The Broken Kingdoms
Page 109
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I had latched on to one hope. If I lived and let the Arameri use me, I might someday find a way free. Somehow. It was a thin hope, a pathetic one, but it was all I had.
“Will you settle things with the Order of Itempas for me?” I asked, trying for dignity. Now it was I who clung to Shiny for support. It was easier, somehow, to give up my soul with him there beside me.
T’vril inclined his head. “Already done.”
“And”—I hesitated—“can I have your word that this mark, the one I must wear, will do nothing but what you said?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You have little room to bargain here, Eru Shoth.”
I flinched, because it was true, but I clenched my free hand, anyhow. I hated being threatened. “I could tell the godlings what I am. They’ll kill me, but at least they won’t use me the way you mean to.”
The Lord Arameri sat back in his chair, crossing his legs. “You don’t know that, Eru Shoth. Perhaps the godling you tell will have her own enemies to get rid of. Would you really risk exchanging a mortal master for an immortal one?”
That was a possibility that had never occurred to me. I froze, horrified by it.
“You will not be her master,” Shiny said.
I jumped. T’vril drew in a deep breath, let it out. “My lord. I’m afraid you weren’t privy to our earlier conversation. Eru Shoth is aware of the danger if she remains free.” And you are in no position to negotiate on her behalf, his tone said. He did not have to say it aloud. It was painfully obvious.
“A danger that remains if you lay claim to her,” Shiny snapped. I could hardly believe my ears. Was he actually trying to fight for me?
Shiny let go of my hand and stepped forward, not quite in front of me. “You cannot keep her existence a secret,” he said. “You can’t kill enough people to safely make her your weapon. It would be better if you had never brought her here—then at least you could deny knowledge of her existence.”
I frowned in confusion. But T’vril uncrossed his legs.
“Do you intend to tell the other gods about her?” he asked quietly.
And then I understood. Shiny was not powerless. He could not be killed, not permanently. He could be imprisoned, but not forever, because he was supposed to be wandering the world, learning the lessons of mortality. At some point, inevitably, one of the other gods would come looking for him, if only to gloat over his punishment. And then T’vril’s plan to make me the Arameri’s latest weapon would come apart.
“I will say nothing,” Shiny said softly, “if you let her go.”
I caught my breath.
T’vril was silent for a moment. “No. My greatest concern hasn’t changed: she’s too dangerous to leave unprotected. It would be safer to kill her.” Which would erase Shiny’s leverage, besides ending my life.
It was a game of nikkim: feint against feint, each trying to outplay the other. Except I had never paid attention to such games, because I could not see them, so I had no idea what happened if there was a draw. I definitely didn’t like being the prize.
“She was safe until the Order began to harass her,” Shiny said. “Anonymity has protected her bloodline for centuries, even from the gods. Give that to her again, and all will be as it was.” Shiny paused. “You still have the demon blood you took from the House of the Risen Sun before you destroyed it.”
“He took—” I blurted, then caught myself. But my hands clenched. Of course they would never have let such a valuable resource go to waste. My blood, Dateh’s blood, the arrowheads—perhaps they had even learned Dateh’s refining method. The Arameri had their weapon, with or without me. Damn them.
Shiny was right, though. If the Lord Arameri had that, then he didn’t need me.
T’vril rose from his chair. He descended the steps and walked past the guards, moving to stand at one of the long windows. I saw him pause there, gazing out at the world that he owned—and at the black sun, warning sign of the gods who threatened it. He clasped his hands behind his back.
“Make her anonymous, you say,” he said, and sighed. At that sigh, my heart made an uneasy leap of hope. “Very well. I’m willing to consider it. But how? Shall I kill anyone in the city who knows her? As you say, that would require more deaths than is practical.”
I shuddered. Vuroy and the others from Art Row. My landlord. The old woman across the street who gossiped to the neighbors about the blind girl and her godling boyfriend. Rimarn, the priests of the White Hall, a dozen nameless servants and guards, including the ones standing here listening to all this.
“Will you settle things with the Order of Itempas for me?” I asked, trying for dignity. Now it was I who clung to Shiny for support. It was easier, somehow, to give up my soul with him there beside me.
T’vril inclined his head. “Already done.”
“And”—I hesitated—“can I have your word that this mark, the one I must wear, will do nothing but what you said?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “You have little room to bargain here, Eru Shoth.”
I flinched, because it was true, but I clenched my free hand, anyhow. I hated being threatened. “I could tell the godlings what I am. They’ll kill me, but at least they won’t use me the way you mean to.”
The Lord Arameri sat back in his chair, crossing his legs. “You don’t know that, Eru Shoth. Perhaps the godling you tell will have her own enemies to get rid of. Would you really risk exchanging a mortal master for an immortal one?”
That was a possibility that had never occurred to me. I froze, horrified by it.
“You will not be her master,” Shiny said.
I jumped. T’vril drew in a deep breath, let it out. “My lord. I’m afraid you weren’t privy to our earlier conversation. Eru Shoth is aware of the danger if she remains free.” And you are in no position to negotiate on her behalf, his tone said. He did not have to say it aloud. It was painfully obvious.
“A danger that remains if you lay claim to her,” Shiny snapped. I could hardly believe my ears. Was he actually trying to fight for me?
Shiny let go of my hand and stepped forward, not quite in front of me. “You cannot keep her existence a secret,” he said. “You can’t kill enough people to safely make her your weapon. It would be better if you had never brought her here—then at least you could deny knowledge of her existence.”
I frowned in confusion. But T’vril uncrossed his legs.
“Do you intend to tell the other gods about her?” he asked quietly.
And then I understood. Shiny was not powerless. He could not be killed, not permanently. He could be imprisoned, but not forever, because he was supposed to be wandering the world, learning the lessons of mortality. At some point, inevitably, one of the other gods would come looking for him, if only to gloat over his punishment. And then T’vril’s plan to make me the Arameri’s latest weapon would come apart.
“I will say nothing,” Shiny said softly, “if you let her go.”
I caught my breath.
T’vril was silent for a moment. “No. My greatest concern hasn’t changed: she’s too dangerous to leave unprotected. It would be safer to kill her.” Which would erase Shiny’s leverage, besides ending my life.
It was a game of nikkim: feint against feint, each trying to outplay the other. Except I had never paid attention to such games, because I could not see them, so I had no idea what happened if there was a draw. I definitely didn’t like being the prize.
“She was safe until the Order began to harass her,” Shiny said. “Anonymity has protected her bloodline for centuries, even from the gods. Give that to her again, and all will be as it was.” Shiny paused. “You still have the demon blood you took from the House of the Risen Sun before you destroyed it.”
“He took—” I blurted, then caught myself. But my hands clenched. Of course they would never have let such a valuable resource go to waste. My blood, Dateh’s blood, the arrowheads—perhaps they had even learned Dateh’s refining method. The Arameri had their weapon, with or without me. Damn them.
Shiny was right, though. If the Lord Arameri had that, then he didn’t need me.
T’vril rose from his chair. He descended the steps and walked past the guards, moving to stand at one of the long windows. I saw him pause there, gazing out at the world that he owned—and at the black sun, warning sign of the gods who threatened it. He clasped his hands behind his back.
“Make her anonymous, you say,” he said, and sighed. At that sigh, my heart made an uneasy leap of hope. “Very well. I’m willing to consider it. But how? Shall I kill anyone in the city who knows her? As you say, that would require more deaths than is practical.”
I shuddered. Vuroy and the others from Art Row. My landlord. The old woman across the street who gossiped to the neighbors about the blind girl and her godling boyfriend. Rimarn, the priests of the White Hall, a dozen nameless servants and guards, including the ones standing here listening to all this.
