The Amn were not always civilized, the rumors remind us. Once, like High North, Senm was also a land of barbarians, and the Amn were simply the most successful of these. After the Gods’ War they imposed their barbarian ways on the whole world and judged the rest of us by how thoroughly we adopted them—but they did not export all of their customs. Every culture has its ugly secrets. And once, the rumors say, Amn elites prized the taste of human flesh above all other delicacies.
Sometimes I am more afraid of the blood in my veins than the souls in my flesh.
When Nahadoth’s torture ended, the clouds resumed moving across the night sky. They had been still, a caul over the moon that glimmered with arcs of color like weak, sickly rainbows. When the clouds finally moved on, something in me relaxed.
I had half-expected the knock at the door when it came, so I called enter. In the glass’s reflection I saw T’vril, hovering uncertainly in the doorway.
“Yeine,” he said, then faltered to silence.
I left him floundering in it for a while before saying, “Come in.”
He stepped inside, just enough to allow the door to shut. Then he just looked at me, perhaps waiting for me to speak. But I had nothing to say to him, and eventually he sighed.
“The Enefadeh can endure pain,” he said. “They’ve dealt with far worse over the centuries, believe me. What I wasn’t sure of was your endurance.”
“Thank you for your confidence.”
T’vril winced at my tone. “I just knew you cared for Sieh. When Scimina started in on him, I thought…” He looked away, spread his hands helplessly. “I thought it would be better for you not to see.”
“Because I’m so weak-willed and sentimental that I’d blabber all my secrets to save him?”
He scowled. “Because you’re not like the rest of us. I thought you would do what you could to save a friend in pain, yes. I wanted to spare you that. Hate me for it if you like.”
I turned to him, privately amazed. T’vril still saw me as the innocent, noble-hearted girl who had been so grateful for his kindness that first day in Sky. How many centuries ago had that been? Not quite two weeks.
“I don’t hate you,” I said.
T’vril exhaled, then came over to join me at the window. “Well… Scimina was furious when you left, as you might imagine.”
I nodded. “Nahadoth? Sieh?”
“Zhakkarn and Kurue took them away. Scimina lost interest in us and left shortly after you did.”
“‘Us’?”
He paused for a second, and I could almost hear him cursing to himself under his breath. After a moment he said, “Her original plan was to play that little game with the servants.”
“Ah, yes.” I felt myself growing angry again. “That’s when you suggested she use Sieh instead?”
He spoke tightly. “As I said, Yeine, the Enefadeh can survive Scimina’s amusement. Mortals usually don’t. You aren’t the only one I need to protect.”
Which made it no more right—but understandable. Like so much in Sky, wrong but understandable. I sighed.
“I offered myself first.”
I started. T’vril was gazing out the window, a rueful smile on his face. “As Lady Yeine’s friend, I said, if you’ll forgive me for presuming. But she said I wasn’t any better than the rest of the servants.” His smile faded; I saw the muscles ripple along his jaw.
Dismissed again, I realized. Not even his pain is good enough for the Central Family. Yet he could not complain too much; his unimportance had saved him a great deal of suffering.
“I have to go,” T’vril said. He lifted a hand, hesitated, then put it on my shoulder. The gesture, and the hesitancy, reminded me of Sieh. I put my own hand over his. I would miss him—ironic, since I was the one slated to die.
“Of course you’re my friend,” I whispered. His hand tightened for a moment, then he went to the door to leave.
Before he could, I heard a startled murmur from him; the voice that responded was familiar, too. I turned, and as T’vril stepped out Viraine stepped in.
“My apologies,” he said. “May I come in?” He did not close the door, I noted, in case I said no.
For a moment I stared at him, amazed at his audacity. I had no doubt that he had magically enabled Scimina’s torture of Sieh, just as he had Nahadoth’s. That was his true role here, I understood now—to facilitate all the evil that our family dreamt up, especially where it concerned the gods. He was the Enefadeh’s keeper and driver, wielder of the Arameri whip.
But an overseer is not solely to blame for a slave’s misery. Sighing, I said nothing. Apparently deciding this constituted acceptance, Viraine let the door close and came over. Unlike T’vril, there was nothing resembling apology in his expression, just the usual guarded Arameri coolness.
“It was unwise of you to interfere in Menchey,” he said.
“So I’ve been reminded.”
“If you had trusted me—”
My mouth fell open in pure incredulity.
“If you had trusted me,” Viraine said again, with a hint of stubbornness, “I would have helped you.”
I almost laughed. “For what price?”
Viraine fell silent for a moment, then moved to stand beside me, almost exactly where T’vril had been. He felt very different, though. Warmer, most noticeably. I could feel his body heat from where I stood, a foot away.
“Have you chosen an escort for the ball?”
“Escort?” The question threw me entirely. “No. I’ve barely thought about the ball; I may not even attend.”
“You must. Dekarta will compel you magically if you don’t come on your own.”
Of course. Viraine would be the one to impose the compulsion, no doubt. I shook my head, sighing. “Fine, then. If Grandfather is set on humiliating me, there’s nothing I can do but endure it. But I see no reason to inflict the same on an escort.”
He nodded slowly. That should have been my warning. I had never seen Viraine be anything but brisk in his mannerisms, even when relaxed.
“You might enjoy the night, at least a little,” he said, “if I were your escort.”
I was silent for so long that he turned to face my stare and laughed. “Are you so unused to being courted?”
“By people who aren’t interested in me? Yes.”
“How do you know I’m not?”
“Why would you be?”
“Do I need a reason?”
I folded my arms. “Yes.”
Viraine raised his eyebrows. “I must apologize again, then. I hadn’t realized I’d made such a poor impression on you over the past few weeks.”
“Viraine—” I rubbed my eyes. I was tired—not physically but emotionally, which was worse. “You’ve been very helpful, true, but I can’t call you anything like kind. I’ve even doubted your sanity at times. Not that this makes you any different from other Arameri.”
“Guilty as judged.” He laughed again. That felt wrong, too. He was trying too hard. He seemed to realize it, because abruptly he sobered.
“Your mother,” he said, “was my first lover.”
My hand twitched toward my knife. It was on the side farthest from him. He did not see.
After a moment passed with no apparent reaction from me, Viraine seemed to relax somewhat. He lowered his eyes, gazing at the lights of the city far below. “I was born here, like most Arameri, but the highbloods sent me off to the Litaria—the scrivening college—at the age of four, when my gift for languages was noticed. I was just twenty when I returned, the youngest master ever approved by the program. Brilliant, if I may say, but still very young. A child, really.”