The Kingdom of Gods
Page 69

Hymn looked confused, but of course mortals do not realize how often they speak in imperatives — that is, ordinary mortals do not. Arameri long ago learned that lesson when we killed them for forgetting.
I fought back fear so that I could concentrate. Leave her alone, damn you! Play your games with me, not her!
Ahad actually started, throwing a sharp glance at me. I had no idea why — until I remembered just how young he was, in our terms. And that reminded me of my one advantage hiht="0em" over him.
Closing my eyes, I fixed my thoughts on Hymn. She was a hot bright point on the darkening map of my awareness. I had found the power to protect her when the muckrakers came. Could I now protect her from one of my own?
Wind shot through the hollows of my soul, cold and electric. Not much; not nearly as much as there should have been. But enough. I smiled.
And reached up to grip Ahad’s hand. “Brother,” I murmured in our tongue, and he blinked, surprised that I could talk. “Share yourself with me.”
Then I took him into my self. We blazed, white green gold, through a firmament of purest ebony, down, down, down. This was not the core of me, for I would never trust him in that sweet, sharp place, but it was close enough. I felt him struggle, frightened, as all that I was — a torrent, a current — threatened to devour him. But that was not my intention. As we swirled downward, I dragged him closer to me. Here without flesh, I was the elder and the stronger. He did not know himself and I over-powered him easily. Gripping the front of his shirt, I grinned into his wide, panicked eyes.
“Let’s see you now,” I said, and thrust my hand into his mouth.
He screamed — a stupid thing to do under the circumstances. That just made it easier. I compacted myself into a single curved claw and plunged into the core of him. There was an instant of resistance, and pain for both of us, because he was not me and all gods are antithetical to each other on some level. Then there was the briefest plume of strangeness as I tasted his nature, dark but not, rich in memory yet raw with his newness, craving, desperate for something that he did not want and did not know that he needed — but it latched on to me with a ferocity I had not expected. Young gods are not usually so savage. Then I was the one being devoured —
I came out of him with a cry and twisted away, curling in on myself in agony while Ahad stumbled and fell across the empty chair. I heard him utter a sound like a sob, once. Then he drew deep breaths, controlling himself.
Yes, I had forgotten. He was not truly new. He wasn’t even young, like Yeine. As a mortal, he had seen thousands of years before his effective rebirth. And he had endured hells in that time that would have broken most mortals. It had broken him, but he’d put himself back together, stronger. I laughed to myself as the pain of nearly becoming something else finally began to recede.
“You never change, do you?” My voice was a rasp. He’d left finger marks in the flesh of my neck. “Always so difficult.”
His reply was a curse in a dead language, though I was gratified to hear weariness in his voice as well.
I pushed myself up, slowly. Every muscle in my body ached, along with the bump to the back of the head I’d taken. At the corner of my vision there was movement: Hymn. Coming back into the room, after quite sensibly vacating it while two godlings fought. I was surprised, given her knowledge of us, that she hadn’t vacated the house and neighborhood, too.
“You done?” she asked.
“Very,” I said, pulling myself to sit on the edge of the desk. I would need to sleep again soon. But first I had to make my peace with Ahad, if he would allow that.
He was glaring at me now, from the chair. Nearly recovered already, though his hair was mussed and he had lost his cheroot. I hated him more for a moment, and then sighed and let that go. Let it all go. Mortal life was too short.
“We are no longer slaves,” I said softly. “We need no longer be enemies.”
“We weren’t enemies because of the Arameri,” he snapped.
“Yes, we were.” I smiled, which made him blink. “You wouldn’t have even existed if not for them. And I —” If I allowed it, the shame would come. I had never allowed it before, but so much had changed since those days. Our positions had reversed: he was a god; I wasn’t. I needed him; he didn’t need me. “I would have at least … would have tried to be a better …”
But then he surprised me. He had always been good at that.
“Shut up, you fool,” he said, getting to his feet with a sigh. “Don’t be any more of an ass than you usually are.”