Then something white showed through his shoulder. At first I thought it was bone, and my own gorge rose. But it was not bone; it was skin. Pale like T’vril’s, though devoid of spots, shifting now as it pushed up through the melting black.
And then I saw—
And did not see.
A shining form (that my mind would not see) stood over a shapeless black mass (that my mind could not see) and plunged hands into the mass again and again. Not tearing it apart. Pummeling—pounding—brutalizing it into shape. The mass screamed, struggling desperately, but the shining hands held no mercy. They plunged again and hauled out arms. They crushed formless black until it became legs. They thrust into the middle and dragged out a torso, hand up to the wrist in its abdomen, gripping to impose a spine. And last was torn forth a head, barely human and bald, unrecognizable. Its mouth was open and shrieking, its eyes mad with agony beyond any mortal endurance. But of course, this was not a mortal.
This is what you want, snarls the shining one, his voice savage, but these are not words and I do not hear them. It is knowledge; it is in my head. This abomination that she created. You would choose her over me? Then take her “gift”—take it—take it and never forget that you—chose—this—
The shining one is weeping, I notice, even as he commits this violation.
And somewhere inside me someone was screaming, but it was not me, although I was screaming, too. And neither of us could be heard over the screams of the new-made creature on the ground, whose suffering had only begun—
The arm wrenched its way out of Nahadoth with a sound that reminded me of cooked meat. That same juicy, popping sound when one tears off a joint. Nahadoth, on his hands and knees, shuddered all over as the extra arm flailed blindly and then found purchase on the ground beside him. I could see now that it was pale, but not the moon-white I was used to. This was a far more mundane, human white. This was his daytime self, tearing through the godly veneer that covered it at night, in a grisly parody of birth.
He did not scream, I noticed. Beyond that initial abortive sound, Nahadoth remained silent even though another body ripped its way out of his. Somehow that made it worse, because his pain was so obvious. A scream would have eased my horror, if not his agony.
Beside him, Viraine watched for a moment, then closed his eyes, sighing.
“This could take hours,” said Scimina. “It would go faster if this were true sunlight, of course, but only the Skyfather can command that. This is just a paltry imitation.” She threw Viraine a contemptuous look. “More than enough for my purposes, though, as you can see.”
I kept my jaw clenched tight. Across the circle, through the shaft of light and the haze created by Nahadoth’s steaming godflesh, I could see Kurue. She looked at me once, bitter, and then away. Zhakkarn kept her eyes on Nahadoth. It was a warrior’s way to acknowledge suffering, and thus respect it; she would not look away. Neither would I. But gods, gods.
It was Sieh who caught and held my gaze as he walked forward into the pool of light. It did not harm him; it was not his weakness. He knelt beside Nahadoth and gathered the disintegrating head to his chest, wrapped his arms around the heaving shoulders—all three of them. Through it all Sieh watched me, with a look that others probably interpreted as hatred. I knew otherwise.
Watch, those green eyes, so like mine yet so much older, said. See what we endure. And then set us free.
I will, I said back, with all my soul and Enefa’s, too. I will.
I did not know. No matter what else happened, Itempas loved Naha. I never thought that could turn to hate.
What in the infinite hells makes you think that was hate?
I glanced at Scimina and sighed.
“Are you trying to nauseate me into answering?” I asked. “Add a new mess to the floor? That’s all this farce is going to do.”
She leaned back from me, lifting an eyebrow. “No compassion for your ally?”
“The Nightlord is not my ally,” I snapped. “As everyone in this den of nightmares has repeatedly warned me, he is a monster. But since he’s no different from the rest of you who want me dead, I thought I might at least use his power to help my people.”
Scimina looked skeptical. “And what help did he provide? You made the effort in Menchey the next night.”
“None; dawn came too quickly. But…” I faltered here, remembering my grandmother’s arms and the smell of the humid Darren air that night. I did miss her, and Darr itself, and all the peace I had once known there. Before Sky. Before my mother’s death.
I lowered my eyes and let my very real pain show. Only that would appease Scimina.
“We spoke of my mother,” I said, softer. “And other things, personal things—none of which should have any importance to you.” With this I glared at her. “And even if you roast that creature all night, I will not share those things with you.”
Scimina gazed at me for a long moment, her smile gone, her eyes dissecting my face. Between and beyond us, Nahadoth finally made another sound through his teeth, an animal snarl. There were more hideous tearing sounds. I made myself not care by hating Scimina.
Finally she sighed and stepped away from me. “So be it,” she said. “It was a feeble attempt, Cousin; you must have realized it had almost no chance of succeeding. I’m going to contact Gemd and tell him to resume the attack. They’ll take control of your capital and crush any resistance, though I’ll tell them to hold off on slaughtering your people—more than necessary—for the time being.”
So there it was, laid plain: I would have to do her bidding, or she would unleash the Mencheyev to wipe my people out of existence. I scowled. “What guarantee do I have that you won’t kill them anyway?”
“None whatsoever. After this foolishness, I’m tempted to do it just for spite. But I’d rather the Darre survive, now that I think about it. I imagine their lives won’t be pleasant. Slavery rarely is—though we’ll call it something else, of course.” She glanced at Nahadoth, amused. “But they will be alive, Cousin, and where there is life, there is hope. Isn’t that worth something to you? Worth a whole world, perhaps?”
I nodded slowly, though my innards clenched in new knots. I would not grovel. “It will do for now.”
“For now?” Scimina stared at me, incredulous, then began to laugh. “Oh, Cousin. Sometimes I wish your mother were still alive. She at least could have given me a real challenge.”
I had lost my knife, but I was still Darre. I whipped around and hit her so hard that one of her heeled shoes came off as she sprawled across the floor.
“Probably,” I said, as she blinked away shock and what I hoped was a concussion. “But my mother was civilized.”
Fists tight enough to sting at my sides, I turned my back on the whole arena and walked out.
21. First Love
I almost forgot. When I first arrived in Sky, T’vril informed me that the highbloods sometimes gather for dinner in one of the fancier halls. This happened once during my time there, but I chose not to attend. There are rumors about Sky, you see. Some of them are exaggerations, and many are true, as I discovered. But there is one rumor I hoped never to confirm.