The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms

27. The Ritual of the Succession

At the top of the spire was a room, if it could be called that.

The space was enclosed in glass, like an oversize bell jar. If not for a faint reflective sheen it would have seemed as though we stood in the open air, atop a spire sheared flat at the tip. The floor of the room was the same white stuff as the rest of Sky, and it was perfectly circular, unlike every other room I’d seen in the palace in the past two weeks. That marked the room as a space sacred to Itempas.

We stood high above the great white bulk of the palace. From the odd angle I could just glimpse the forecourt, recognizing it by the green blot of the Garden and the jut of the Pier. I had never realized that Sky itself was circular. Beyond that, the earth was a darkened mass, seeming to curve ’round us like a great bowl. Circles within circles within circles; a sacred place indeed.

Dekarta stood opposite the room’s floor entrance. He was leaning heavily on his beautiful Darrwood cane, which he had doubtless needed to get up the steep spiral staircase that led into the room. Behind and above him, predawn clouds covered the sky, bunched and rippled like strings of pearls. They were as gray and ugly as my gown—except in the east, where the clouds had begun to glow yellow-white.

“Hurry up,” Dekarta said, nodding toward points around the room’s circumference. “Relad there. Scimina there, across from him. Viraine, to me. Yeine, here.”

I did as I was bidden, moving to stand before a simple white plinth that rose from the floor, about as high as my chest. There was a hole in its surface perhaps a handspan wide; the shaft that led from the oubliette. A few inches above this shaft a tiny dark object floated, unsupported, in the air. It was withered, misshapen, closely resembling a lump of dirt. This was the Stone of Earth? This?

I consoled myself with the fact that at least the poor soul in the oubliette was dead now.

Dekarta paused then, glaring behind me at the Enefadeh. “Nahadoth, you may take your customary position. The rest of you—I did not command your presence.”

To my surprise, Viraine answered. “It would serve well to have them here, my Lord. The Skyfather might be pleased to see his children, even these traitors.”

“No father is pleased to see children who have turned on him.” Dekarta’s gaze drifted to me. I wondered if it was me he saw, or just Kinneth’s eyes in my face.

“I want them here,” I said.

There was no visible reaction from him beyond a tightening of his already-thin lips. “Such good friends they are, to come and watch you die.”

“It would be harder to face this without their support, Grandfather. Tell me, did you allow Ygreth any company when you murdered her?”

He drew himself straight, which was rare for him. For the first time I saw a shadow of the man he had been, tall and haughty as any Amn, and formidable as my mother; it startled me to see the resemblance at last. He was too thin for the height now, though; it only emphasized his unhealthy gauntness. “I will not explain my actions to you, Granddaughter.”

I nodded. From the corner of my eye I saw the others watching. Relad looked anxious; Scimina, annoyed. Viraine—I could not read him, but he watched me with an intensity that puzzled me. I could not spare thought for it, however. This was perhaps my last chance to find out why my mother had died. I still believed Viraine had done the deed, yet that still made no sense; he’d loved her. But if he had been acting on Dekarta’s orders…

“You don’t need to explain,” I replied. “I can guess. When you were young, you were like these two—” I gestured to Relad and Scimina. “Self-absorbed, hedonistic, cruel. But not as heartless as they, were you? You married Ygreth, and you must have cared for her, or your mother wouldn’t have designated her your sacrifice when the time came. But you loved power more, and so you made the trade. You became clan head. And your daughter became your mortal enemy.”

Dekarta’s lips twitched. I could not tell if this was a sign of emotion, or the palsy that seemed to afflict him now and again. “Kinneth loved me.”

“Yes, she did.” Because that was the kind of woman my mother had been. She could hate and love at once; she could use one to conceal and fuel the other. She had been, as Nahadoth said, a true Arameri. Only her goals had been different.

“She loved you,” I said, “and I think you killed her.”

This time I was certain that pain crossed the old man’s face. It gave me a moment’s satisfaction, though no more than that. The war was lost; this skirmish meant nothing in the grand scale of things. I would die. And while my death would fulfill the desires of so many—my parents, the Enefadeh, myself—I could not face it in such clinical terms. My heart was full of fear.

In spite of myself I turned and looked at the Enefadeh, ranged behind me. Kurue would not meet my eyes, but Zhakkarn did, and she gave me a respectful nod. Sieh: he uttered a soft feline croon that was no less anguished for its inhumanity. I felt tears sting my eyes. Foolishness. Even if I weren’t destined to die today, I would be only a hiccup in his endless life. And I was the one who was dying, yet I would miss him terribly.

Finally I looked at Nahadoth, who had hunkered down on one knee behind me, framed by the gray cloud-chains. Of course they would force him to kneel, here in Itempas’s place. But it was me he watched, and not the brightening eastern sky. I had expected his expression to be impassive, but it was not. Shame and sorrow and a rage that had shattered planets were in his eyes, along with other emotions too unnerving to name.

Could I trust what I saw? Did I dare? After all, he would soon be powerful again. What did it cost him to pretend love now and thus motivate me to follow through with their plan?

I lowered my eyes, pained. I had been in Sky so long that I no longer trusted even myself.

“I did not kill your mother,” Dekarta said.

I started and turned to him. He’d spoken so softly that for a moment I thought I’d misheard. “What?”

“I didn’t kill her. I would never have killed her. If she had not hated me I would have begged her to return to Sky, even bring you along.” To my shock, I saw wetness on Dekarta’s cheeks; he was crying. And glaring at me through his tears. “I would even have tried to love you, for her sake.”

“Grandfather,” said Scimina; her tone bordered on the insolent, practically vibrating with impatience. “While I can appreciate your kindness toward our cousin—”

“Be silent,” Dekarta snarled at her. His diamond-pale eyes fixed on her so sharply that she actually flinched. “You don’t know how close I came to killing you when I heard of Kinneth’s death.”

Scimina went stiff, echoing Dekarta’s own posture. Predictably she did not obey his order. “That would have been your privilege, Grandfather. But I had no part in Kinneth’s death; I paid no attention to her or this mongrel daughter of hers. I don’t even know why you chose her as today’s sacrifice.”

“To see if she was a true Arameri,” Dekarta said very softly. His eyes drifted back to mine. It took three full heartbeats for me to realize what he meant, and the blood drained from my face as I did.

“You thought I killed her,” I whispered. “Father of All, you honestly believed that.”

“Murdering those we love best is a long tradition in our family,” Dekarta said.

Beyond us, the eastern sky had grown very bright.

I spluttered. It took me several tries to muster a coherent sentence through my fury, and when I did it was in Darre. I only realized it when Dekarta looked more confused than offended by my curses. “I am not Arameri!” I finished, fists clenched at my sides. “You eat your own young, you feed on suffering, like monsters out of some ancient tale! I will never be one of you in anything but blood, and if I could burn that out of myself I would!”

“Perhaps you aren’t one of us,” Dekarta said. “Now I see that you are innocent, and by killing you I only destroy what remains of her. There is a part of me which regrets this. But I will not lie, Granddaughter. There is another part of me that will rejoice in your death. You took her from me. She left Sky to be with your father, and to raise you.”

“Do you wonder why?” I gestured around the glass chamber, at gods and blood relatives come to watch me die. “You killed her mother. What did you think she would do, get over it?”

For the first time since I had met him, there was a flicker of humanity in Dekarta’s sad, self-deprecating smile. “I suppose I did. Foolish of me, wasn’t it?”

I could not help it; I echoed his smile. “Yes, Grandfather. It was.”

Viraine touched Dekarta’s shoulder then. A patch of gold had grown against the eastern horizon, bright and warning. Dawn was coming. The time for confessions had passed.

Dekarta nodded, then gazed at me for a long, silent moment before speaking. “I’m sorry,” he said very softly. An apology that covered many transgressions. “We must begin.”

Even then, I did not say what I believed. I did not point at Viraine and name him my mother’s killer. There was still time. I could have asked Dekarta to see to him before completing the succession, as a last tribute to Kinneth’s memory. I don’t know why I didn’t—No. I do. I think in that moment, vengeance and answers ceased to have meaning for me. What difference would it make to know why my mother had died? She would still be dead. What good did it do me to punish her killer? I would be dead, too. Would any of this give meaning to my death, or hers?

There is always meaning in death, child. You will understand, soon.

Viraine began a slow circuit of the room. He raised his hands, lifted his face, and—still walking—began to speak.

“Father of the sky and of the earth below you, master of all creation, hear your favored servants. We beg your guidance through the chaos of transition.”

He stopped in front of Relad, whose face looked waxy in the gray light. I did not see the gesture that Viraine made, but Relad’s sigil suddenly glowed white, like a tiny sun etched upon his forehead. He did not wince or show any sign of pain, though the light made him look paler still. Nodding to himself, Viraine moved on around the room, now passing behind me. I turned my head to follow him; for some reason it bothered me to have him out of sight.

“We beg your assistance in subduing your enemies.” Behind me, Nahadoth had turned his face away from the rising dawn. The black aura around him had begun to wisp away, as it had on the night of Scimina’s torture. Viraine touched Nahadoth’s forehead. A sigil appeared out of nowhere, also white-hot, and Nahadoth hissed as if this caused him further pain. But the leaking of his aura stopped, and when he lifted his head, panting, the dawn’s light no longer seemed to bother him. Viraine moved on.

“We beg your blessing upon your newest chosen,” he said, and touched Scimina’s forehead. She smiled as her sigil ignited, the white light illuminating her face in stark angles and eager, fierce planes.

Viraine came to stand before me then, with the plinth between us. As he passed behind it, my eyes were again drawn to the Stone of Earth. I had never dreamt it would look so singularly unimpressive.

The lump shivered. For just an instant, a perfect, beautiful silver seed floated there before fading back into the dark lump.

If Viraine had been looking at me in that moment, all might have been lost. I understood what had happened and realized the danger all in a single icy bolt of intuition, and it showed on my face. The Stone was like Nahadoth, like all the gods bound here on earth; its true form was hidden behind a mask. The mask made it seem ordinary, unimportant. But for those who looked upon it and expected more—especially those who knew its true nature—it would become more. It would change its shape to reflect all that they knew.

I was condemned, and the Stone was to be my executioners’ blade. I should have seen it as a menacing, terrible thing. That I saw beauty and promise was a clear warning to any Arameri that I intended to do more than just die today.

Fortunately Viraine was not looking at me. He had turned to face the eastern sky, as had everyone else in the room. I looked from face to face, seeing pride, anxiety, expectation, bitterness. The last was Nahadoth, who alone besides me did not look at the sky. His gaze found mine instead, and held it. Perhaps that was why we alone were not affected as the sun crested the distant horizon, and power made the whole world shiver like a jolted mirror.

From the instant the sun sinks out of mortal sight until the last light fades: that is twilight. From the instant the sun crests the horizon ’til it no longer touches earth: that is dawn.

I looked around in surprise, and caught my breath as before me, the Stone blossomed.

That was the only word that could fit what I saw. The ugly lump shivered, then unfolded, layers peeling away to reveal light. But this was not the steady white light of Itempas, nor the wavering unlight of Nahadoth. This was the strange light I had seen in the oubliette, gray and unpleasant, somehow leaching the color from everything nearby. There was no shape to the Stone now, not even the silver apricotseed. It was a star, shining, but somehow strengthless.

Yet I felt its true power, radiating at me in waves that made my skin crawl and my stomach churn. I stepped back inadvertently, understanding now why T’vril had warned off the servants. There was nothing wholesome in this power. It was part of the Goddess of Life, but she was dead. The Stone was just a grisly relic.

“Name your choice to lead our family, Granddaughter,” said Dekarta.

I turned away from the Stone, though its radiance made that side of my face itch. My sight went blurry for a moment. I felt weak. The thing was killing me and I hadn’t even touched it.

“R-Relad,” I said. “I choose Relad.”

“What?” Scimina’s voice, stunned and outraged. “What did you say, you mongrel?”

Movement behind me. It was Viraine; he had come around to my side of the plinth. I felt his hand on my back, supporting me when the Stone’s power made me sway, dizzy. I took it as comfort and made a greater effort to stand. As I did so, Viraine shifted a bit and I caught a glimpse of Kurue. Her expression was grim, resolute.

I thought I understood why.

The sun, as was its wont, was moving quickly. Already half of its bulk was above the horizon line. Soon it would no longer be dawn, but day.

Dekarta nodded, unruffled by Scimina’s sudden spluttering. “Take the Stone, then,” he commanded me. “Make your choice real.”

My choice. I lifted a shaking hand to take the Stone, and wondered if death would hurt. My choice.

“Do it,” whispered Relad. He was leaning forward, his whole body taut. “Do it, do it, do it…”

“No!” Scimina again, a scream. I saw her lunge at me from the corner of my eye.

“I’m sorry,” Viraine whispered behind me, and suddenly everything stopped.

I blinked, not sure what had happened. Something made me look down. There, poked through the bodice of my ugly dress, was something new: the tip of a knife blade. It had emerged from my body on the right side of my sternum, just beside the swell of my breast. The cloth around it was changing, turning a strange wet black.

Blood, I realized. The Stone’s light stole the color even from that.

Lead weighed my arm. What had I been doing? I could not remember. I was very tired. I needed to lie down.

So I did.

And I died.