "Wasn't easy to find you. The Arameri did a good job of covering your tracks. I honestly thought you were dead for a while. Lovely funeral, by the way."
"Thank you," I said. I hadn't attended. "Why are you here?"
She whistled at my tone. "You certainly aren't happy to see me. What's wrong?" I heard her push aside some of the tools and pots on my workbench and sit down. "Afraid I'll out you as the last living demon?"
I had lived without fear for more than a year, so it was slow to awaken in me. I only sighed and knelt to begin collecting the spilled onions. "I suppose it was inevitable you would find out why the Arameri 'killed' me."
"Mmm, yes. Nummy secrets." I heard her kick her feet idly, like a little girl nibbling a cookie. "I promised Mad, after all, that I'd find out who was killing our siblings."
At that, I sat back on my heels. I still felt no fear. "I had nothing to do with Role. That was Dateh. The rest, though…" I had no idea, so I shrugged. "It could have been either of us. They started taking my blood not long after they kidnapped me. The only one I'm sure was my fault was Madding."
"I wouldn't say it was your fault-" Nemmer began.
"I would."
An uncomfortable silence fell.
"Are you going to kill me now?" I asked.
There was another pause that told me she'd been considering it. "No."
"Do you want my blood for yourself, then?"
"Gods, no! What do you take me for?"
"An assassin."
I felt her stare at me, her consternation churning the air of the small room. "I don't want your blood," she said finally. "In fact, I'm planning to do all I can to make sure anyone else who figures out your secret dies before they can act on it. The Arameri were right about anonymity being your surest protection. I intend to make sure even they don't remember your existence for long."
"Lord T'vril-"
"Knows his place. I'm sure he could be persuaded to remove certain records from the family archive in exchange for my silence about his carefully hidden stash of demons' blood. Which isn't hidden as well as he thinks it is."
"I see." My head was beginning to hurt. Not from magic, just pure irritation. There were aspects of life in Shadow that I did not miss. "Why did you come, then?"
She kicked her feet again. "I thought you'd want to know. Kitr runs Madding's organization now, with Istan."
I didn't know the latter name, but I was relieved-more than I'd ever expected to be-to hear that Kitr was alive. I licked my lips. "What about… the others?"
"Lil is fine. The demon couldn't take her." With the clarity of intuition, I realized Dateh had become "the demon" for Nemmer. I was something else. "She almost killed him, in fact; he fled from their battle. She's taken over the Shustocks junkyard-Dump's old place?-and Ancestors' Village." At my look of alarm, she added, "She doesn't eat anyone who doesn't want to be eaten. In fact, she's rather protective of the children; their hunger for love seems to fascinate her. And for some reason, she's gained a taste for being worshipped lately."
I couldn't help laughing at that. "What about-"
"None of the others survived," she said. My laughter died.
After a moment of silence, Nemmer added, "Your friends from Art Row are all fine, though."
That was very good, but it hurt me most of all to think about that part of my old life, so I said, "Did you have a chance to check on my mother?"
"No, sorry. Getting out of the city is difficult enough. I could make only one trip."
I nodded slowly and resumed picking up onions. "Thank you for doing it. Really."
Nemmer hopped down and helped me. "You seem to have a good life here, at least. How is, ah…" I smelled her discomfort, like a toe of garlic amid the onions.
"He's better," I said. "Do you want to talk to him? He went to the market. Should be back soon."
"Went to the market." Nemmer weakly let out a little laugh. "Will wonders never cease."
We got the onions into a basket. I sat back, mopping my now-sweaty brow with a dirty hand. She sat there beside me on her knees, thinking a daughter's thoughts. "I think he'd be happy if you stayed," I said softly. "Or came back at some point in the future. I think he misses all of you."
"I'm not sure I miss him," she said, though her tone said something entirely different. Abruptly she got to her feet, brushing off her knees unnecessarily. "I'll think about it."
I rose as well. "All right." I considered whether to invite her to stay for dinner, then decided against it. Despite what it might have meant to Shiny, I didn't really want her to stay. She didn't really want to, either. An awkward silence descended between us.
"I'm glad you're well, Oree Shoth," she said finally.
I extended my hand to her, not worrying about the dirt. She was a god. If dirt bothered her, she could will it away. "It was good seeing you, Lady Nemmer."
She laughed, easing the awkwardness. "I told you not to call me 'Lady
.' You mortals all make me feel so old, I swear." But she took my hand and squeezed it before vanishing.
I puttered about in the shed awhile, then went into the house and upstairs to bathe. After that, I put my hair back in a braid, donned a thick, warm robe, and curled up in my favorite chair, thinking.
Evening fell. I heard Shiny come in downstairs, wipe his feet, and begin putting away the supplies he'd bought. Eventually he came upstairs and stopped, standing in the doorway, looking at me. Then he came over to the bed and sat down, waiting for me to tell him what was wrong. He talked more these days, but only when the mood took him, and that was rare. For the most part, he was just a very quiet man. I liked that about him, especially now. His silent presence soothed my loneliness in a way that talking would only have irritated.
So I got up and went over to the bed. I found his face with my hands, traced its stern lines. He shaved his head bald every morning. That kept people from realizing it was completely white, which was too striking for the low profile we were trying to keep. He was handsome enough without it, but I missed pushing my fingers into his hair. I ran my fingers across his smooth scalp instead, wistful.
Shiny regarded me for a moment, thoughtful. Then he reached up and untied the sash of my robe, tugging it open. I froze, startled, as he gazed at me-nothing more than that. But as he had somehow done long ago, on a rooftop in another life, just that look made me incredibly aware of my body, and his nearness, and all the potential that lay therein. When he took hold of my hips, there was absolutely no doubt as to what he intended. Then he pulled me closer.
I pulled back instead, too stunned to react otherwise. If my skin hadn't still tingled where he'd touched me, I would have thought I'd imagined the whole thing. But that, and the roaring-awake of certain parts of me that had been mostly asleep for a long while, told me it was very real.
Shiny lowered his hands when I stepped back. He didn't seem upset, or concerned. He just waited.
I laughed weakly, suddenly nervous. "I thought you weren't interested."
He said nothing, of course, because it was obvious that had changed.
I fidgeted, pushing up my sleeves (they fell back down immediately), tucking back a stray curl of hair, shifting from foot to foot. I didn't close the open robe, though.
"I don't know-" I began.
"I have decided to live," he said quietly.
That, too, was obvious from the way he'd changed in the past year. I felt his gaze as he spoke, heavier than usual along my skin. He had been my friend, and now offered more. Was willing to try more. But I knew: he was not the sort of man who loved easily, or casually. If I wanted him, I would have all of him, and he wanted all of me. All or nothing; that was as fundamental to his nature as light itself.
I tried to joke. "It took you a year to decide that?"
"Ten, yes," Shiny replied. "This last year was for you to decide."
I blinked in surprise, but then I realized he was right. Such a strange thing, I thought, and smiled.
Then I stepped forward again, found his face, and kissed him.
It was much better than that long-ago night on Madding's roof, probably because he wasn't trying to hurt me this time. The same incredible gentleness without malice-nice. He tasted of apples, which he must've eaten on his way back from town, and radishes, which were not so pleasant. I didn't mind. I felt his eyes on me the whole time. He would be the type, I thought, but then I hadn't closed mine, either.
It did feel strange, though, and until he'd taken hold of my waist again, pulling me where he wanted so he could do all the things his gaze had implied, I didn't realize what it was that had me confused. Then he did something that made me gasp, and I realized Shiny's kiss had been just a kiss. Just one mouth on another, with no impression of colors or music or soaring on unseen winds. It had been so long since I'd kissed a mortal that I'd forgotten we couldn't do that.
That was all right, though. There were other things we could do just fine.
***
I slept well into the small hours, until a dream made me start awake. I kicked Shiny in the shin inadvertently, but he did not react. I touched his face and realized he was awake, untroubled by my thrashing.
"Did you sleep at all?" I yawned.
"No."
I couldn't remember the dream, but the feeling of unease it had given me lingered. I pushed myself up from his chest and rubbed my face, bleary and painfully aware of the unlovely taste of my mouth. Outside I could hear a few determined birds beginning their morning song, though the chill in the air told me it wasn't yet dawn. Otherwise it was quiet-that eerie, not-quite-comforting quiet one finds in small towns before dawn. Not even the fishermen were up. In Shadow, I thought with fleeting sadness, the birds would not have been so alone.
"Everything all right?" I asked. "I can make some tea."
"No." He reached up then to touch my face, as I so often did with him. Since his eyes worked just fine, I wondered if I dared take it as a gesture of affection. Maybe the room was just dark. He was always a hard man to read, and now I had to learn a whole new set of interpretations for the things he did.
"I want you," he said.
Or he could just tell me. I couldn't help laughing, though I nuzzled his hand to let him know his advance wasn't unwelcome. "We're going to have to work on your bedroom talk, I think."
He sat up, shifting me easily to his lap, and pulled me into a kiss before I could warn him about my breath. His was no better. But it was my turn to be surprised, because as he deepened the kiss and smoothed his hands down my arms, gently pulling them behind me, I felt something. A flicker. A trickle of heat-real heat. Not passion, but fire.
I gasped, my eyes widening as he pulled back.
"I want to be inside you," he said, his voice low, implacable. One of his hands pinned my wrists behind my back; the other massaged elsewhere, just right. I think I made a sound. I'm not sure. "I want to watch the dawnlight break across your skin. I want you to scream as the sun rises. I don't care what name you call."
That has to be the most unromantic thing I've ever heard, I thought giddily. He touched me more then, kissing, tasting, caressing. He had learned much about me in our previous session, which this time he used to ruthless effect. When his teeth grazed my throat, I cried out and arched backward, not quite voluntarily. The way he was holding my wrists meant that I bent how he wanted me to bend. He wasn't hurting me-I could feel the care he took to avoid that-but I couldn't break his grip. I trembled, my eyelids fluttering shut, fear and arousal making me light-headed as I finally understood.
Sunrise was coming. I had made love to a godling, but this was different. I could no longer see the glow rise in Shiny's body, but I had tasted the first stirrings of magic in his kiss. He was not quite my Shiny, not anymore, and he would be nothing like my cool, carefree Madding. He would be a thing of heat and intensity and absolute power.
Could I lie down with something like that and get up whole?
"I want to be myself for you, Oree," he whispered against my skin. "Just once." Not a plea-never that. An explanation.
I closed my eyes and made myself relax. I couldn't bring myself to speak, but I didn't have to. My trust was enough.
So he lifted us, turning to put me under him on the bed, this time pinioning my arms above my head. I lay passive, knowing that he needed this. The control. He had so little power these days; what he could claim was precious to him. For some moments, he simply looked at me. His gaze was like feathers on my skin, a torment. When he actually touched me, it had the weight of command. I arched and shuddered and opened myself to him. I could not help it. As he pressed against me, into me, I felt the impossible heat of his body rise. He moved slowly at first, concentrating, whispering something. Godwords, like a prayer, almost at the threshold of my ability to hear them. The magic would not work for him, would it? but he is different now, this is different- and then I felt the words on my skin. I don't know how I knew they were words. I shouldn't have. Usuall
y only my fingers were that sensitive, but now my thighs made out the arcs and curves and jagged turns of gods' language, each character perfectly clear in my mind. It was more than words; there were strange tilted lines, too, and numbers, and other symbols whose purpose I could not decipher. Too complex. He had created language at the beginning of time, and it had always been his most subtle instrument. The words slid along my skin, wending down my legs, circling my breasts-gods. There are no mortal words for how it felt, but I writhed, how I writhed. He watched me, heard me whimper, and was pleased. I felt that, too.
"Oree," he said. Only that. I heard whispers behind it, a dozen voices-all his-overlapping. The word took on a dozen different layers of meaning, encompassing lust, fear, dominance, tenderness, reverence.
Then he kissed me again, fiercely this time, and I would have cried out if I could have because it burned, like lightning arcing down my throat and setting all my nerves afire. It made me writhe anew, which he generously permitted. It made me cry, but the tears dried almost at once.
My sweat became steam. I felt the heat of the encroaching sun soak in and then gather within me, rising close to the skin, boiling. It would either find an outlet or it would burn me up; it did not care. I did not care. I was shouting wordlessly, straining against him, begging for just that little bit extra, just that final touch, just a taste of the god within the man, because he was both, and I loved them both, and I needed both with all my soul.
Then came the day, and with it the light, and all my awareness dissolved amid the rush and roar and incomprehensible glory of ten thousand white-hot suns.
21
"Still Life" (oil on canvas)
The Broken Kingdoms it-2 Page 30
