The Broken Kingdoms

12 “Destruction” (charcoal and blood, sketch)

“I have a request,” I said to the Nypri when he rose to leave. “My friends, Madding and the others. I need to know what you plan to do with them.”

“That isn’t something you need to know, Lady Oree.” Dateh’s tone was gently chiding.

I set my jaw. “You seem to want me to join you willingly.”

He fell silent for a moment, contemplating. That was gratifying, because my statement had been a gamble. I had no idea why he wanted me, beyond the fact that we were both demons. Perhaps he thought I could eventually develop magic as powerful as his, or perhaps demons had some symbolic value to the New Lights. Whatever the reason, I knew leverage when I saw it.

At last he said, “My wife believes you can be rehabilitated, made to see reason.” He glanced at my drawing on the floor. “I, however, am beginning to wonder whether you’re too dangerous to be worth the effort.”

I nibbled my bottom lip. “I won’t try that again.”

“We are both Itempans here, Lady Oree. You’ll try it if you think it will work. And if there is insufficient disincentive.” He folded his arms, thoughtful. “Hmm. I’ve been trying to figure out what to do with him….”

“What?”

“Your Maroneh friend.”

“My—” I started. “You mean Shiny.” So he hadn’t escaped. Damnation.

“Yes, whatever his name is.” For once, Dateh sounded annoyed. “I thought he was a godling, too, given his intriguing ability to return from death. But I’ve had him in the Empty for days now, and he’s shown no sign of resistance, magical or otherwise. He just keeps dying.”

The small hairs along my skin prickled. I opened my mouth to say, That’s our god you’re torturing, you bastard, but then I stopped. What would Dateh do, if he knew he had the Bright Lord of Order as his prisoner? Would he even believe it? Or would he question Shiny—and be shocked to learn, as I had been, that Shiny loved the Nightlord and would disapprove of any action that threatened him? What would these madmen do then?

“Maybe he’s… like us,” I said instead. “A d-demon.” It was hard to say the words.

“No. I did test him. There are distinct properties that can be observed in the blood…. Aside from his peculiar ability, he’s mortal in every way that I can determine.” He sighed and did not see my start as I realized that was why they’d taken my blood. “The Order has discovered any number of minor magical variants over the centuries. I suppose he’s just another of those.” Dateh paused, long enough for the silence to unnerve me further. “This man lived with you in the city, I’m told. I can’t kill him, but I think you’ve guessed the ways in which I can make his brief periods of life unpleasant. You are valuable to me; he is not. Do we understand each other?”

I swallowed. “Yes, Lord Dateh. I understand you perfectly.”

“Excellent. I’ll have him placed with you later today, then. I should warn you, though; after this much time in the Empty, he may require… assistance.” I clenched my fists on my knees while he knocked on the door to be let out.

But as he did so, something changed.

It was just a momentary flicker, so fast that I thought I imagined it. For that instant, Dateh’s body looked wholly different. Wrong. I saw his nearer arm, curiously doubled as he rested it on the doorsill. Two arms, not one. Two hands gripping the smooth wood.

I blinked in surprise and suddenly the image was gone. Then the door opened, and so was Dateh.

I slept. I didn’t mean to, but I was exhausted after my effort to use magic. When I opened my still-twinging eyes, the light of sunset was thin and fading on my skin. Someone had been in the room during that time, which meant I’d slept hard; I was usually quick to wake at any untoward noise. My visitors had been busy. I found the furniture put back in place and a tray of food on the table. The candles were gone when I checked, replaced by a single small lantern of a design that I found odd—until I realized it held nothing more than a slow-burning moistened wick. No reservoir of oil that I could use for painting. Other items in the room had been removed or replaced, too, ostensibly because they could have been used for their pigment. The food was a bowl of some sort of porridge, as bland and textureless as they could’ve made it and kept it palatable. And the air smelled of floor cleanser. I felt a moment’s grief for my drawing, poor as it had been.

I ate and then went to the window, wondering if I would ever escape from this place. I guessed that I had been imprisoned for five days, maybe six. Soon it would be Gebre, the spring equinox. All over the world, White Halls would deck themselves in festive ribbons and encanda, lanterns given a special fuel to make their flame burn white instead of red or gold. The Halls would throw open their doors to all comers, celebrating the approach of summer’s long days—and even now, with so many doubting their faith, those Halls would be full. Yet at the same time, in every city, there would be ceremonies dedicated to the Nightlord, too, and to the Lady. That was something new and still strange to me.

An hour passed before the door of my cell opened again. Three men entered, carrying something heavy—two somethings, I realized, as they grunted and jostled the table and chairs out of the way. The first object they put down squeaked faintly, and I realized it was another cot, like the one I slept on.

The second object they put down was Shiny, dumped on the cot. He groaned once and then lay still.

“A present from the Nypri,” said one of the men, and another laughed. They left, and I hurried to Shiny’s side.

His flesh was as cold as a corpse’s. I had never felt him that cold; he never stayed dead long enough to completely lose body temperature. Yet when I fumbled for his pulse, it was racing. His breath came in harsh, quick pants. They had cleaned him up; he was wearing the sleeveless white smock and pants of a new initiate. But what had they bathed him in, ice water?

“Shiny?” All thoughts of his real name fled my mind as I wrestled him onto his back, then tugged a blanket over him. I touched his face and he jerked away, making a quick animal sound. “It’s Oree. Oree.”

“Oree.” His voice was hoarse, as mine had been, perhaps for the same reason. But he settled after that, no longer moving away from my touch.

He was mortal, Dateh had said, but I knew the truth. Beneath the mortal veneer, he was the god of light, and he had spent five days trapped in a lightless hell. Hurrying across the room, I found the lantern, which thankfully I had not yet blown out. Would such a tiny light help him? I brought it closer, putting it on the shelf above Shiny’s bed. His eyes were shut tight, and all his muscles quivered like wires ready to snap. He was only a little warmer.

Seeing no better option, I slipped under the covers with him and tried to warm him with my body. This was not easy, as the cot was narrow and Shiny took up all but a few inches of it. Finally I had to climb on top of him, resting my head on his chest. I wasn’t fond of the overly intimate position, but there was nothing else to be done.

I was completely caught by surprise when Shiny suddenly wrapped himself around me and turned us over, holding me solidly in place with an arm around the waist, a hand cupping my head against his shoulder, and his leg thrown over mine. I was not quite pinned but I couldn’t move much, either. Not that I tried; I was too stunned for that, wondering what had prompted this sudden gesture of affection. If that it was.

He seemed reassured by the fact that I didn’t fight him. The quivering tension gradually drained out of his body, his breath against my ear slowing to something more normal. After a while, we both grew warm, and despite spending the whole day asleep, I could not quite help it; I slept again.

When I awoke, I guessed that it was late. Near midnight, give or take a few hours. I was still sleepy but had a growing need to urinate, which was a problem because I was still neatly tucked into the complicated tangle of Shiny’s body. His long, slow breaths told me he was asleep, and deeply, which he probably needed after his ordeal.

Working carefully and slowly, I extricated myself from his grip and then eased my way to a sitting position, from which I managed to clamber over him to reach the floor at last. By this point, the need had grown urgent, so I stood to hurry.

A hand caught my wrist, and I yelped.

“Where are you going?” Shiny rasped.

Taking a deep breath to slow my heart, I said, “The bathroom,” and waited for him to let me go.

He didn’t move. I shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably. Finally I said, “If you don’t let go, the floor is going to be very wet in a minute.”

“I’m trying,” he said, very softly. I had no idea what that meant. Then I realized his hand on my wrist was loosening and tightening and loosening again, as if he could not quite will it to open.

Confused, I reached out to touch his face. His brow was furrowed. He drew in another deep breath through gritted teeth, then jerkily, deliberately, released my wrist.

I puzzled over this for a moment, but nature warned me not to dawdle. I felt his eyes on me for the whole hurried walk across the room.

It was better when I came out; the room held less tension. When I went over to him, I reached for his face and found his bowed shoulders, head hanging between them, heaving like he’d just run a long and exhausting race.

I sat down beside him. “Want to tell me what that was about?”

“No.”

I sighed. “I think I deserve an explanation, if only so I can plan my bathroom breaks accordingly.”

Predictably, he said nothing.

Whatever lingering reverence I’d felt for him vanished. I was tired. For months I had endured his moods and his silence, his temper, his insults. Because of him, I had lost my life in Shadow. In my churlish moments, I could even blame him for my captivity. Dateh had found me because I’d killed the Order-Keepers, which wouldn’t have happened if Shiny hadn’t made them angry.

“Fine,” I said, getting up to return to my own cot.

But when I stepped forward, his hand caught my wrist again, tighter this time. “You will stay,” he said.

I tried to yank my arm free. “Let go of me!”

“Stay,” he snapped. “I command you to stay.”

I twisted my arm, breaking his hold, and stepped back quickly, finding the table and maneuvering so that it was between me and him. “You can’t command me,” I said, trembling with fury. “You’re not a god anymore, remember? You’re just a pathetic mortal as helpless as the rest of us.”

“You dare—” Shiny rose to his feet.

“Of course I dare!” I gripped the table edge, hard enough to make my fingertips sting. “What’s wrong with you? You think just because you say something, I’ll obey? Will you kill me if I don’t? You think that makes you right? My gods, no wonder the Nightlord hates you, if that’s how you think!”

Silence fell. I had run out of rage. I waited for his, ready to throw it back at him, but he said nothing. And after a long, pent moment, I heard him sit down again.

“Please stay,” he said at last.

“What?” But I had heard him.

For a moment, I almost walked away, anyway. I was that tired of him. But he said nothing more, and in the silence, my anger faded enough that I realized what that quiet plea must have cost. It was not the way of the Bright to ask for what one wanted.

So I went to him. But when he touched my hand, I pulled back. “A trade,” I said. “You’ve taken enough from me. Give something back.”

He let out a long sigh and touched my hand again. I was surprised to find it trembling.

“Later, Oree,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. Completely confused, I reached up to touch his not-Maroneh hair with my free hand; his head was still bowed. “Later, I will tell you… everything. Not now. Please, just stay.”

I didn’t make a decision, not in any conscious way. I was still angry. But this time, when he tugged my hand, I let him draw me forward. I sat beside him again, and when he lay down, I let him pull me down as well, positioning me on my side and spooning himself behind me. He kept his arms loose so that I could get up if I needed to. He put his face into my hair, and I chose not to pull away.

I did not sleep for the rest of that night. I’m not certain he did, either.

“There may be a way for us to get free of this place,” Shiny said the next day.

It was noon. One of the Lights’ initiates had just left, after bringing us lunch and staying to see that we ate it all. He took away the leftovers and searched out my hiding places, too, to make sure there was no stored food under the mattress or rug. No chitchat this time, and no efforts to convert either of us. No one took me away for chores or lessons. I felt oddly neglected.

“How?” I asked, then guessed. “Your magic. It comes when you protect me.”

“Yes.”

I licked my lips. “But I’m in danger now—have been since the Lights took me.” There wasn’t the slightest glimmer of magic in him.

“It may be a matter of degree. Or perhaps a physical threat is required.”

I sighed, wanting to hope. “That’s more ‘may be’ and ‘perhaps’ than I like to hear. I don’t suppose anyone thought to give you instructions on how… you… work now?”

“No.”

“What do you propose, then? I pick a fight with Serymn, and when she fights back, you blow up the House and kill us all?”

There was a moment’s pause. I think my levity annoyed him.

“In essence, yes. Though there would be little logic in me killing you, so I’ll moderate the amount of force I use.”

“I appreciate your consideration, Shiny, really I do.”

So the rest of the day passed with aching slowness, as I waited and tried not to hope. Shiny, for all his promises to explain the previous day’s bizarre behavior, said nothing more about it. I gathered he was still recovering from his ordeal in the Empty; he’d slept through dawn, which he’d never done before, though he’d glowed as usual. That, plus my company, seemed to restore him. He had been his old taciturn self since he’d woken.

Still, I felt his eyes on me more often than usual that day, and once he touched me. It was when I’d gotten up to pace, fruitlessly hoping to vent restless energy. I brushed past Shiny, and he reached out to touch my arm in passing. I would have dismissed it as a mistake or my imagination if not for the previous evening. It was as if he needed contact now and again, for some reason that made no sense to me. Though when had anything about Shiny made sense?

I didn’t ask questions, preoccupied as I was with my own concerns—like Dateh’s revelation that I was a demon. I did not feel much like a monster. That didn’t make me eager to discuss it with Shiny, who had slaughtered my ancestors and banned his children from ever again creating more beings like me.

So I was content to let him keep his secrets for the time being.

Toward evening, I was almost relieved when there came a brisk knock at the door, followed by the arrival of another initiate. As I rose to follow the girl, Shiny simply stood and came to my side. I heard her splutter for a moment, caught off guard, but finally she sighed and took us both.

Thus we arrived in the private dining hall, where Serymn waited with Dateh. No one else this time, beyond the servants who were already busy setting out the meal and a few guards. If Serymn was bothered by Shiny’s presence, she said nothing to that effect.

“Welcome, Lady Oree,” she said as we sat down. I turned my face toward the faint glimmer of her Arameri blood sigil in an effort to be polite, though I was beginning to hate being called Lady Oree. I knew what they meant by it now. The demons of old had been the Three’s offspring, too, and perhaps as deserving of respect as the godlings—and not human. Something I was not ready to think, about myself.

“Good afternoon, Lady Serymn,” I said. “And Lord Dateh.” I could not see him, but his presence was as palpable against my skin as cool moonlight.

“Lady Oree,” Dateh said. Then, so subtly that I almost didn’t catch it, his tone changed as he addressed Shiny. “And a good afternoon to your companion. Are you perhaps willing to introduce yourself today?”

Shiny said nothing, and Dateh let out a sigh of barely contained exasperation. I had to fight the urge to laugh, because as amusing as it was to hear Shiny drive someone else mad for a change, I was surprised at how quickly Dateh’s temper broke. For whatever reason, Dateh seemed to have taken an instant dislike to him.

“He doesn’t talk to me, either,” I said, keeping my tone light. “Not much, anyway.”

“Hmm,” said Dateh. I waited for him to ask more questions about Shiny, but he fell silent, too, radiating hostility.

“Interesting,” said Serymn, which annoyed me now because it was exactly what I’d been thinking. “In any case, Lady Oree, I trust your day went well?”

“I was bored, actually,” I said. “I’d’ve preferred to be on another of those work crews. Then I could’ve at least gotten out of my room.”

“I can imagine!” said Serymn. “You seem the type of woman to prefer a more spontaneous, energetic approach to life.”

“Well… yes.”

She nodded, the sigil bobbing in the dark. “You may find this difficult to accept, Lady Oree, but your trials have been a necessary step in cementing you to our cause. As you found today, having no other options makes even menial labor desirable. Sever one attachment and others become more viable. It’s a harsh method, but one that has been used by both the Order and the Arameri family over the centuries, to great effect.”

I refrained from saying what I really thought of that effect, and covered my anger by taking a sip from my wineglass. “I thought you people were opposed to the Order’s methods.”

“Oh, no—only their recent change in doctrine. In most other ways, the Order’s methods have been proven by time, so we adopt them gladly. We are still devoted to the ways of the Bright Father, after all.”

I should have known what that would set off.

“In what way,” Shiny asked suddenly, startling me in midswallow, “does attacking Itempas’s children serve Him?”

Silence fell around the table. Mine was astonishment; so was Serymn’s. Dateh’s… That I could not read. But he put down his fork.

“It is our feeling,” he said, his words ever so slightly clipped, “that they do not belong in the mortal realm and that they defy the Father’s will by coming here. We know, after all, that they vanished from this plane after the Gods’ War, when Itempas took exclusive control of the heavens. Now that His control appears to have, hmm, slipped, the godlings—like rebellious children—take advantage. Since we have the ability to correct the matter…” I heard the fabric of his robes shift; a shrug. “We do as He would expect of His followers.”

“Hold His children hostage,” said Shiny, and only a fool would not have heard the kindling fury in his voice. “And… kill them?”

Serymn laughed, though it sounded affected. “You assume that we—”

“Why not?” Dateh, too, was coldly angry. I heard some of the servants shift uneasily in the background. “During the Gods’ War, their kind used this world as a battleground. Whole cities died at the godlings’ hands. They cared nothing for those mortal lives lost.”

At this I grew angry myself. “What is this, then?” I asked. “Revenge? That’s why you’re keeping Madding and the others—”

“They are nothing,” Dateh snapped. “Fodder. Bait. We kill them to attract higher prey.”

“Oh, yes.” I couldn’t help laughing. “I forgot. You actually think you can kill the Nightlord!”

I heard, but did not think about, Shiny’s swift intake of breath.

“I do, indeed,” Dateh said coolly. He snapped his fingers, summoning one of the servants. There was a quick murmured exchange and then the servant left. “And I shall prove it to you, Lady Oree.”

“Dateh,” said Serymn. She sounded… concerned? Annoyed? I could not tell. She was Arameri; perhaps Dateh’s temper was spoiling some elaborate plan.

He ignored her. “You forget, Lady Oree, there is ample precedent for what we’ve done. Or perhaps you don’t know how the Gods’ War actually began? I assumed that you, having been a god’s lover…”

I became acutely aware of Shiny. He sat very still; I could hardly even hear him breathe. It was ridiculous that I felt sorry for him in that instant. He had murdered his sister, enslaved his brother, bullied his children for two thousand years. He had so little concern for life in general, including mine and his own, that more deaths should have been meaningless to him.

And yet…

I had touched his hand, that day at Role’s memorial. I had heard the waver in his steady, stolid voice when he’d spoken of the Nightlord. Whatever problems he had, however much of a bastard he was, Shiny was still capable of love. Madding had been wrong about that.

And how would any man feel, on learning that his daughter had been murdered in imitation of his own sins?

“I’ve… heard,” I said uneasily. Shiny kept silent.

“Then you understand,” said Dateh. “Bright Itempas desired, and killed to obtain that desire. Why should we not do the same?”

“Bright Itempas also embodies order,” I said, hoping to change the subject. “If everyone in the world killed to get what they wanted, there would be anarchy.”

“Untrue,” Dateh said. “What would happen is what has happened. Those with power—the Arameri, and to a lesser degree the nobility and priests of the Order—kill with impunity. No others may do so without their permission. The right to kill has become the most coveted privilege of power in this world, as in the heavens. We worship Him not because He is the best of our gods, but because He is, or was, the greatest killer among them.”

The dining room door opened then. I heard another murmur. The servant returning. Something flickered, and then abruptly a silvery, shifting gleam appeared in my vision. Startled, I peered at it, trying to figure out what it was. Something small, only an inch or so in length. Oddly shaped. Pointy, like the tip of a knife, but far too small to be used that way.

“Ah, so you can see it,” Dateh said. He sounded pleased again. “This, Lady Oree, is an arrowhead—a very special one. Do you recognize it?”

I frowned. “I’m not exactly into archery, Lord Dateh.”

He laughed, already in a better mood. “What I meant was, do you recognize the power in it? You should. This arrowhead—the substance that comprises it—was made from your blood.”

I stared at the thing, which shone like godsblood. Not quite as bright. And stranger: a moving, inconstant swirl of magic, rather than the steady gleam I was used to.

My blood should have been nothing special; I was just a mortal. “Why would you make something from my blood?”

“Our blood has grown thin over the ages,” said Dateh. He set the thing down on the table in front of him. “It was said that Itempas needed only a few drops to kill Enefa. These days, the quantity needed to be effective is… impractical. We therefore distill it, concentrating its power, then shape the resulting product into a more usable form.”

Before I could speak, there was a sharp thump as wood hit the floor, and the dining table shook hard.

“Demon,” Shiny said. He was standing, his hands planted on the table. It shook with the force of his rage. “You dare to threaten—”

“Guards!” Serymn, angry and alarmed. “Sit down, sir, or—”

Whatever she might have said was lost. There was a crash of servingware and furniture as Shiny lunged forward, his weight making the table jolt hard against my ribs. More startled than hurt, I scrambled backward, my hand flailing for the stick that should’ve been beside me. Of course there was nothing, so I tripped on the dining hall’s thick rug and went sprawling, practically into the fireplace. I heard shouts, a scream from Serymn, a violent scuffle of flesh and cloth. Men converged from several directions, though not on me.

I pushed myself upright to get away from the close heat of the fire, my hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth sculpted stone of the hearth—and as I did so, my hands slipped in something warm and gritty. Ash.

Behind me, it sounded as though another Gods’ War had broken out. Shiny cried out as someone hit him. An instant later, that person went flying. There were choking sounds, grunts of effort, more dishes shattering. But there was no magic, I realized in alarm. I could see none of them—nothing except the tiny pale glimmer of the arrowhead where it had fallen to the floor, and the swift-moving bob of Serymn’s blood sigil as she ran to the door to shout for help. Shiny fought for his own rage, not to protect me, and that meant he was just a man. They would overcome him soon, inevitably.

The ash. I felt around, closer to the fire, ready to snatch my hand back if I encountered something hot. My fingers fumbled over a hard, irregular lump, quite warm but not painfully so. Bits of it crumbled away as I touched it. A chunk of old wood that had been burned to charcoal, probably over several days.

The color black.

Behind me, Dateh had managed to get free of Shiny, though he was wheezing and hoarse. Serymn had him; I heard her murmuring, worried, to see if he was all right. Beyond them, a flurry of blows and shouts as more men ran in.

Inspiration struck like a kick to the gut. Scrambling back with the charcoal in my hand, I shoved aside the rug and began to scrape the charcoal against the floor, grinding it in circles. Around and around—

Someone called for rope. Serymn shouted not to bother with rope, just kill him damn it—

—and around and around and—

“Lady Oree?” Dateh, his voice rough and puzzled.

—and around and around, feverishly, sweat from my forehead dripping down to smear the blackness, blood from my scraped knuckles, too, forming a circle as deep and dark as a hole into nowhere, cold and silent and terrible and Empty. And somewhere in that emptiness, blue-green and bright, warm and gentle and irreverent—

“Dearest gods, stop her! Stop her!”

I knew the texture of his soul. I knew the sound of him, like chimes. I knew that he owed Dateh and the New Lights a debt of pain and blood, and I wanted that debt repaid with all my heart.

Beneath my fingers and my eyes, the hole appeared, its edges ragged where bits of the charcoal had broken off with the force of my grinding. I shouted into it, “Madding!”

And he came.

What burst from the hole was light, a scintillating blue-green mass of it that roiled like a thundercloud. After an instant, it shivered and became the shape I knew better—a man formed of living, impossibly moving aquamarine. For a moment, he hovered where the cloud had been, turning slowly, perhaps disoriented by the Empty’s deprivations. But I felt rage wash the room the instant he spied Dateh and Serymn and the others, and I heard his chimes rise to a harsh, brassy jangle of dire intent.

Dateh was shouting over the guards’ panicked cries, demanding something. I saw a faint flicker from his direction, almost drowned out by Madding’s blaze. Madding uttered a wordless, inhuman roar that shook the whole House, and shot forward—

—then jerked back, tumbling to the floor as something struck him. I waited for him to rise, angrier. Mortals could annoy gods but never stop them. To my surprise, however, Madding gasped, the light of his facets dimming abruptly. He did not get up.

Faintly, through shock, I heard Shiny cry out, in something that sounded much like anguish.

I should not have been afraid. Yet fear soured my mouth as I scrambled to my feet, stepping onto my own drawing in my haste to reach him. It was just inert charcoal now. I tripped over the rug again, righted myself, fell over a chair that lay across the floor, and finally crawled. I reached Madding, who lay on his side, and pulled him onto his back.

There was no light in his belly. The rest of him shone as usual, though dimmer than I’d ever seen, but that part of him I could not see at all. He clutched at it, and I followed his hands to find the smooth, hard substance of his body broken by something long and thin, made of wood, that jutted up. A crossbow bolt. I grasped its shaft in both hands and yanked it free. Madding cried out, arching—and the blotch of nothingness at his middle spread farther.

I could see the arrow’s tip. Dateh’s arrowhead—the one made from my blood. There wasn’t much left; I touched it and found that it had the consistency of soft chalk, crumbling with just the pressure of my fingers.

All at once, Madding guttered like a candle flame, his jewel facets becoming dull mortal flesh and tangled hair. But I still couldn’t see part of him. I felt for his belly and found blood and a deep puncture. It wasn’t healing.

My blood. In him. Working through his body like poison, snuffing out his magic as it went along.

No. Not just his magic.

I threw aside the arrow and touched his face, my fingers shaking. “Mad? I… I don’t know, this doesn’t make sense, it’s my blood, but…”

Madding drew in a harsh breath and coughed. Blood—godsblood, which should’ve shone with its own light—covered his lips, but it was dark, obscuring the parts of him that I could see. Those were fading from view, too. The arrow was killing him.

No. He was a god. They did not die.

Except Role had, and Enefa had, and—

Madding choked, swallowed, focused on me. It made no sense that he laughed, but he did. “Always knew you were special, Oree,” he said. “A demon! A legend. Gods. Always knew… something.” He shook his head. I could barely see for his dimness and my tears. “And here I thought I’d have to watch you die.”

“No. I… I won’t. This isn’t. No.” I shook my head, babbling. Madding caught my hand, his own slick and hot with blood.

“Don’t let him use you, Oree.” He lifted his head to make sure I heard him. I could barely see his face, though I could feel it, hot and fevered. “They never understood… too quick to judge. You aren’t just a weapon.” He shuddered, his head falling back, his eyes drifting shut. “I would have loved you… until…”

He vanished. I could feel him beneath my hands still, but he was not there.

“Don’t hide from me,” I said. My voice was soft and did not carry, but he should have heard me. Should have obeyed.

Hands seized me, dragged me to my feet. I dangled limply between them, trying to will it: I want to see you.

“You forced my hand, Lady Oree.” Dateh. He came over, visible for once; he had used magic during the struggle. He was rubbing his throat, his face bruised and bloody. Someone had torn part of his robes. He looked thoroughly furious.

I hated that I could see him and not Madding.

“A doorway into my Empty.” He laughed once, without humor, then grimaced, as this hurt his bruised throat. “Amazing. Did you plan this, you and your nameless companion? I should have known better than to trust a woman who would give her body to one of them.” He spat downward, perhaps at Madding’s corpse.

not Madding there’s nothing there that isn’t him

Then he turned and snarled at one of the guards to come over. “Bring your sword,” he added.

I prayed then. I had no idea if Shiny could hear me, or if he cared. I didn’t care. Bright Father, please let this man kill me.

“Must you?” asked Serymn, her voice edged with distaste. “She might still be turned to our cause.”

“It must be done within moments of death. I don’t intend to let this mess go to waste.” He reached over to take something from the guard. I waited, feeling nothing as Dateh turned a look on me that was as cold as the wind in the Tree’s highest branches.

“When Bright Itempas killed Enefa,” he said, “He also tore her body open and took from it a piece of flesh that contained all her power. Had He not done so, the universe would’ve ended. Killing the Nightlord runs the same risk, so I’ve spent years researching where the seat of a god’s soul lies when they incarnate themselves in flesh.”

He lifted the sword then, two-handed, so fast that for an instant I saw six arms instead of two, and three sets of teeth bared in effort.

There was the hollow whoosh of cloven air. I felt a stirring of wind against my face. But the impact, when it came, was not in my body, though I heard the wet chuff as it struck flesh.

I frowned, horror struggling up through the numbness in my mind. Madding.

Dateh tossed the sword aside, gestured at another man to help. They bent. The smell of godsblood rose around me, thick and cloying, familiar, as flat and wrong here as it had been in the alley where I’d found Role. I heard… gods. Sounds I would expect in one of the infinite hells. Meat tearing. Bone and gristle cracking apart.

Then Dateh rose. His hand had gone dark, holding something; his robes were splattered and intermittent, too. He gazed at the thing in his hand with a look that I could not interpret, not without the touch of fingers, but I guessed. Revulsion, some, and resignation. But also eagerness. Lust worthy of a god.

When he lifted Madding’s heart to his lips and bit down—

I remember nothing more.