He crossed his legs, which might have been defensiveness or nonchalance. “It was the politic solution. She needed someone she could trust. And we are only half siblings, after all.” He shrugged, then eyed me. “Shahar and Dekarta don’t know.”
“Shahar, you mean. Who’s Deka’s father?”
“I am.” When I laughed, his jaw tightened. “The scriveners were most careful in their tests, Lord Sieh. Believe me. He and Shahar are full siblings, as Amn as I am.”
“Impossible. Or you aren’t as Amn as you think.”
He bristled, elegantly. “I can trace my lineage unbroken back to the first Shahar, Lord Sieh, with no taint of lesser races at any point. The problem, however, is Remath. Her half-Ken grandfather, for one…” He shuddered dramatically. “I suppose we’re lucky the children didn’t turn up redheads on top of everything else. But that wasn’t the only problem.”
“His soul,” I said softly, thinking of Deka’s smile, still shy even after I’d threatened to kill him. “He is a child of earth and dappled shadows, not the bright harsh light of day.”
Ramina looked at me oddly, but I was tired of adapting myself to mortals’ comfort. “If by that you mean he’s too gentle… well, so is Shahar, really. But she at least looks the part.”
“When will he be allowed to return?”
“In theory? When his training is complete, two years from now. In actuality?” Ramina shrugged. “Perhaps never.”
I frowned at this, folding my arms and resting my chin on them. With a heavy sigh, Ramina got to his feet as well. I thought he would leave and was glad for it; I was tired of plodding mortal minds and convoluted mortal relationships. But he stopped at the top of the stairwell, gazing at me for a long moment.
“If you won’t help the scriveners find the source of these attacks,” he said, “will you at least agree to protect Shahar? I feel certain she will be a target for our enemies—or those among our relatives who may use the attacks as a cover for their own plots.”
I sighed and closed my eyes. “She’s my friend, you fool.”
He seemed annoyed, probably because of the “you fool.” “What does that—” He paused, then sighed. “No, I should be grateful. The one thing we Arameri have always lacked is the gods’ friendship. If Shahar has managed to win yours… well, perhaps she has a better chance of surviving to inherit than I’d first thought.”
With that, Ramina left. I still didn’t like him.
6
Sky is boredom. That was the thing I had hated the most about it, back when I’d been a slave. It is a massive palace, each spire of which could house a village; its chambers contain dozens of entertainments. All of these become tedious to the point of torment after two thousand years. Hells, after twenty.
It was quickly becoming obvious that I would not be able to endure Sky for much longer. Which was fine; I needed to be out in the world anyhow, searching for the means to cure myself, if such a thing existed in the mortal realm. But Sky was a necessary staging ground for my efforts at life, allowing me relative safety and comfort in which to consider important logistical questions. Where would I live when I left? How would I live, if my magic would soon desert me? I had no resources, no particular skills, no connections in mortal society. The mortal realm could be dangerous, especially given my new vulnerability. I needed a plan, to face it.
(The irony of my situation did not escape me; it was the nature of all mortal adolescents to experience such anxiety at the prospect of leaving their childhood home for the harsh adult world. Knowing this did not make me feel better.)
I had come to no conclusion by the afternoon, but since I guessed that Shahar might have gotten over her fury with me by this point, I went in search of her.
When I walked into Shahar’s quarters, I found her surrounded by three servants who seemed to be in the middle of dressing her. As I appeared in the parlor doorway, she turned around so fast that her half-done hair whipped loose; I saw a flash of dismay cross one servant’s face before the woman masked it.
“Where in the infinite hells have you been?” Shahar demanded as I leaned against the doorjamb. “The servants said you left the cupola hours ago.”
“Good to see you, too,” I drawled. “What are you getting all polished up for?”
She sighed, submitting once again to the servants’ attentions. “Dinner. I’m meeting with Lady Hynno of the Teman Protectorate’s ruling Triadice, and her pymexe.”
She pronounced the word perfectly, which was fitting, as she’d probably been taught to speak Teman since childhood. The word meant something like “heir,” though with a masculine suffix. “Prince,” then, in Amn parlance, though unless the Temans had rewritten their charter again in the centuries since I’d last paid attention to them, it was not a hereditary role. They chose their leaders from among their brighter young folk, then trained them for a decade or so before actually letting them be in charge of anything. That sort of sensible thinking was why I’d chosen the Temans as my model, back when I’d first crafted a mortal appearance for myself.
Then I noticed the gown they were wrapping around Shahar. Quite literally: the gown seemed to consist of bands of subdued gold cloth, palm wide, being woven over and under other bands until a herringbone pattern had been achieved. The overall effect was very elegant and cleverly emphasized Shahar’s still-developing curves. I whistled, and she threw a wary look at me. “If I didn’t know any better,” I said, “I would think you were courting this prince. But you’re too young, and since when have Arameri married foreigners? So this must be something else.”
She shrugged, turning to gaze at herself in the bedroom mirror; the dress was almost done. They needed to wrap only the bottom few layers around her legs. But how was she going to get out of the thing? Perhaps they would cut it off her.
“The Triadic likes beauty,” she said, “and she controls the tariffs on shipping from High North, so it’s worthwhile to impress her. She’s one of the few nobles who can actually make things difficult for us.” She turned to the side, inspecting her profile; now that the servant had repaired her hair, she looked perfect and knew it. “And Prince Canru is an old childhood friend, so I don’t mind looking nice for him.”
I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Arameri usually didn’t let their children have friends. Though I supposed friends were necessary, now that they had no gods. I went over to the parlor’s couch and flopped onto it, not caring about the servants’ glances. “So your dinner will be business and pleasure, then.”
“Mostly business.” The servants murmured something, and there was a pause as Shahar examined herself. Satisfied, she nodded, and the servants filed out. Once they were gone, Shahar slid on a pair of long, pale yellow gloves. “I mean to ask her about what happened to my cousins, in fact.”
I rolled onto my side to watch her. “Why would she know?”
“Because the Temans are part of a neutral group in the Nobles’ Consortium. They support us, but they also support progressive efforts like a revised tithe system and secular schools. The Order of Itempas can no longer afford to educate children beyond the age of nine, you see—”