The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms

But that means Dekarta pauses then, realization-anger-resignation flickering across his face in quick succession. I can guess his thoughts: Bright Itempas orchestrated Kinneths death.

My grandfather closes his eyes, perhaps mourning the death of his faith. Why?

Viraines heart was broken. And does the Father of All realize that his eyes turn to Nahadoth when he says this? Is he aware of what this look reveals? He wanted Kinneth back, and offered anything if I would help him achieve that goal. I accepted his flesh in payment.

How predictable. I shift to myself, lying in Nahadoths arms. Nahadoth speaks above me. You used him.

If I could have given him what he wanted, I would have, Itempas replies with a very human shrug. But Enefa gave these creatures the power to make their own choices. Even we cannot change their minds when theyre set on a given course. Viraine was foolish to ask.

The smile that curves Nahadoths lips is contemptuous. No, Tempa, that isnt what I meant, and you know it.

And somehow, perhaps because I am no longer alive and no longer thinking with a fleshly brain, I understand. Enefa is dead. Never mind that some remnant of her flesh and soul lingers; both are mere shadows of who and what she truly was. Viraine, however, took into himself the essence of a living god. I shiver as I realize: the moment of Itempass manifestation was also the moment of Viraines death. Had he known it was coming? So much of his strangeness became clear, in retrospect.

But before that, disguised by Viraines mind and soul, Itempas could watch Nahadoth like a voyeur. He could command Nahadoth and thrill in his obedience. He could pretend to be doing Dekartas will while manipulating events to exert subtle pressure on Nahadoth. All without Nahadoths knowledge.

Itempass expression does not change, but there is something about him now that suggests anger. A more burnished shade to his golden eyes, perhaps. Always so melodramatic, Naha. He steps closerclose enough that the white glow which surrounds him clashes against Nahadoths smoldering shadow. Where the two powers brush against each other, both light and dark vanish, leaving nothing.

You clutch that piece of meat like it means something, Itempas says.

She does.

Yes, yes, a vessel, I knowbut her purpose is served now. She has bought your freedom with her life. Will you not come take your reward?

Moving slowly, Nahadoth sets my body down. I feel his rage coming before, apparently, anyone else. Even Itempas looks surprised when Nahadoth clenches his fists and slams them into the floor. My blood flies up in twin sprays. The floor cracks ominously, and some of the cracks run up the glass wallsthough, fortunately, these only spiderweb and do not shatter. As if in compensation, the plinth at the center of the room shatters instead, spilling the Stone ignominiously onto the floor and peppering everyone with glittering white flecks.

More, Nahadoth breathes. His skin has cracked further; he is barely contained by the flesh that is his prison. When he rises and turns, his hands drip something too dark to be blood. The cloak that surrounds him lashes the air like miniature tornadoes.

She was more! He is barely coherent. He lived countless ages before language. Perhaps his instinct is to forego speech altogether in moments of extremity, and just roar out his fury. More than a vessel. She was my last hope. And yours.

Kuruemy vision swings toward her against my willsteps forward, opening her mouth to protest. Zhakkarn catches her arm in warning. Wise, I think, or at least wiser than Kurue. Nahadoth looks utterly demented.

But then, so does Itempas, as he stares down Nahadoths rage. There is open lust in his eyes, unmistakable beneath the warriors tension. But of course: how many aeons did they spend battling, raw violence giving way to stranger longings? Or perhaps Itempas has simply been so long without Nahadoths love that he will take anything, even hate, in its place.

Naha, he says gently. Look at you. All this over a mortal? He sighs, shaking his head. Id hoped that putting you here, amid the vermin that are our sisters legacy, would show you the error of your ways. Now I see that you are merely growing accustomed to captivity.

He steps forward then, and does what every other person in the room would have considered suicide: he touches Nahadoth. It is a brief gesture, just a light brush of his fingers against the cracked porcelain of Nahadoths face. There is such yearning in that touch that my heart aches.

But does it matter anymore? Itempas has killed Enefa; he has killed his own children; he has killed me. He has killed something in Nahadoth as well. Can he not see that?

Perhaps he does, because his soft look fades, and after a moment he takes his hand away.

So be it, he says, going cold. I tire of this. Enefa was a plague, Nahadoth. She took the pure, perfect universe that you and I created and fouled it. I kept the Stone because I did care for her, whatever you might think and because I thought it might help to sway you.