The Broken Kingdoms

But I’ve gained some things, too. Like you, my little surprise.

On some level I knew it was a risk. Gods don’t breed as easily as us, but they made him more mortal than any god has ever been. I don’t know what it means that they left him this ability when they took so much else. I suppose they just forgot.

Then again, I can’t help remembering that evening, at my kitchen table, when the Lady Yeine touched me. She is the Mistress of Dawn, the goddess of life; surely she sensed you, or at least your imminence, while we sat there. That makes me wonder: did she notice you and let you live? Or did she…?

She’s a strange one, the Lady.

Even more strangely, she listened to me.

I’ve now heard the news from too many merchants and gossips to discount: there are gods everywhere. Singing in rain forests, dancing atop mountains, staking out beaches and flirting with the clam-boys. Most large cities have a resident godling these days, or two or three. Strafe is trying to attract one right now; the town elders say it’s good for business. I hope they succeed.

Soon the world will be a far more magical place. Just right, I think, for you.

And—

No.

No, I know better than to think it.

No.

And yet.

I lie here in my lonely bed, watching for the sunrise. I feel it coming—the light warms its way along the blankets and my skin. The days are getting shorter with the coming of winter. I’m guessing you’ll be born around the solstice.

Are you still listening? Can you hear me in there?

I think you can. I think you were made that second time, when Shiny became his true self for me, just a little. Just enough. I think he knew it, too, like the Lady knew it, and maybe even the Nightlord. This isn’t the sort of thing he would do by accident. He’d seen that I missed my old life. This was his way of helping me focus on the new one. And also… his way of making up for past mistakes.

Gods. Men. Damn him; he should’ve asked me. I could die giving birth to you, after all. Probably not, but it’s the principle of the thing.

Well.

I hope you’re listening, because sometimes gods—and demons—do that. I think that you’re awake, aware, and that you understand everything I’ve said.

Because I think I saw you, yesterday morning when I woke up. I think my eyes worked again, just for a moment, and you were the light I saw.

I think that if I wait ’til dawn and watch closely, I’ll see you again this morning.

And I think that if I wait long enough and listen carefully, one day I’ll hear footsteps on the road outside. Maybe a knock at the door. He’ll have learned basic courtesy by then from someone. We can hope for that, can’t we? Either way, he’ll come inside. He’ll wipe his feet, at least. He’ll hang his coat.

And then you and I, together, will welcome him home.