At my silence, Shahar headed for the door, and I roused myself enough to think. “Shahar.” I heard her stop. “If something happens, if you’re in danger, call me.”
“We never tested that.”
“It will work.” I felt that instinctively. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. “I don’t care if most of the Arameri die, it’s true. But you are my friend.”
She went still behind me. Surprised? Touched? Once upon a time, I would have been able to taste her emotions on the air. Now I could only guess.
“Get some rest,” she said at last. “I’ll have food sent up. We’ll speak again when I return.” Then she left.
And I leaned back against the window, trembling now that she was gone, left alone to ponder the most terrible of possibilities.
A godling defying a god. It seemed impossible. We were such low things compared to them; they could kill us so easily. Yet we were not powerless. Some among us—myself, once upon a time—were strong enough to challenge them directly, at least for a few moments. And even the least of us could keep secrets and stir up trouble.
One godling’s mischief did not trouble me. But if many of us were involved, conspiring across mortal generations, implementing some complex plan, it was no longer mischief. It was a revolt. One far more dangerous than whatever the northerners planned for the Arameri.
Because if the godlings revolted against the gods, the gods would fight back, as they had done when threatened by the demons long ago. But godlings were not as fragile as demons, and many of us had no vested interest in keeping the mortal realm safe. That would mean a second Gods’ War, worse than the first one.
This had been brewing right under my nose for fifty years, and I hadn’t had a clue.
Beyond me, in silent rebuke, the bloody sky went gradually black.
7
I needed help. But not from Nahadoth or Yeine; I dared not chance their tempers. Not until I knew more.
Who could I trust among my siblings? Zhakkarn, of course, but she was never subtle and would be no help in uncovering a conspiracy. The rest—hells. Most of them I had not spoken to in two thousand years. Before that I had tried to kill some of them. Bridges burned, ashes scattered, ground strewn with salt.
And there was the small problem of my inability to return to the gods’ realm in my current state. That was less of a problem than it seemed, because fortunately the city beneath Sky was teeming with my youngest siblings, those for whom the novelty of the mortal realm had not yet worn off. If I could convince one of them to help me… But which one?
I turned from the window, frustrated, to pace. The walls of Sky had begun to glow again, and I hated them, for they were more proof of my impotence; once upon a time, they would have dimmed, just a bit, in my presence. I was no Nahadoth, but there was more than a little of his darkness in me. Now, as if to mock me, the walls stayed bright, diffusing every shadow—
—shadow.
I stopped. There was one of my siblings, just maybe, who would help me. Not because she liked me; quite the opposite. But secrets were her nature, and that was something we shared. It was always easier to relate to those of my siblings with whom I had something in common. If I appealed to that, would she listen? Or would she kill me?
“No reward without risk,” I murmured to myself, and headed for the apartment door.
I took the lift down to the penultimate level of the underpalace. The corridors here were as quiet as always—and dim, compared to the brighter glow of all the other levels. Yes, this was the place.
For nostalgia’s sake, I touched each door as I passed it, remembering. Here were my sisters’ rooms: Zhakkarn’s with cannon shot embedded in the floor and the walls hung with shields; her hammock of blood-soaked slings and whips. (Very comfortable, I knew from experience, though a little scratchy.) Dear traitor Kurue’s, with pearls and coins scattered over nearly every surface, and books stolen from the library stacked atop the rest. The coins would be tarnishing now.
I avoided my own quarters, for fear of how they would make me feel. How long before I ended up living there again? I steered my thoughts off this path with a heavy hand.
This left the fourth chamber, at the center of the level. The one that had been Nahadoth’s.
It was pitch-black within, but I could still see a little in the dark even without cat’s eyes. The chamber was completely empty. No furnishings, no decorations, no hint that the room had ever been used. Yet every inch of its structure screamed defiance of our onetime jailors: the permanently lightless walls. The ceiling, which dipped toward the center of the room; the floor rose in the same spot, as if some terrible force had sucked the very stone toward itself. The sharp corners, which no other room in Sky had. If I stared hard enough into the dark, I could almost see Nahadoth’s silhouette etched against it and hear his soft, deep voice. Have you come for another story? Greedy child.
It had been cruel of me to push him away. I would pray an apology to him after this.
Reaching into my shirt, I pulled up the necklace of my own woven hair. Tugging En off the cord, I willed it to hover in the space between the floor and ceiling extrusions. To my relief, this worked; En stayed in the air and began turning at once, happily. This reminded it of the orrery, though it was lonely without planets.
“Sorry,” I said, reaching out to stroke its smooth surface with a fingertip. “I’ll give you more planets someday. In the meantime, will you give me light?”
In answer, En flared bright yellow-white for me, a gleeful candle. Suddenly Nahadoth’s chamber became smaller, stark with shadows. My own loomed behind me, a big-headed apparition that seemed to taunt me with the shape of the child I should have been. I ignored it and focused on the task at hand.
“Lady of Secrets,” I said, extending a hand; my shadow did the same. Shaping my fingers just so, I made the profile of a face on the wall and spoke with it. “Shadow in the dark. Nemmer Jru Im, my sister; do you hear me?”
There was a pause. Then, though I did not move, my hand shadow cocked its head.
“Well, this is unexpected,” it said in a woman’s voice. “Big brother Sieh. It’s been some time.”
I added my other hand, working the shadow into the shape of a donkey’s head. I’ve been an ass. “I hear interesting things about you, Nemmer. Will you speak with me?”
“I answered, didn’t I?” The first shadow shifted, impossibly manifesting its own arms and hands, the latter of which were set on its hips. “Though I’ll admit that’s because I’ve heard some very interesting things about you, too. I’m dying to know if they’re true.”
Damn. I might have known. “I’ll tell you every juicy detail, but I want something in return.”
“Do you, now?” I tensed at the wariness in her tone. That she did not trust me was irrelevant; she trusted no one. She did not like me, though, which was another matter entirely. “I’m not certain I’m interested in making any bargains with you, Trickster.”
I nodded; no more than I had expected. “I mean no harm to you, Nemmer. Cross my heart and hope to die.” I heard the bitterness in my own voice and angled my fingers into the shape of an old man’s head. “You did not turn on us in the War. I bear no grudge toward you.”