I swallowed, both to wet my throat and to push down a sudden queasy fear in my belly. There was no way they had managed to bring Madding and his siblings here against their will. No way. “What about the godlings?”
Another of those telling, damning pauses. “Their fate is for our leaders to decide.”
I tried to figure out whether he was lying. These were godlings I was worrying about, not mortals. I had never heard of mortal magic that could hold a godling prisoner.
But Madding had not come for me, and that meant he could not, for some reason. I had heard of godlings using mortals as a cover for their own machinations. Perhaps that was what was happening here—some rival of Madding’s, moving to take over the godsblood trade. Or perhaps another godling had taken the commission that Lady Nemmer had declined.
If either were true, though, wouldn’t only Madding have been targeted, and not his whole crew?
Just then, there was a strange movement beneath my feet, like a shiver of the floor. It rippled through the walls, not so much audible as palpable. It was as if the whole room had taken a momentary chill. One of the thick windows even rattled faintly in its frame before going still.
“Where are we?” I rasped.
“The House is attached to the trunk of the World Tree. The Tree sways slightly now and again. Nothing to be concerned about.”
Dearest gods.
I’d heard rumors that some of the wealthiest folk in the city—heads of merchant cartels, nobility, and the like—had begun to build homes onto the Tree’s trunk. It cost a fortune, in part because the Arameri had laid down strict requirements for aesthetics, safety, and the health of the Tree, and in part because no one with the gall to build onto the Tree would bother building a small house.
That a group of heretics could command such resources was incredible. That they had the power to capture and hold half a dozen godlings against their will was impossible.
These aren’t ordinary people, I realized with a chill. This is more than money; it’s power too. Magical, political—everything.
The only people in the world with that kind of power were Arameri.
“Now, I see that you’re still not feeling well—not well enough to carry on a conversation, anyhow.” Hado straightened, coming over to me. I flinched when I felt his fingers touch my left temple, where I was surprised to realize I had another bruise. “Better,” he said, “but I think I’ll recommend that you be given another day to rest. I’ll have someone bring you dinner here, then take you to the baths. When you’ve healed more, the Nypri would like to examine you.”
Yes, I remembered now. After my false Nimaro had shattered, I had been brought out of the empty place somehow. I had fallen to the floor, hard. The ache in my eyes, though—that was more familiar. I had felt the same at Madding’s after I’d used magic to kill the Order-Keepers at the park.
Then I registered what Hado had said. “Nypri?” It sounded like some sort of title. “Your leader?”
“One of our leaders, yes. His role is more specific, however; he’s an expert scrivener. And he’s very interested in your unique magical abilities. Most likely he’ll request a demonstration.”
The blood drained out of my face. They knew about my magic. How? It did not matter; they knew.
“Don’t want to,” I said. My voice was very small, not just because of the soreness.
Hado’s hand was still on my temple. He moved it down and patted my cheek, twice, in a patronizing sort of way. Both slaps were just a little too hard to be comforting, and then his hand lingered on me, an implicit warning.
“Don’t be foolish,” he said very softly. “You’re a good Maroneh girl, aren’t you? We are all true Itempans here, Oree. Why wouldn’t you want to join us?”
The Arameri had ruled the world for thousands of years. In that time, they had imposed the Bright on every continent, every kingdom, every race. Those who’d worshipped other gods were given a simple command: convert. Those who disobeyed were annihilated, their names and works forgotten. True Itempans believed in one way—their way.
How like Shiny, a small, bitter voice whispered in me before I forced it silent.
Hado chuckled again, but this time he stroked my cheek approvingly at my silence. It still stung.
“You’ll do well here, I see,” he said.
With that, he went to the door and knocked. Someone let him out and locked the door again behind him. I sat where I was for a long while after, with my hand on my cheek.
Wordless people entered my room twice the next day, bringing me a light Amn-style breakfast and soup for lunch. I spoke to the second one—my voice was better—asking where Madding and the others were. The person did not answer. No one else appeared in the interim, so I listened at the door awhile, trying to determine whether there were guards outside and whether there was any pattern to the movement I could hear in the halls beyond. My chances of escaping—alone, from a house full of fanatics, without even a stick to help me find my way—were slim, but that was no reason not to try.
I was fiddling with the thick-glassed window when the door opened behind me and someone small came in. I straightened without guilt. They weren’t stupid. They expected me to try and escape, at least for the first few days or so. True Itempans were nothing if not rational.
“My name is Jont,” said a young woman, surprising me by speaking. She sounded younger than me, maybe in her teens. There was something about her voice that suggested innocence, or maybe enthusiasm. “You’re Oree.”
“Yes,” I said. She had not given a family name, I noticed. Neither had Hado, the night before. So neither did I—a small, safe battle. “I’m pleased to meet you.” My throat felt better, thank the gods.
She seemed pleased by my attempt at politeness. “The Master of Initiates—Master Hado, whom you met—says I’m to give you anything you need,” she said. “I can take you to the baths now, and I’ve brought some fresh clothing.” There was the faint pluff of a pile of cloth being deposited. “Nothing fancy, I’m afraid. We live simply here.”
“I see,” I said. “You’re an… initiate, too?”
“Yes.” She came closer, and I guessed that she was staring at my eyes. “Was that a guess, or did you sense it somehow? I’ve heard that blind people can pick up on things normal people can’t.”
I tried not to sigh. “It was a guess.”
“Oh.” She sounded disappointed but recovered quickly. “You’re feeling better today, I see. You slept for two whole days after they brought you out of the Empty.”
“Two days?” But something else caught my attention. “The Empty?”
“The place our Nypri sends the worst blasphemers against the Bright,” Jont said. She had dropped her voice, her tone full of dread. “Is it as terrible as they say?”
“You mean that place beyond the holes.” I remembered being unable to breathe, unable to scream. “It was terrible,” I said softly.
“Then it’s fortunate the Nypri was merciful. What did you do?”
“Do?”
“To cause him to put you there.”
At this, fury lanced down my spine. “I did nothing. I was with my friends when this Nypri of yours attacked us. I was kidnapped and brought here against my will. And my friends…” I almost choked as I realized. “For all I know, they’re still in that awful place.”
To my surprise, Jont made a compassionate sound and patted my hand. “It’s all right. If they aren’t blasphemers, he’ll bring them out before too much harm is done. Now. Shall we go to the baths?”