“Careful, Auntie,” I said softly. “You won’t live to a ripe old age, saying such things out loud.”
Ras laughed softly. “True enough. I’ll be more careful.” She sobered. “But think of this, Lady Not-Arameri: maybe the Uthre didn’t bother to petition because they knew another petition had already been approved—quietly, mingled in with other edicts the Consortium has passed in the past few months.”
I froze, frowning. “Another petition?”
She nodded. “As you said, there hasn’t been a successful petition for a century, so of course two petitions would never be approved back-to-back. And perhaps the Uthre even knew that other petition was more likely to pass, since it served the purposes of someone with a great deal of power. Some wars, after all, are useless without death.”
I stared at her, too thrown to hide my confusion or shock. An approved war petition should have been the talk of the entire nobility. It should have taken the Consortium weeks to discuss it, much less approve it. How could anyone get a petition through without half the world hearing of it?
“Who?” I asked. But I was already beginning to suspect.
“No one knows the petition’s sponsor, Lady, and no one knows what lands are involved, either as invader or target. But Uthr borders Tema on its eastern side. Uthr is small—bigger now—but their ruling family and the Teman Triadice have links of marriage and friendship going back generations.”
And Tema, I realized with a belated chill, was one of the nations beholden to Scimina.
Scimina, then, had sponsored the war petition. And she had kept its approval quiet, though that had probably required a masterwork of political maneuvering. Perhaps helping Uthre conquer Irt had been part of that. But that left two very crucial questions: why had she done it? And what kingdom would soon fall victim to the attack?
Relad’s warning: If you love anyone, anything, beware.
My mouth and hands went dry. I now wanted, very badly, to go and see Scimina.
“Thank you for this,” I said to Ras. My voice was higher than usual; my mind was already elsewhere, racing. “I’ll make good use of the information.”
She nodded and then hobbled her way out, patting my arm in passing. I was too lost in thought to say good-bye, but then I recalled myself and turned, just as she opened the door to leave.
“What is it that an Arameri should know, Auntie?” I asked. It was something I had wondered since our first meeting.
She paused, glanced back at me. “How to be cruel,” she said very softly. “How to spend life like currency and wield death itself as a weapon.” She lowered her eyes. “Your mother told me that, once. I’ve never forgotten it.”
I stared at her, dry-mouthed.
Ras Onchi bowed to me, respectfully. “I will pray,” she said, “that you never learn this for yourself.”
Back in Sky.
I had regained most of my composure by the time I went in search of Scimina’s apartment. Her quarters were not far from my own, as all fullbloods in Sky are housed on the topmost level of the palace. She had gone one step further and claimed one of Sky’s greater spires as her domain, which meant that the lifts did me no good. With a passing servant’s aid I found the carpeted stairs leading up the spire. The stairway was not a great height—perhaps three stories—but my thighs were burning by the time I reached the landing, and I wondered why she’d chosen to live in such a place. The fitter highbloods would have no trouble and the servants had no choice, but I could not imagine someone as infirm as, say, Dekarta, making the climb. Perhaps that was the idea.
The door swung open at my knock. Inside I found myself in a vaulted corridor, lined on either side by statues, windows, and vases of some sort of flowering plant. The statues were of no one I recognized: beautiful young men and women naked and in artful poses. At the end the corridor opened out into a circular chamber that was furnished with cushions and low tables—no chairs. Scimina’s guests were clearly meant to either stand or sit on the floor.
At the center of the circular room, a couch sat on an elevated dais. I wondered whether it was intentional on Scimina’s part that this place felt so much like a throne room.
Scimina was not present, though I could see another corridor just beyond the dais, ostensibly leading into the apartment’s more private chambers. Assuming she meant to keep me waiting, I sighed and settled myself, looking around. That was when I noticed the man.
He sat with his back propped against one of the room’s wide windows, his posture not so much casual as insolent, with one leg drawn up and his head lolling to the side. It took me a moment to realize he was naked, because his hair was very long and draped over his shoulder, covering most of his torso. It took me another moment to understand, with a jarring chill, that this was Nahadoth.
Or at least, I thought it was him. His face was beautiful as usual, but strange somehow, and I realized for the first time that it was still—just one face, one set of features, and not the endlessly shifting melange that I usually saw. His eyes were brown, and not the yawning pits of black I recalled; his skin was pale, but it was a human pallor like that of an Amn, and not the glow of moonshine or starlight. He watched me lazily, unmoving except to blink, a faint smile curving lips that were just a shade too thin for my tastes.
“Hello,” he said. “It’s been a while.”
I had just seen him the night before.
“Good morning, Lord Nahadoth,” I said, using politeness to cover my unease. “Are you… well?”
He shifted a little—just enough for me to see the thin silver collar ’round his neck and the chain that dangled from it. Abruptly I understood. By day I am human, Nahadoth had said. No power save Itempas Himself could chain the Nightlord at night, but by day he was weak. And… different. I searched his face but saw none of the madness that had been there my first night in Sky. What I saw instead was calculation.
“I am very well,” he said. He touched his tongue to his lips, which made me think of a snake testing the air. “Spending the afternoon with Scimina is usually enjoyable. Though I do grow bored so easily.” He paused, just for a breath. “Variety helps.”
There was no doubt as to what he meant—not with his eyes stripping my clothing as I stood there. I think he meant for his words to unnerve me, but instead, strangely, they cleared my thoughts.
“Why does she chain you?” I asked. “To remind you of your weakness?”
His eyebrows rose a touch. There was no true surprise in his expression, just a momentary heightening of interest. “Does it bother you?”
“No.” But I saw at once by the sharpening of his eyes that he knew I was lying.
He sat forward, the chain making the faintest of sounds, like distant chimes. His eyes, human and hungry and so very, very cruel, stripped me anew, though not sexually this time. “You’re not in love with him,” he said, thoughtful. “You’re not that stupid. But you want him.”
I did not like this, but I had no intention of admitting it. There was something in this Nahadoth that reminded me of a bully, and one did not show weakness before that.
While I considered my response, however, his smile widened.
“You can have me,” he said.
I worried, for the briefest of instants, that I would find the thought tempting. I needn’t have worried; all I felt was revulsion. “Thank you, but no.”
He ducked his eyes in a parody of polite embarrassment. “I understand. I’m just the human shell, and you want something more. I don’t blame you. But…” And here he glanced up at me through his lashes. Never mind bully; what lurked in his face was evil, pure and plain. Here was the sadistic glee that had gloried in my terror that first night, all the more disturbing because this time it was sane. This version of Nahadoth gave truth to the priests’ warning tales and children’s fears of the dark.