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.
“I understand why Remath sent the boy away,” I said, “though I’m still surprised that she did it. Usually, when there’s more than one prospective heir, the family head pits them against each other.”
“That wasn’t possible in this case,” Ramina said. He had turned
his gaze away again, this time toward the vast open landscape on the palace’s other side. I followed his eyes, though I had seen the view a million times myself: patchwork farmland and the sparkling blot of the Eyeglass, a local lake. “Dekarta has no chance of inheriting. He’s safer away from Sky, quite frankly.”
“Because he’s not fully Amn?” I gave him a hard look. “And how, exactly, did that happen, Uncle Ramina?”
He turned back to me, his eyes narrowing, and then he sighed. “Demonshit.”
I grinned. “Did you really lie with your own sister, or did a scrivener handle the fine details with vials and squeeze bulbs?”
Ramina glared at me. “Is tact simply not in your nature, or are you this offensive on purpose?”
“On purpose. But remember that incest isn’t exactly unknown to gods.”
He crossed his legs, which might have been defensiveness or nonchalance. “It was the politic solution. She needed someone she could trust. And we are only half siblings, after all.” He shrugged, then eyed me. “Shahar and Dekarta don’t know.”
“Shahar, you mean. Who’s Deka’s father?”
“I am.” When I laughed, his jaw tightened. “The scriveners were most careful in their tests, Lord Sieh. Believe me. He and Shahar are full siblings, as Amn as I am.”
“Impossible. Or you aren’t as Amn as you think.”
He bristled, elegantly. “I can trace my lineage unbroken back to the first Shahar, Lord Sieh, with no taint of lesser races at any point. The problem, however, is Remath. Her half-Ken grandfather, for one …” He shuddered dramatically. “I suppose we’re lucky the children didn’t turn up redheads on top of everything else. But that wasn’t the only problem.”
“His soul,” I said softly, thinking of Deka’s smile, still shy even after I’d threatened to kill him. “He is a child of earth and dappled shadows, not the bright harsh light of day.”
Ramina looked at me oddly, but I was tired of adapting myself to mortals’ comfort. “If by that you mean he’s too gentle … well, so is Shahar, really. But she at least looks the part.”
“When will he be allowed to return?”
“In theory? When his training is complete, two years from now. In actuality?” Ramina shrugged. “Perhaps never.”
I frowned at this, folding my arms and resting my chin on them. With a heavy sigh, Ramina got to his feet as well. I thought he would leave and was glad for it; I was tired of plodding mortal minds and convoluted mortal relationships. But he stopped at the top of the stairwell, gazing at me for a long moment.
“If you won’t help the scriveners find the source of these attacks,” he said, “will you at least agree to protect Shahar? I feel certain she will be a target for our enemies — or those among our relatives who may use the attacks as a cover for their own plots.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. “She’s my friend, you fool.”
He seemed annoyed, probably because of the “you fool.”
“What does that —” He paused, then sighed. “No, I should be grateful. The one thing we Arameri have always lacked is the gods’ friendship. If Shahar has managed to win yours … well, perhaps she has a better chance of surviving to inherit than I’d first thought.”
With that, Ramina left. I still didn’t like him.
6
I sent a letter to my love
And on the way I dropped it,
A little puppy picked it up
And put it in his pocket.
It isn’t you,
It isn’t you,
But it is you.
Sky is boredom. That was the thing I had hated the most about it, back when I’d been a slave. It is a massive palace, each spire of which could house a village; its chambers contain dozens of entertainments. All of these become tedious to the point of torment after two thousand years. Hells, after twenty.
It was quickly becoming obvious that I would not be able to endure Sky for much longer. Which was fine; I needed to be out in the world anyhow, searching for the means to cure myself, if such a thing existed in the mortal realm. But Sky was a necessary staging ground for my efforts at life, allowing me relative safety and comfort in which to consider important logistical questions. Where would I live when I left? How would I live, if my magic would soon desert me? I had no resources, no particular skills, no connections in mortal society. The mortal realm could be dangerous, especially given my new vulnerability. I needed a plan, to face it.
(The irony of my situation did not escape me; it was the nature of all mortal adolescents to experience such anxiety at the prospect of leaving their childhood home for the harsh adult world. Knowing this did not make me feel better.)
I had come to no conclusion by the afternoon, but since I guessed that Shahar might have gotten over her fury with me by this point, I went in search of her.
When I walked into Shahar’s quarters, I found her surrounded by three servants who seemed to be in the middle of dressing her. As I appeared in the parlor doorway, she turned around so fast that her half-done hair whipped loose; I saw a flash of dismay cross one servant’s face before the woman masked it.
“Where in the infinite hells have you been?” Shahar demanded as I leaned against the doorjamb. “The servants said you left the cupola hours ago.”
“Good to see you, too,” I drawled. “What are you getting all polished up for?”
She sighed, submitting once again to the servants’ attentions. “Dinner. I’m meeting with Lady Hynno of the Teman Protectorate’s ruling Triadice, and her pymexe.”
She pronounced the word perfectly, which was fitting, as she’d probably been taught to speak Teman since childhood. The word meant something like “heir,” though with a masculine suffix. “Prince,” then, in Amn parlance, though unless the Temans had rewritten their charter again in the centuries since I’d last paid attention to them, it was not a hereditary role. They chose their leaders from among their brighter young folk, then trained them for a decade or so before actually letting them be in charge of anything. That sort of sensible thinking was why I’d chosen the Temans as my model, back when I’d first crafted a mortal appearance for myself.
Then I noticed the gown they were wrapping around Shahar. Quite literally: the gown seemed to consist of bands of subdued gold cloth, palm wide, being woven over and under other bands until a herringbone pattern had been achieved. The overall effect was very elegant and cleverly emphasized Shahar’s still-developing curves. I whistled, and she threw a wary look at me. “If I didn’t know any better,” I said, “I would think you were courting this prince. But you’re too young, and since when have Arameri married foreigners? So this must be something else.”
She shrugged, turning to gaze at herself in the bedroom mirror; the dress was almost done. They needed to wrap only the bottom few layers around her legs. But how was she going to get out of the thing? Perhaps they would cut it off her.
“The Triadic likes beauty,” she said, “and she controls the tariffs on shipping from High North, so it’s worthwhile to impress her. She’s one of the few nobles who can actually make things difficult for us.” She turned to the side, inspecting her profile; now that the servant had repaired her hair, she looked perfect and knew it. “And Prince Canru is an old childhood friend, so I don’t mind looking nice for him.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Arameri usually didn’t let their children have friends. Though I supposed friends were necessary, now that they had no gods. I went over to the parlor’s couch and flopped onto it, not caring about the servants’ glances. “So your dinner will be business and pleasure, then.”
“Mostly business.” The servants murmured something, and there was a pause as Shahar examined herself. Satisfied, she nodded, and the servants filed out. Once they were gone, Shahar slid on a pair of long, pale yellow gloves. “I mean to ask her about what happened to my cousins, in fact.”
I rolled onto my side to watch her. “Why would she know?”
“Because the Temans ar
e part of a neutral group in the Nobles’ Consortium. They support us, but they also support progressive efforts like a revised tithe system and secular schools. The Order of Itempas can no longer afford to educate children beyond the age of nine, you see —”
“Yes, yes,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “I don’t care about the details, Shahar. Just tell me the important part.”
She sighed in exasperation, coming over to the couch to gaze haughtily at me. “I believe Hynno has alliances with those High Norther nobles who consistently vote against the interests of the Arameri in the Consortium,” she said. “And they, I believe, are the source of the attacks on my family.”
“If you think that, then why haven’t you killed them?” Not even a handful of generations ago, her forbears would have done it already.
“Because we don’t know which nations are involved. The core of it is in High North, that much we’re certain of, but that still encompasses two dozen nations. And I suspect some involvement by Senmite nations as well, and even some of the islands.” She sighed, putting her hands on her hips and frowning in consternation. “I want the head of this snake, Sieh, not just its fangs or scales. So I’m taking your advice and issuing a challenge. I’m going to tell them to kill me before I assume leadership of the family, or I will destroy the whole of High North to deal with the threat.”
I rocked back, duly impressed, though a knot of cold anger tightened in my stomach as well. “I see. I assume you’re bluffing in order to lure them out into the open.”
“Of course I am. I’m not even certain we can destroy a continent anymore, and the attempt would certainly exhaust the scrivener corps. Weakening ourselves at a time like this would be foolish.” Looking pleased with herself, Shahar sat down beside me. Her dress made a pleasant harmony of sounds as it flexed with her body, a carefully designed effect of its peculiar construction. It probably cost the treasury of a small nation. “Still, I’ve already spoken with Captain Wrath, and we will coordinate an operation that can put on a suitably threatening display —”