The Broken Kingdoms

8 “Light Reveals” (encaustic on canvas)

I awoke slowly, and in some pain.

I was lying down. Heavy blankets covered me, soft linen and scratchy wool. I listened for a while, breathing, assessing. I was in a smallish room; my breath sounded close, though not claustrophobically so. It smelled of spent candlewax, dust, me, and the World Tree.

The lattermost scent was very strong, stronger than I’d ever known the Tree to smell. The air was laden with its distinctive wood resins and the bright sharp greenscent of its foliage. The Tree did not lose its leaves in autumn—a fact for which we in the city below were deeply grateful—but it did shed damaged leaves whenever they occurred, and it replaced those just before the spring flowering. It tended to smell more strongly during that time, but for the scent to be this strong, I had to be closer than usual.

That was not the only unusual thing. I sat up slowly, wincing as I discovered that my whole left arm was sore. I examined it and found fresh bruises there, and also on my hip and ankle. My throat was so scratchy that it hurt when I tried to clear it. And my head ached dully in a single area, from the middle of my scalp right down into my head and forward to press against my eyes—

Then I remembered. The empty place. My false Nimaro. Shattering, falling, voices. Madding.

Where the hells was I?

The room was cool, though I could feel watery sunlight coming from my left. I shivered a little as I got out of the warm blankets, though I was wearing clothing—a simple sleeveless shift, loose drawstring pants. Comfortable, if not the best fit. There were slippers beside the cot, which I avoided for the moment. Easier to feel the floor if I left my feet bare.

I explored the room and discovered that I had been imprisoned.

As prisons went, it was nice. The cot had been soft and comfortable, the small table and chairs were well made, and there were thick rugs covering much of the wooden floor. A tiny room off the main one contained a toilet and a sink. Yet the door I found was solidly locked, and there was no keyhole on my side. The windows were unbarred but sealed shut. The glass was thick and heavy; I would not be able to break through it easily, and certainly not without making a great deal of noise.

And the air felt strange. Not as humid as I was used to. Thinner, somehow. Sounds did not carry as well. I clapped experimentally, but the echoes came back all wrong.

I jumped when the door’s lock turned, right on the heels of my thought. I was by the windows, so their solidity was suddenly comforting to me as I backed against them.

“Ah, you’re awake at last,” said a male voice I had never heard before. “Conveniently when I come to check on you myself, rather than sending an initiate. Hello.”

Senmite, but no city accent I was familiar with. In fact, he sounded like someone rich, his every enunciation precise, his language formal. I couldn’t tell more than that, since I didn’t talk to many rich people.

“Hello,” I said, or tried to say. My abused throat—from screaming in the empty place, I remembered now—let out a rusty squeak, and it hurt badly enough that I grimaced.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t talk.” The door closed behind him. Someone outside locked it. I jumped again at the sound of the latch. “Please, Eru Shoth, I mean you no harm. I imagine I can guess most of your questions, so if you’ll sit down, I’ll explain things.”

Eru Shoth? It had been so long since I’d heard the honorific that for a moment I didn’t recognize it. A Maro term of respect for a young woman. I was a bit old for it—generally it was used for girls under twenty—but that was all right; maybe he meant to flatter me. He didn’t sound Maro, however.

He waited where he was, patiently, until I finally moved to sit down on one of the chairs.

“That’s better,” he said, moving past me. Measured steps, solid but graceful. A large man, though not as large as Shiny. Old enough to know his body. He smelled of paper and fine cloth, and a bit of leather.

“Now. My name is Hado. I’m responsible for all new arrivals here, which for the moment consists solely of you and your friends. ‘Here,’ if you’re wondering, is the House of the Risen Sun. Have you heard of it?”

I frowned. The newly risen sun was one of the symbols of the Bright Father but was little used these days, since it was easily confused with the dawning sun of the Gray Lady. I had not heard anyone refer to the risen sun since my childhood, back in Nimaro.

“White Hall?” I rasped.

“No, not exactly, though our purpose is also votive. And we, too, honor the Bright Lord—though not in the same manner as the Order of Itempas. Perhaps you’ve heard the term used for our members instead: we are known as the New Lights.”

That one I did know. But that made even less sense; what did a heretic cult want with me?

Hado had said he could guess my questions, but if he guessed that one, he chose not to address it. “You and your friends are to be our guests, Eru Shoth. May I call you Oree?”

Guest, hells. I set my jaw, waiting for him to get to the point.

He seemed amused by my silence, shifting to lean against the table. “Indeed, we have decided to welcome you among us as one of our initiates—our term for a new member. You’ll be introduced to our doctrines, our customs, our whole way of life. Nothing will be hidden from you. Indeed, it is our hope that you will find enlightenment with us, and rise within our ranks as a true believer.”

This time I turned my face toward him. I had learned that doing this drove the point home for seeing people. “No.”

He let out a gentle, untroubled sigh. “It may take you some time to get used to the idea, of course.”

“No.” I clenched my fists in my lap and forced the words out, despite the agony of speaking. “Where are my friends?”

There was a pause.

“The mortals who were brought here with you are also being inducted into our organization. Not the godlings, of course.”

I swallowed, both to wet my throat and to push down a sudden queasy fear in my belly. There was no way they had managed to bring Madding and his siblings here against their will. No way. “What about the godlings?”

Another of those telling, damning pauses. “Their fate is for our leaders to decide.”

I tried to figure out whether he was lying. These were godlings I was worrying about, not mortals. I had never heard of mortal magic that could hold a godling prisoner.

But Madding had not come for me, and that meant he could not, for some reason. I had heard of godlings using mortals as a cover for their own machinations. Perhaps that was what was happening here—some rival of Madding’s, moving to take over the godsblood trade. Or perhaps another godling had taken the commission that Lady Nemmer had declined.

If either were true, though, wouldn’t only Madding have been targeted, and not his whole crew?

Just then, there was a strange movement beneath my feet, like a shiver of the floor. It rippled through the walls, not so much audible as palpable. It was as if the whole room had taken a momentary chill. One of the thick windows even rattled faintly in its frame before going still.

“Where are we?” I rasped.

“The House is attached to the trunk of the World Tree. The Tree sways slightly now and again. Nothing to be concerned about.”

Dearest gods.

I’d heard rumors that some of the wealthiest folk in the city—heads of merchant cartels, nobility, and the like—had begun to build homes onto the Tree’s trunk. It cost a fortune, in part because the Arameri had laid down strict requirements for aesthetics, safety, and the health of the Tree, and in part because no one with the gall to build onto the Tree would bother building a small house.

That a group of heretics could command such resources was incredible. That they had the power to capture and hold half a dozen godlings against their will was impossible.

These aren’t ordinary people, I realized with a chill. This is more than money; it’s power too. Magical, political—everything.

The only people in the world with that kind of power were Arameri.

“Now, I see that you’re still not feeling well—not well enough to carry on a conversation, anyhow.” Hado straightened, coming over to me. I flinched when I felt his fingers touch my left temple, where I was surprised to realize I had another bruise. “Better,” he said, “but I think I’ll recommend that you be given another day to rest. I’ll have someone bring you dinner here, then take you to the baths. When you’ve healed more, the Nypri would like to examine you.”

Yes, I remembered now. After my false Nimaro had shattered, I had been brought out of the empty place somehow. I had fallen to the floor, hard. The ache in my eyes, though—that was more familiar. I had felt the same at Madding’s after I’d used magic to kill the Order-Keepers at the park.

Then I registered what Hado had said. “Nypri?” It sounded like some sort of title. “Your leader?”

“One of our leaders, yes. His role is more specific, however; he’s an expert scrivener. And he’s very interested in your unique magical abilities. Most likely he’ll request a demonstration.”

The blood drained out of my face. They knew about my magic. How? It did not matter; they knew.

“Don’t want to,” I said. My voice was very small, not just because of the soreness.

Hado’s hand was still on my temple. He moved it down and patted my cheek, twice, in a patronizing sort of way. Both slaps were just a little too hard to be comforting, and then his hand lingered on me, an implicit warning.

“Don’t be foolish,” he said very softly. “You’re a good Maroneh girl, aren’t you? We are all true Itempans here, Oree. Why wouldn’t you want to join us?”

The Arameri had ruled the world for thousands of years. In that time, they had imposed the Bright on every continent, every kingdom, every race. Those who’d worshipped other gods were given a simple command: convert. Those who disobeyed were annihilated, their names and works forgotten. True Itempans believed in one way—their way.

How like Shiny, a small, bitter voice whispered in me before I forced it silent.

Hado chuckled again, but this time he stroked my cheek approvingly at my silence. It still stung.

“You’ll do well here, I see,” he said.

With that, he went to the door and knocked. Someone let him out and locked the door again behind him. I sat where I was for a long while after, with my hand on my cheek.

Wordless people entered my room twice the next day, bringing me a light Amn-style breakfast and soup for lunch. I spoke to the second one—my voice was better—asking where Madding and the others were. The person did not answer. No one else appeared in the interim, so I listened at the door awhile, trying to determine whether there were guards outside and whether there was any pattern to the movement I could hear in the halls beyond. My chances of escaping—alone, from a house full of fanatics, without even a stick to help me find my way—were slim, but that was no reason not to try.

I was fiddling with the thick-glassed window when the door opened behind me and someone small came in. I straightened without guilt. They weren’t stupid. They expected me to try and escape, at least for the first few days or so. True Itempans were nothing if not rational.

“My name is Jont,” said a young woman, surprising me by speaking. She sounded younger than me, maybe in her teens. There was something about her voice that suggested innocence, or maybe enthusiasm. “You’re Oree.”

“Yes,” I said. She had not given a family name, I noticed. Neither had Hado, the night before. So neither did I—a small, safe battle. “I’m pleased to meet you.” My throat felt better, thank the gods.

She seemed pleased by my attempt at politeness. “The Master of Initiates—Master Hado, whom you met—says I’m to give you anything you need,” she said. “I can take you to the baths now, and I’ve brought some fresh clothing.” There was the faint pluff of a pile of cloth being deposited. “Nothing fancy, I’m afraid. We live simply here.”

“I see,” I said. “You’re an… initiate, too?”

“Yes.” She came closer, and I guessed that she was staring at my eyes. “Was that a guess, or did you sense it somehow? I’ve heard that blind people can pick up on things normal people can’t.”

I tried not to sigh. “It was a guess.”

“Oh.” She sounded disappointed but recovered quickly. “You’re feeling better today, I see. You slept for two whole days after they brought you out of the Empty.”

“Two days?” But something else caught my attention. “The Empty?”

“The place our Nypri sends the worst blasphemers against the Bright,” Jont said. She had dropped her voice, her tone full of dread. “Is it as terrible as they say?”

“You mean that place beyond the holes.” I remembered being unable to breathe, unable to scream. “It was terrible,” I said softly.

“Then it’s fortunate the Nypri was merciful. What did you do?”

“Do?”

“To cause him to put you there.”

At this, fury lanced down my spine. “I did nothing. I was with my friends when this Nypri of yours attacked us. I was kidnapped and brought here against my will. And my friends…” I almost choked as I realized. “For all I know, they’re still in that awful place.”

To my surprise, Jont made a compassionate sound and patted my hand. “It’s all right. If they aren’t blasphemers, he’ll bring them out before too much harm is done. Now. Shall we go to the baths?”

Jont took my arm to lead me while I shuffled along, moving slowly since I had no walking stick to help me gauge floor obstacles. Meanwhile, I mulled over the tidbits of information Jont had tossed at my feet. They might call their new members initiates instead of Order-Keepers, and they might use strange magic, but in every other way, these New Lights seemed much like the Order of Itempas—right down to the same high-handed ways.

Which made me wonder why the Order hadn’t yet broken them up. It was one thing to permit the worship of godlings; there was a certain pragmatism in that. But another faith dedicated to Bright Itempas? That was messy. Confusing to the layfolk. What if the Lights began to build their own White Halls, collect their own offerings, deploy their own Order-Keepers? That would violate every tenet of the Bright. The Lights’ very existence invited chaos.

What made even less sense was that the Arameri allowed it. Their clan’s founder, Shahar Arameri, had once been His most favored priestess; the Order was their mouthpiece. I could not see how it benefitted them to allow a rival voice to exist.

Then a thought: maybe the Arameri don’t know.

I was distracted from this when we entered an open room filled with warm humidity and the sound of water. The bath chamber.

“Do you wash first?” Jont asked. She guided me to a washing area; I could smell the soap. “I don’t know anything about Maro customs.”

“Not very different from Amn,” I said, wondering why she cared. I explored and found a shelf bearing soap, fresh sponges, and a wide bowl of steaming water. Hot—a treat. I pulled off my clothes and draped them over the rack I found along the shelf’s edge, then sat down to scrub myself. “We’re Senmite, too, after all.”

“Since the Nightlord destroyed the Maroland,” she said, and then gasped. “Oh, darkness—I’m sorry.”

“Why?” I shrugged, putting down the sponge. “Mentioning it won’t make it happen again.” I found a flask beside it, which I opened and sniffed. Shampoo. Astringent, not ideal for Maroneh hair, but it would have to do.

“Well, yes, but… to remind you of such a horror…”

“It happened to my ancestors, not to me. I don’t forget—we never forget—but there’s more to the Maroneh than some long-ago tragedy.” I rinsed myself with the bowl and sighed, turning to her. “Which way is the soak?”

She took my hand again and led me to a huge wooden tub. The bottom was metal, heated by a fire underneath. I had to use steps built into the side to climb in. The water was cooler than I liked, and unscented, though at least it smelled clean. Madding’s pools had always been just right—

Enough of that, I told myself sharply as my eyes stung with the warning of tears. You can’t do him any good if you don’t figure out how to get out of here.

Jont came with me, leaning against the side of the tub. I wished she would go away, but I supposed part of her role was to act as my guard as well as my guide.

“The Maroneh have always honored Itempas first among the Three, just like we Amn,” she said. “You don’t worship any of the lesser gods. Isn’t that right?”

Her phrasing warned me immediately. I had met her type before. Not all mortals were happy that the godlings had come. I had never understood their thinking, because—until recently—I had assumed Bright Itempas had changed His mind about the Interdiction; I thought He’d wanted His children in the mortal realm. Of course, more devout Itempans would realize it before I, lapsed as I was. The Bright Lord did not change His mind.

“Worship the godlings?” I refused to use her phrasing. “No. I’ve met a number of them, though, and some of them I even call friend.” Madding. Paitya. Nemmer, maybe. Kitr—well, no, she didn’t like me. Definitely not Lil.

Shiny? Yes, I had once called him friend, though the quiet goddess had been right; he would not say the same of me.

I could almost hear Jont’s face screwing up in consternation. “But… they’re not human.” She said it the way one would describe an insect, or an animal.

“What does that matter?”

“They’re not like us. They can’t understand us. They’re dangerous.”

I leaned against the tub’s edge and began to plait my wet hair. “Have you ever talked to one of them?”

“Of course not!” She sounded horrified by the idea.

I started to say more, then stopped. If she couldn’t see gods as people—she barely saw me as a person—then nothing I could say would make a difference. That made me realize something, however. “Does your Nypri feel the way you do about godlings? Is that why he dragged my friends into that Empty place?”

Jont caught her breath. “Your friends are godlings?” At once her voice hardened. “Then, yes, that’s why. And the Nypri won’t be letting them out anytime soon.”

I fell silent, too revolted to think of anything to say. After a moment, Jont sighed. “I didn’t mean to upset you. Please, are you finished? We have a lot to do.”

“I don’t think I want to do anything you have in mind,” I said as coldly as I could.

She touched my shoulder and said something that would keep me from ever seeing her as innocent again: “You will.”

I got out of the tub and dried myself, shivering from more than the cold air.

When I was dry and wrapped in a thick robe, she led me back to my room, where I dressed in the garments she’d brought: a simple pullover shirt and an ankle-length skirt that swirled nicely about my ankles. The undergarments were generic and loose, not a complete fit but close enough. Shoes too—soft slippers meant for indoor wear. A subtle reminder that my captors had no intention of letting me go outside.

“That’s better,” said Jont when I was done, sounding pleased. “You look like one of us now.”

I touched the hem of the shirt. “I take it these are white.”

“Beige. We don’t wear white. White is the color of false purity, misleading to those who would otherwise seek the Light.” There was a singsong intonation to the way Jont said this that made me think she was reciting something. It was no teaching poem I’d ever heard, in White Hall or elsewhere.

On the heels of this, a heavy bell sounded somewhere in the House. Its resonant tone was beautiful; I closed my eyes in inadvertent pleasure.

“The dinner hour,” Jont said. “I got you ready just in time. Our leaders have asked you to dine with them this evening.”

Trepidation filled me. “I don’t suppose I could pass? I’m still a bit tired.”

Jont took my hand again. “I’m sorry. It’s not far.”

So I followed her through what felt like an endless maze of hallways. We passed other members of the New Lights (Jont greeted most of them but did not pause to introduce me), but I paid little attention to them beyond realizing that the organization was much, much larger than I’d initially assumed. I noted a dozen people just in the corridor beyond my room. But instead of listening to them, I counted my paces as we walked so that I could find my way faster if I ever managed to escape the room. We moved from a corridor that smelled like varsmusk incense to another that sounded as though it had open windows along its length, letting in the late-evening air. Down two flights of stairs (twenty-four steps), around a corner (right), and across an open space (straight ahead, thirty-degree angle from the corner), we came to a much larger enclosed space.

Here there were many people all around us, but most of the voices seemed to be below head level. Seated, maybe. I had been smelling food for some time, mingled with the scents of lanterns and people and the omnipresent green of the Tree. I guessed it was a huge dining hall.

“Jont.” An older woman’s contralto, soft and compelling. And there was a scent, like hiras blossoms, that also caught my attention because it reminded me of Madding’s house. We stopped. “I’ll escort her from here. Eru Shoth? Will you come with me?”

“Lady Serymn!” Jont sounded flustered and alarmed and excited all at once. “O-of course.” She let go of me, and another hand took mine.

“We’ve been expecting you,” the woman said. “There’s a private dining room this way. I’ll warn you if there are steps.”

“All right,” I said, grateful. Jont had not done this, and I’d stubbed my toe twice already. As we walked, I pondered this new enigma.

Lady Serymn, Jont had called her. Not a godling, certainly, not among these godling haters. A noblewoman, then. Yet her name was Amn, one of those tongue-tangling combinations of consonants they so favored; the Amn had no nobility, except—But, no, that was impossible.

We passed through a wide doorway into a smaller, quieter space, and suddenly I had new things to distract me, namely the scent of food. Roasted fowl, shellfish of some kind, greens and garlic, wine sauce, other scents that I could not identify. Rich people’s food. When Serymn guided me to the table where this feast lay, I belatedly realized there were others already seated around it. I’d been so fascinated with the food that I’d barely noticed them.

I sat among these strangers, before their luxurious feast, and tried not to show my nervousness.

A servant came near and began preparing my plate. “Would you like duck, Lady Oree?”

“Yes,” I said politely, and then registered the title. “But it’s just Oree. Not ‘Lady’ anything.”

“You undervalue yourself,” said Serymn. She sat to my right, perpendicular to me. There were at least seven others around the table; I could hear them murmuring to each other. The table was either rectangular or oval-shaped, and Serymn sat at its head. Someone else sat at the other end, across from her.

“It is appropriate for us to call you Lady,” Serymn said. “Please allow us to show you that courtesy.”

“But I’m not,” I said, confused. “There isn’t a drop of noble blood in me. Nimaro doesn’t have a noble family; they were wiped out with the Maroland.”

“I suppose that’s as good an opening as any to explain why we’ve brought you here,” Serymn said. “Since I’m certain you’ve wondered.”

“You might say so,” I said, annoyed. “Hado…” I hesitated. “Master Hado told me a little, but not enough.”

There were a few chuckles from my companions, including two low, male voices from the far end of the table. I recognized one of them and flushed: Hado.

Serymn sounded amused as well. “What we honor is not your wealth or status, Lady Oree, but your lineage.”

“My lineage is like the rest of me—common,” I snapped. “My father was a carpenter; my mother grew and sold medicinal herbs. Their parents were farmers. There’s nobody fancier than a smuggler in my entire family tree.”

“Allow me to explain.” She paused to take a sip of wine, leaning forward, and as she did, I caught a glimmer from her direction. I turned to quickly peer at it, but whatever it was had been obscured somehow.

“How curious,” said another of my table companions. “Most of the time she seems like an ordinary blind woman, not orienting her face toward anything in particular, but just now she seemed to see you, Serymn.”

I kicked myself. It probably would’ve done no good to conceal my ability, but I still hated giving them information inadvertently.

“Yes,” said Serymn. “Dateh did mention that she seems to have some perception where magic is concerned.” She did something, and suddenly I got a clear look at what I’d glimpsed. It was a small, solid circle of golden, glowing magic. No—the circle was not solid at all. In spite of myself, I leaned closer, narrowing my eyes. The circle consisted of dozens upon dozens of tiny, closely written sigils of the gods’ spiky language. Godwords. Sentences of them, a whole treatise’s worth, spiraling and overlapping each other so densely that from a distance the circle looked solid.

Then I understood, and drew back in shock.

Serymn moved again, letting her hair fall back into place, I realized by the way the sigil-circle vanished. Yes, it would be on her forehead.

That can’t be. It doesn’t make sense. I don’t believe it. But I had seen it with my own two magic eyes.

I licked my suddenly dry lips, folded my shaking hands in my lap, and mustered all my courage to speak. “What is an Arameri fullblood doing with some little heretic cult, Lady Serymn?”

The laughter that broke out around the table was not the reaction I’d been expecting. When it died down—I sat through it, uneasily silent—Serymn said in a voice that still rippled with amusement, “Please, Lady Oree, do eat. There’s no reason we can’t have a good conversation and enjoy a fine meal, is there?”

So I ate a few bites. Then I wiped my mouth using my best manners and sat up, making a point of waiting politely for an answer to my question.

Serymn uttered a soft sigh and wiped her own mouth. “Very well. I’m with this ‘little heretic cult,’ as you put it, because I have a goal to accomplish, and being here aids that purpose. But I should point out that the New Lights are neither little, nor heretical, nor a cult.”

“I was given to understand,” I said slowly, “that any form of worship other than that sanctioned by the Order was heretical.”

“Untrue, Lady Oree. By the law of the Bright—the law as set down by my family—only the worship of gods other than Itempas is heretical. The form in which we choose to worship is irrelevant. It’s true that the Order would prefer that the two concepts—obedience to the Bright Lord, obedience to the Order—be synonymous.” There was another soft roll of chuckles from our table companions. “But to put it bluntly, the Order is a mortal authority, not a godly one. We of the Lights merely recognize the distinction.”

“So you think the form of worship you’ve chosen is better than that of the Order?”

“We do. Our organization’s beliefs are fundamentally similar to those of the Order of Itempas—indeed, many of our members are former Order priests. But there are some significant differences.”

“Such as?”

“Do you really want to get into a doctrinal discussion right now, Lady Oree?” Serymn asked. “You’ll be introduced to our philosophy over the next few days, like any new initiate. I thought your questions would be more basic.”

They were. Still, I felt instinctively that the key to understanding the whole heaping pile of fanatics lay in understanding this woman. This Arameri. The fullbloods were the highest members of a family so devoted to order that they ranked and sorted themselves by how closely they could trace their lineage back to First Priestess Shahar. They were the power brokers, the decision makers—and sometimes, through the might of their god-slaves, the annihilators of nations.

Yet that had been before ten years ago, that strange and terrible day when the World Tree had grown and the godlings returned. There had always been rumors, but I knew the truth now, from Shiny’s own lips. The Arameri’s slaves had broken free; the Nightlord and the Gray Lady had overthrown Bright Itempas. The Arameri, though far from powerless, had lost their greatest weapons and their patron in one stunning blow.

What happened when people who’d once possessed absolute power suddenly lost it?

“All right,” I said carefully. “Basic questions. Why are you here, and why am I?”

“How much do you know of what happened ten years ago, Lady Oree?”

I hesitated, unsure. Was it safer to play the ignorant commoner, or reveal how much I knew? Would this Arameri woman have me killed if I told her family’s secret? Or was it a test to see if I would lie?

I tore off a piece of bread, more out of nervousness than hunger. “I… I know there are three gods again,” I said slowly. “I know Bright Itempas no longer rules alone.”

“Try ‘at all,’ Lady Oree,” Serymn said. “But you’ve guessed that, haven’t you? All true followers of Itempas know He would never permit the changes that have occurred in the past few years.”

I nodded, inadvertently thinking of Madding’s bed, and our lovemaking, and Shiny’s glowering disapproval. “That’s true,” I said, suppressing a bitter smile.

“Then we must consider His siblings, these new gods…”

One of Serymn’s companions let out a bark of laughter. “New? Come, now, Lady Serymn; we are not the gullible masses.” She glanced at me, and I was not fooled by the sweetness in her tone. “Most of us, anyhow.”

I set my jaw, refusing to be baited. Serymn took this with remarkable equanimity, I thought; I wouldn’t have expected an Arameri to brook much in the way of ridicule, even if most of it had been at someone else’s expense.

“Granted, ‘the Lord of Shadows’ was a feeble attempt at diversion,” she replied, then returned her attention to me. “But my family has had its hands full trying to prevent a panic, Lady Oree. After all, we spent centuries filling mortal hearts with terror at the prospect of the Nightlord’s release. Better that we should keep him leashed than he break loose and wreak his vengeance upon the world; that was how it went. Now only a few feeble lies keep the populace from realizing we could all go the way of the Maro.”

She referred to the destruction of my people—her family’s fault—with neither rancor nor shame, and it made me seethe. But that was how Arameri were: they shrugged off their errors, when they could even be persuaded to admit them.

“He’s angry,” I said. Softly, because so was I. “The Nightlord. You know that, don’t you? He has given a deadline for the Arameri and the godlings to find his children’s killers.”

“Yes,” said Serymn. “That message was delivered to the Lord Arameri several days ago, I’m told. One month, from Role’s death. That leaves us approximately three weeks.”

She spoke like it was nothing, a god’s wrath. My hands fisted in my lap. “The Nightlord was bored when he destroyed the Maroland. He didn’t even have his full power at the time. Can you even imagine what he’ll do now?”

“Better than you can, Lady Oree.” Serymn spoke very softly. “I grew up with him, remember.”

The table fell silent. A clock somewhere in the room ticked loudly. All of us could hear the untold tales in her inflectionless tone—and then there was the biggest tale, lurking beneath the surface of the conversation like some leviathan: why had a woman so powerful, so apparently fearless, fled from Sky in the first place? And now, imagining horrors in the ticking stillness, I could not help wondering, What the hells did the Nightlord do to her?

“Fortunately,” said Serymn at last, and I exhaled in relief when the silence broke, “his anger fits well into our plans.”

I must have frowned, because she laughed. It sounded forced, though only a little.

“Consider, Lady Oree, that we have been saved once already by the third member of the Three. Consider what that means—what her presence means. Have you never wondered? Enefa of the Twilight, sister of Bright Itempas, has been dead for two thousand years. Who, then, is this Gray Lady? You’re acquainted with many of the city’s godlings. Did they explain this mystery to you?”

I blinked in surprise as I realized Madding had not. He had spoken of his mother’s death, grief still thick in his voice. But he had also spoken of his parents, plural and present. It was just one of those contradictions that one had to accept when dealing with gods; it hadn’t bothered me because I hadn’t thought it was important. But then, until recently, I thought I’d understood the hierarchy of the gods.

“No,” I said. “He—they never told me.”

“Hmm. Then I will tell you a great secret, Lady Oree. Ten years ago, a mortal woman betrayed her god and her humanity by conspiring to set the Nightlord—her lover—free. She succeeded, and for her efforts was rewarded with the lost power of Enefa. She became, in effect, a new Enefa, a goddess in her own right.”

I caught my breath in inadvertent surprise. I had never realized it was possible for a mortal to become a god. But that explained a great deal. The restrictions on the godlings, confining them within the city of Shadow; why the godlings so carefully policed each other to prevent mass destruction. A goddess who had once been mortal herself might take exception to the callous disregard for mortal life.

“The Gray Lady is irrelevant to us,” Serymn said, “beyond the fact that we have her to thank for the current peace.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “We’re counting on her intervention, in fact. Enefa—of whom this new goddess is essentially a copy—has always fought for the preservation of life. That is her nature; where her brothers are more extreme—quick to judge and quicker to wreak havoc—she maintains. She adapts to change and seeks stability within it. The Gods’ War was not the first time Itempas and Nahadoth had fought, after all. It was simply the first time they’d done it, since the creation of life, without Enefa around to keep the world in balance.”

I was shaking my head. “You mean you’re counting on this new Enefa to keep us safe? Are you kidding? Even if she used to be human, she’s not anymore. Now she thinks like any other god.” I thought of Lil. “And some of them are crazy.”

“If she’d wanted all humanity dead, she could have done it herself, many times over, during the past ten years.” The table shifted slightly as Serymn made some gesture. “She is the goddess of death as well as life. And, please remember, when she was mortal, she was Arameri. We have always been predictable.” I heard her smile. “I believe she will seek to channel the Nightlord’s rage in the most expedient manner. He need not destroy the whole world, after all, to avenge his children. Just a part of it will do. A single city, perhaps.”

I put my hands in my lap, my appetite gone.

Maroneh parents do not tell comforting bedtime tales. Just as we name our children for sorrow and rage, we also tell them stories that will make them cry and awaken in the night, shivering with nightmares. We want our children to be afraid and to never forget, because that way they will be prepared if the Nightlord should ever come again.

As he would soon come to Shadow.

“Why has the Order of Itempas…” I faltered, unsure of how to say it without offending a room full of former Order members. “The Nightlord. Why honor him just because he’s free? He already hates us. Do they actually think an angry god would be deterred by that kind of hypocrisy?”

“The gods aren’t who they’re trying to deter, Lady Oree.” This came from the man at the table’s far end. I stiffened. “It’s us they hope to appease.”

I knew that voice. I had heard it before—three times, now. At the south promenade, just before I’d killed the Order-Keepers. On Madding’s rooftop before all chaos had broken loose. And later, as I’d lain shivering and sick after my release from the Empty.

He sat at the far end of the table, opposite Serymn, radiating the same easy confidence as she. Of course he did; he was their Nypri.

As I sat there, trembling with fear and fury, Serymn chuckled. “Blunt as ever, Dateh.”

“It’s only the truth.” He sounded amused.

“Hmm. What my husband means to say, Lady Oree, is that the Order, and through it the Arameri family, desperately hopes to convince the rest of mortalkind that the world is as it should be. That despite the presence of all our new gods, nothing else should change—politically speaking. That we should feel happy… safe… complacent.”

Husband. An Arameri fullblood married to a heretic cultist?

“You’re not making any sense,” I said. I focused on the fork in my fingers, on the crackle of the dining room’s fireplace in the background. Those helped me stay calm. “You’re talking about the Arameri as if you’re not one of them.”

“Indeed. Let’s just say that my activities aren’t sanctioned by the rest of my family.”

The Nypri sounded amused. “Oh, they might approve—if they knew.”

Serymn laughed at this, as did others around the table. “Do you really think so? You’re far more of an optimist than I, my love.”

They bantered while I sat there, trying to make sense of nobility and conspiracy and a thousand other things that had never been a part of my life. I was just a street artist. Just an ordinary Maroneh, frightened and far from home.

“I don’t understand,” I said finally, interrupting them. “You’ve kidnapped me, brought me here. You’re trying to force me to join you. What does all this—the Nightlord, the Order, the Arameri—have to do with me?”

“More than you realize,” said the Nypri. “The world is in great danger at the moment—not just from the Nightlord’s wrath. Consider: for the first time in centuries, the Arameri are vulnerable. Oh, they still have immense political and financial strength, and they’re building an army that will make any rebel nation think twice. But they can be defeated now. Do you know what that means?”

“That someday we might have a different group of tyrants in charge?” Despite my efforts to be polite, I was growing annoyed. They kept talking in circles, never answering my questions.

Serymn seemed unoffended. “Perhaps—but which group? Every noble clan and ruling council and elected minister will want the chance to rule the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms. And if they all strive for it at once, what do you think will happen?”

“More scandals and intrigues and assassinations and whatever else you people do with your time,” I said. Lady Nemmer would be pleased, at least.

“Yes. And coups, as weak nobles are replaced by stronger or more ambitious ones. And rebellions within those lands, as minority factions jostle for a share. And new alliances as smaller kingdoms band together for strength. And betrayals, because every alliance has a few.” Serymn let out a long, weary sigh. “War, Lady Oree. There will be war.”

Like the good Itempan girl I had never quite been, I nevertheless flinched. War was anathema to Bright Itempas. I had heard tales of the time before the Bright, before the Arameri had made laws to strictly regulate violence and conflict. In the old days, thousands had died in every battle. Cities had been razed to the ground, their inhabitants slaughtered as armies of warriors descended upon helpless civilians to rape and kill.

“Wh-where?” I asked.

“Everywhere.”

I could not imagine it. Not on such a scale. It was madness. Chaos.

Then I remembered. Nahadoth, the Lord of Night, was also the god of chaos. What more fitting vengeance could he wreak upon humanity?

“If the Arameri fall and the Bright ends, war returns,” Serymn said. “The Order of Itempas fears this more than any threat the gods pose, because it is the greater danger—not just to a city, but to our entire civilization. Already there are rumors of unrest in High North and on the islands—those lands that were forcibly converted to the worship of Itempas after the Gods’ War. They have never forgotten, or forgiven, what we did to them.”

“High Northers,” said someone else at the table, in a tone of scorn. “Darkling barbarians! Two thousand years and they’re still angry.”

“Barbarians, yes, and angry,” said Hado, whom I had forgotten was there. “But did we not feel the same anger when we were told to start worshipping the Nightlord?” There were grumbles of assent from around the table.

“Yes,” said the Nypri. “So the Order permits heresy and looks the other way when Itempas’s former faithful scorn their duties. They hope the exploration of new faiths will occupy the people and grant the Arameri time to prepare for the conflagration to come.”

“But it’s pointless,” said Serymn, a note of anger in her voice. “T’vril, the Lord Arameri, hopes to put down the war swiftly when it comes. But to prepare for earthly war, he’s taken his eyes off the threat in the heavens.”

I sighed, weary in more ways than one. “That’s a fine thing to concern yourself with, but the Nightlord is”—I spread my hands helplessly—“a force of nature. Maybe we should all start praying to this Gray Lady, since you say she’s the one keeping him in line. Or maybe we should just start picking out our personal heavens in the afterlife now.”

Serymn’s tone chided me gently. “We prefer to be more proactive, Lady Oree. Perhaps it’s the Arameri in me, but I’m not fond of allowing a known threat to fester unchecked. Better to strike first.”

“Strike?” I chuckled, certain I was misunderstanding. “What, a god? That isn’t possible.”

“Yes, Lady Oree, it is. It’s been done before, after all.”

I froze, the smile falling from my face. “The godling Role. You killed her.”

Serymn laughed noncommittally. “I was referring to the Gods’ War, actually. Itempas Skyfather killed Enefa; if one of the Three can die, they all can.”

I fell silent in confusion, but I wasn’t laughing, not any longer. Serymn wasn’t a fool. I did not believe an Arameri would hint at something like a goddess’s murder unless she had the power to do it.

“Which, to come to the point at last, is why we kidnapped you.” Serymn lifted her glass to me, the faint crystalline sound as loud as a bell in the room’s silence. Our dining companions had fallen silent, hanging on her every word. When she saluted them, they lifted their glasses in return.

“To the return of the Bright,” said the Nypri.

“And the White Lord,” said the woman who had commented on my sight.

“ ’Til darkness ends,” said Hado.

And other affirmations, from each person at the table. It had the feel of a solemn ritual—as they all committed themselves to a course of stunning, absolute insanity.

When they had all said their piece and fallen silent, I spoke, my voice hollow with realization and disbelief.

“You want to kill the Nightlord,” I said.

“Yes,” she said. She paused as another servant came over. I heard the cover being lifted from some sort of tray. “And we want you to help us do it. Dessert?”