I just need to convey my message. That’s all.
He wasn’t doing a good job of convincing his traitor heart. For the first time, Jedao was aware of being lonely.
He drew a deep breath and pressed a kiss to Dhanneth’s palm, using the motion to cover what he was really (really?) doing: tapping a message in the Kel drum code against Dhanneth’s hand.
I need your help.
Dhanneth’s next move took Jedao off-guard. Dhanneth rose and came around so he stood next to Jedao’s seat. He went to his knees and kissed Jedao’s bare fingers. “Tell me how I may serve you,” he said.
The shock of contact dizzied Jedao. He sat, trapped, desperate to respond and more desperate to restrain himself. I’m imagining this.
When Jedao didn’t move, Dhanneth grew bolder. He ungloved slowly, almost teasingly. His face was very grave. He held out both gloves to Jedao, that old Kel gesture: My honor is yours.
Jedao accepted the gloves, as much as it pained him. Doing otherwise would have insulted Dhanneth, and he needed Dhanneth’s help.
“You can’t hurt me, sir,” Dhanneth said.
Jedao left the chair and knelt so he faced Dhanneth. Rested his hands atop Dhanneth’s broad shoulders, taking reluctant pleasure in the solidity of bunched muscle. A horrible thought occurred to him, although perhaps no more horrible than what was going on right now: “Have we done this before?”
Dhanneth was tranquil. “No, sir.”
Jedao kissed him at the corner of his mouth so their noses wouldn’t collide. The salt of skin aroused him. Kissing wasn’t anything like he’d imagined. (Ruo. Had they ever—? But he didn’t remember Ruo showing any interest.) He wished so much for this to be real intimacy, the one thing it could never be. “What about this?”
In the drum code, he asked, What did the hexarch do to you? Who were you?
Dhanneth stirred, then rose, drawing Jedao with him. He lifted one hand and cupped Jedao’s cheek. I defied him and he broke me. Drum code.
Jedao embraced him, inhaled the scent of Dhanneth’s skin. Hated himself for seeking comfort in this, of all things. Asked the question he should have asked at the beginning, although who knew if he’d get an honest answer. If I ordered you to kill the hexarch, what would happen?
If Dhanneth reported him straightaway to Kujen, it would be no more than what he deserved.
Dhanneth clasped Jedao’s fingers with his other hand. “I am yours,” he said. “I have been yours since you came to us.” In drum code: I can give you what you really want.
Dhanneth’s vehemence unnerved Jedao. “I don’t know what you mean by that.” He didn’t know which part he was responding to.
“I was present when the hexarch created you,” Dhanneth said.
Jedao stared at him.
“He didn’t explain the mechanics to me,” Dhanneth said, “except he felt it would”—slight pause—“reassure you to have a Kel present. He explained to me that your original body no longer survived, so he made you a new one.”
“So I’m a clone after all?” Jedao said, unsurprised that Kujen had lied after all. It wasn’t news that he had to be some kind of construct.
“No, sir.” Dhanneth was subdued. “He explained to me that voidmoths do not age—that they would live forever if not for the normal attrition of battle and madness. That they have impressive regenerative capabilities. He felt these were desirable traits.”
“But I’m not—” Jedao’s voice died in his throat.
He could hear moths. He could hear the Revenant, and talk to it. The othersense must be a moth-sense. And presumably his inability to die like a regular human being was related, too. Because he wasn’t human.
He was a moth, and he’d ordered the massacre of moths at Isteia.
Revenant, Jedao said, why didn’t you tell me?
Tell you what?
That I’m not human. That I’m one of you.
The Revenant was scornful. Would you have believed me?
“Yes,” Dhanneth said. “You’re a moth modded into human shape. The hexarch said it was one of his greatest achievements.”
“Who were you,” Jedao said, “that he picked you to keep this secret, and not someone else?”
Dhanneth shivered, although Jedao hadn’t intended it as a criticism. “I was the lieutenant general in charge of this swarm.”
“What?” Jedao whispered, stumbling backward. He would have fallen on his ass if Dhanneth hadn’t caught him.
“Are you all right, sir?”
“Am I all ri—” Jedao checked himself. Just because he was rattled didn’t give him the right to tear into Dhanneth. “He broke you to major?”
Dhanneth lowered his eyes. “I was more useful to him this way.”
Suddenly it made sense. Dhanneth still had the expertise of a general. It was what enabled him to give such excellent commentary on strategy and battle planning. It also made him an ideal aide for an amnesiac general. On the other hand, he no longer possessed the personality to lead or inspire.
No wonder the Kel soldiers were so uncomfortable in Dhanneth’s presence. He was a living reminder of the hexarch’s power. For if Kujen could do this to their general, he could do it to any of them.
Jedao felt wretched for using Dhanneth against Kujen. How did that make him any better than Kujen himself? At the same time, Dhanneth might have observed something that might help Jedao. Drum code again: Is there any way to kill the hexarch?
No, Dhanneth replied. His eyes were questioning.
Jedao reached out toward Dhanneth, then dropped his hand. “Leave me,” Jedao said abruptly, ashamed of himself for wanting to touch Dhanneth again. He’s already been harmed enough. The least I can do is leave him alone.
“Sir—” Dhanneth scooped up Jedao’s hand, pressed a kiss to his palm, then retrieved his gloves, put them on, and left. Jedao was left watching the closing door, heart pounding, troubled in more ways than he cared to name.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I’M NOT HUMAN, Jedao thought. It didn’t seem real. On the other hand, he couldn’t deny the evidence.
After he’d spoken with Dhanneth, he’d returned to his quarters to take a bath. At first the water was too hot. The temperature reminded him of blood. He pulled the plug and watched the water drain away. Then he set the temperature to be unpleasantly chilly and filled the tub again. The cold stabbed him. He welcomed the pain.
When he no longer felt the cold, Jedao left the bathtub and stood, dripping, in front of the mirror. Kujen must have selected it personally. It took up the better part of the wall, and the frame resembled a cascade of black moths with glittering stars caught in their wings. Jedao had grown inured to luxury, thanks to its omnipresence. Now he was struck by the sheer wasteful beauty of the mirror and, for the first time, by his own essential ugliness.
I’m not human.
Dhanneth had known all this time. Had kept the secret.