“It’s only the truth.” He sounded amused.
“Hmm. What my husband means to say, Lady Oree, is that the Order, and through it the Arameri family, desperately hopes to convince the rest of mortalkind that the world is as it should be. That despite the presence of all our new gods, nothing else should change—politically speaking. That we should feel happy… safe… complacent.”
Husband. An Arameri fullblood married to a heretic cultist?
“You’re not making any sense,” I said. I focused on the fork in my fingers, on the crackle of the dining room’s fireplace in the background. Those helped me stay calm. “You’re talking about the Arameri as if you’re not one of them.”
“Indeed. Let’s just say that my activities aren’t sanctioned by the rest of my family.”
The Nypri sounded amused. “Oh, they might approve—if they knew.”
Serymn laughed at this, as did others around the table. “Do you really think so? You’re far more of an optimist than I, my love.”
They bantered while I sat there, trying to make sense of nobility and conspiracy and a thousand other things that had never been a part of my life. I was just a street artist. Just an ordinary Maroneh, frightened and far from home.
“I don’t understand,” I said finally, interrupting them. “You’ve kidnapped me, brought me here. You’re trying to force me to join you. What does all this—the Nightlord, the Order, the Arameri—have to do with me?”
“More than you realize,” said the Nypri. “The world is in great danger at the moment—not just from the Nightlord’s wrath. Consider: for the first time in centuries, the Arameri are vulnerable. Oh, they still have immense political and financial strength, and they’re building an army that will make any rebel nation think twice. But they can be defeated now. Do you know what that means?”
“That someday we might have a different group of tyrants in charge?” Despite my efforts to be polite, I was growing annoyed. They kept talking in circles, never answering my questions.
Serymn seemed unoffended. “Perhaps—but which group? Every noble clan and ruling council and elected minister will want the chance to rule the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms. And if they all strive for it at once, what do you think will happen?”
“More scandals and intrigues and assassinations and whatever else you people do with your time,” I said. Lady Nemmer would be pleased, at least.
“Yes. And coups, as weak nobles are replaced by stronger or more ambitious ones. And rebellions within those lands, as minority factions jostle for a share. And new alliances as smaller kingdoms band together for strength. And betrayals, because every alliance has a few.” Serymn let out a long, weary sigh. “War, Lady Oree. There will be war.”
Like the good Itempan girl I had never quite been, I nevertheless flinched. War was anathema to Bright Itempas. I had heard tales of the time before the Bright, before the Arameri had made laws to strictly regulate violence and conflict. In the old days, thousands had died in every battle. Cities had been razed to the ground, their inhabitants slaughtered as armies of warriors descended upon helpless civilians to rape and kill.
“Wh-where?” I asked.
“Everywhere.”
I could not imagine it. Not on such a scale. It was madness. Chaos.
Then I remembered. Nahadoth, the Lord of Night, was also the god of chaos. What more fitting vengeance could he wreak upon humanity?
“If the Arameri fall and the Bright ends, war returns,” Serymn said. “The Order of Itempas fears this more than any threat the gods pose, because it is the greater danger—not just to a city, but to our entire civilization. Already there are rumors of unrest in High North and on the islands—those lands that were forcibly converted to the worship of Itempas after the Gods’ War. They have never forgotten, or forgiven, what we did to them.”
“High Northers,” said someone else at the table, in a tone of scorn. “Darkling barbarians! Two thousand years and they’re still angry.”
“Barbarians, yes, and angry,” said Hado, whom I had forgotten was there. “But did we not feel the same anger when we were told to start worshipping the Nightlord?” There were grumbles of assent from around the table.
“Yes,” said the Nypri. “So the Order permits heresy and looks the other way when Itempas’s former faithful scorn their duties. They hope the exploration of new faiths will occupy the people and grant the Arameri time to prepare for the conflagration to come.”
“But it’s pointless,” said Serymn, a note of anger in her voice. “T’vril, the Lord Arameri, hopes to put down the war swiftly when it comes. But to prepare for earthly war, he’s taken his eyes off the threat in the heavens.”
I sighed, weary in more ways than one. “That’s a fine thing to concern yourself with, but the Nightlord is”—I spread my hands helplessly—“a force of nature. Maybe we should all start praying to this Gray Lady, since you say she’s the one keeping him in line. Or maybe we should just start picking out our personal heavens in the afterlife now.”
Serymn’s tone chided me gently. “We prefer to be more proactive, Lady Oree. Perhaps it’s the Arameri in me, but I’m not fond of allowing a known threat to fester unchecked. Better to strike first.”
“Strike?” I chuckled, certain I was misunderstanding. “What, a god? That isn’t possible.”
“Yes, Lady Oree, it is. It’s been done before, after all.”
I froze, the smile falling from my face. “The godling Role. You killed her.”
Serymn laughed noncommittally. “I was referring to the Gods’ War, actually. Itempas Skyfather killed Enefa; if one of the Three can die, they all can.”
I fell silent in confusion, but I wasn’t laughing, not any longer. Serymn wasn’t a fool. I did not believe an Arameri would hint at something like a goddess’s murder unless she had the power to do it.
“Which, to come to the point at last, is why we kidnapped you.” Serymn lifted her glass to me, the faint crystalline sound as loud as a bell in the room’s silence. Our dining companions had fallen silent, hanging on her every word. When she saluted them, they lifted their glasses in return.
“To the return of the Bright,” said the Nypri.
“And the White Lord,” said the woman who had commented on my sight.
“ ’Til darkness ends,” said Hado.
And other affirmations, from each person at the table. It had the feel of a solemn ritual—as they all committed themselves to a course of stunning, absolute insanity.
When they had all said their piece and fallen silent, I spoke, my voice hollow with realization and disbelief.
“You want to kill the Nightlord,” I said.
“Yes,” she said. She paused as another servant came over. I heard the cover being lifted from some sort of tray. “And we want you to help us do it. Dessert?”
9
“Seduction”
(charcoal)
There was no further talk of gods or insane plots after dinner. I was too stunned to think of further questions, and even if I had asked, Serymn made it clear she would answer no more. “I think we’ve spoken enough for tonight,” she said, and then she’d laughed a rich, perfectly measured laugh. “You’re looking a bit pale, my dear.”
So they’d brought me back to my room, where Jont had left me nightclothes and spiced wine to drink before my evening prayers, in the Maroneh custom. Perhaps she’d looked it up in a book. Suspecting observation, I drank a glass and then prayed for the first time in several years—but not to Bright Itempas.
Instead I tried to fix my thoughts on Madding. He had told me that gods could hear the prayers of their devotees regardless of distance or circumstance, if they only prayed hard enough. I was not precisely a devotee of Madding’s, but I hoped desperation would make up for it.