The Kingdom of Gods

From the blocky stone chair that had been an Itempan altar before the Gods’ War, and that still smelled faintly of Shinda Arameri’s demon blood, Remath smiled at us.

“In light of yesterday’s disturbing events,” she said, “it seems the time has come to implement a plan that I hoped I would never need. Dekarta.” He twitched in surprise and looked up. “Your teachers at the Litaria assure me that you are without doubt the finest young scrivener they have ever graduated, and as my spies at the Litaria confirm your accomplishments, it appears this is not just toadying praise. This pleases me more than you can know.”

Dekarta stared at her in obvious surprise for a full second before answering. “Thank you, Mother.”

“Do not thank me yet. I have a task for you and Shahar, one that will take substantial time and effort, but upon which the family’s future will entirely depend.” She folded her legs and glanced at Shahar. “Do you know what that task is, Shahar?”

It had the feel of an old question. Perhaps Remath quizzed Shahar in this manner all the time. Shahar seemed unfazed by it as she lifted her head to reply.

“I’m not certain,” she said, “but I have suspicions, a="3s my own sources have informed me of some very curious activities on your part.”

“Such as?”

Shahar narrowed her eyes, perhaps considering how much she wanted to divulge in front of the mixed audience. Then, bluntly, she said, “You’ve had parties examining remote locations around the world, and you’ve had several of the scriveners — in secret, on pain of death — researching the building techniques used to create Sky.” She glanced at me briefly. “Those that can be replicated with mortal magic.”

I blinked in surprise. Now that I hadn’t been expecting. When I frowned at Remath, I was even more disturbed to find her smiling at me, as if my shock pleased her.

“What in the heavens are you up to, woman?” I asked.

She ducked her eyes almost coyly, reminding me, suddenly, of Yeine. Remath had that same smug look Yeine had worn the evening before. I did not like being reminded that they were relatives.

“The Arameri must change, Lord Sieh,” she said. “Is that not what the Nightlord told us, on the day you and the other Enefadeh broke free from your long captivity? We have kept the world still too long, and now it twists and turns, reveling in sudden freedom — and risking its own destruction by changing too far, too fast.” She sighed, the smugness fading. “My spies in the north gave me a report last year that I did not understand. Now, having seen the power of these masks, I realize we are in far greater danger than I ever imagined. …”

Abruptly she trailed off, falling silent, and for a breath-held moment there were hells in her eyes — fears and weariness that she had not let us see up to now. It was a stunning lapse on her part. It was also, I realized as she lifted her gaze to Shahar, deliberate.

“My spies have seen hundreds of masks,” she said softly. “Perhaps thousands. In nearly every High North nation there are dimyi artists; the northerners have been spreading knowledge of the form and nurturing youngsters with the talent for more than a generation. They sell them to foreigners as souvenirs. They give them to traders as gifts. Most people hang them on their walls as decoration. There is no way to know how many masks exist — in the north, on the islands, throughout Senm. Even in this city, from Sky to the Gray to Shadow beneath. No telling.”

I inhaled, realizing the truth of her words. Gods, I had seen the masks myself. On the walls of a tavern in Antema. In the Salon once, right below Sky, when I’d pretended to be the page of some noble in order to eavesdrop on a Consortium session. Stern, commanding faces arranged on a wall in the bathroom; they’d drawn my eye while I took a piss. I hadn’t known what they were then.

Remath continued. “I have, of course, requested the aid of the Order-Keepers in locating and neutralizing this threat. They have already begun searching homes and removing masks — without touching them,” she added, as Deka looked alarmed and had opened his mouth to speak. “We are aware of the danger.”

“No,” Deka said, and we all blinked in surprise. One did not interrupt the Arameri family head. “No one is aware of the danger, Mother, until we’vande had a chance to study these masks and understand how they work. They may function through more than contact.”

“We must nevertheless try,” she said. “If even one of those masks can turn an ordinary mortal into a nigh-unstoppable creature like the ones that attacked us yesterday, then we are already surrounded by our enemies. They need not muster soldiers, or train them, or feed them. They can create their army at any time, in any place, through whatever mechanism or spell they use to control the masks. And the defenses our scriveners have devised have proven woefully inadequate.”