The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms

And our hopes with it, says Zhakkarn, her jaw tight.

Kurue sighs. Our mother is dead, Sister. Itempas won. I hate it, toobut its time we accepted this. What did you think would happen if we did manage to free ourselves? Just the four of us, against the Bright Lord and dozens of our brothers and sisters? And the Stone, you realize. We have no one to wield it for us, but Itempas has his Arameri pets. We would end up enslaved again, or worse. No.

Then she turns to glare at Nahadoth. How could I have failed to recognize the look in her eyes? It has always been there. She looks at Nahadoth the way my mother probably looked at Dekarta, with sorrow inseparable from contempt. That should have been enough to warn me.

Hate me for it if you like, Naha. But remember that if you had only swallowed your foolish pride and given Itempas what he wanted, none of us would be here. Now I will give him what he wants, and hes promised to set me free for it.

Nahadoth speaks very softly. Youre the fool, Kurue, if you think Itempas will accept anything short of my capitulation.

He looks up then. I have no flesh in this vision, this dream, but I want to shiver. His eyes are black through black. The skin around them is crazed with lines and cracks, like a porcelain mask on the verge of shattering. What gleams through these cracks is neither blood nor flesh; it is an impossibly black glow that pulses like a heartbeat. When he smiles, I cannot see his teeth.

Isnt that true Brother? His voice holds echoes of emptiness. He is looking at Viraine.

Viraine, half-silhouetted by the dawning sun, turns to Nahadothbut it is my eyes he seems to meet. The watching, floating me. He smiles. The sorrow and fear in that smile is something that only I, out of this whole room, can possibly understand. I know this instinctively, though I do not know why.

Then, just before the suns bottommost curve lifts free of the horizon, I recognize what I have seen in him. Two souls. Itempas, like both his siblings, also has a second self.

Viraine flings back his head and screams, and from his throat vomits hot, searing white light. It floods the room in an instant, blinding me. I imagine the people in the city below, and in the surrounding countryside, will see this light from miles away. They will think it is a sun come to earth, and they will be right.

In the brightness I hear the Arameri crying out, except Dekarta. He alone has witnessed this before. When the light fades, I look upon Itempas, Bright Lord of the Sky.

The library etching was surprisingly accurate, though the differences are profound. His face is even more perfect, with lines and symmetry that put mere etching to shame. His eyes are the gold of a blazing noonday sun. Though white like Viraines, his hair is shorter and tighter-curled than even my own. His skin is darker, too, matte-smooth and flawless. (This surprises me, though it shouldnt. How it must gall the Amn.) I can see, in this first glance, why Naha loves him.

And there is love in Itempass eyes, too, as he steps around my body and its nimbus of coagulating blood. Nahadoth, he says, smiling and extending his hands. Even in my fleshless state, I shiver. The things his tongue does to those syllables! He has come to seduce the god of seduction, and oh, has he come prepared.

Nahadoth is abruptly free to rise to his feet, which he does. But he does not take the proferred hands. He walks past Itempas to where my body lies. My corpse is fouled with blood all along one side, but he kneels and lifts me anyhow. He holds me against himself, cradling my head so it does not flop back on my limp neck. There is no expression on his face. He simply looks at me.

If this gesture is calculated to offend, it works. Itempas lowers his hands slowly, and his smile fades.

Father of All. Dekarta bows with precarious dignity, unsteady without his cane. We are honored by your presence once again. Murmurs from the sides of the room: Relad and Scimina make their greetings as well. I do not care about them. I exclude them from my perception.

For a moment I think Itempas will not answer. Then he says, still gazing at Nahadoths back, You still wear the sigil, Dekarta. Call a servant and finish the ritual.

At once, Father. But

Itempas looks at Dekarta, who trails off under that burning-desert gaze. I do not blame him. But Dekarta is Arameri; gods do not frighten him for long.

Viraine, he says. You were part of him.

Itempas lets him flounder to silence, then says, Since your daughter left Sky.

Dekarta looks over at Kurue. You knew this?

She inclines her head, regal. Not at first. But Viraine came to me one day and let me know I need not be damned to this earthly hell for all eternity. Our father could still forgive us, if we proved ourselves loyal. She glances at Itempas then, and even her dignity cannot hide her anxiety. She knows how fickle his favor can be. Even then I wasnt certain, though I suspected. That was when I decided on my plan.