“You were ice cold when I woke up, and filthy. There was something—soot, I think—all over you. The bath seemed to warm you up, and that helped, too.” He jerked his head toward the chair where we’d been sitting. “There wasn’t anywhere else, so—”
“The bed,” I said, and flinched again. My voice was hoarse, my throat raw and sore. The mint helped.
For an instant Naha paused, his lips quirking with a hint of his usual cruelty. “The bed wouldn’t have worked.”
Puzzled, I looked past him, and caught my breath. The bed was a wreck, sagging on a split frame and broken legs. The mattress looked as though it had been hacked by a sword and then set afire. Loose goosedown and charred fabric scraps littered the room.
It was more than the bed. One of the room’s huge glass windows had spiderwebbed; only luck that it hadn’t shattered. The vanity mirror had. One of my bookcases lay on the floor, its contents scattered but intact. (I saw my father’s book there, with great relief.) The other bookcase had been shattered into kindling, along with most of the books on it.
Naha took the empty teacup from my hand before I could drop it. “You’ll need to get one of your Enefadeh friends to fix this. I kept the servants out this morning, but that won’t work for long.”
“I… I don’t…” I shook my head. So much of what had happened was dreamlike in my memory, more metaphysical than actual. I remembered falling. There was no hole in the ceiling. Yet, the bed.
Naha said nothing as I moved about the room, my slippered feet crunching on glass and splinters. When I picked up a shard of the mirror, staring at my own face, he said, “You don’t look as much like the library mural as I’d first thought.”
That turned me around to face him. He smiled at me. I had thought him human, but no. He had lived too long and too strangely, knew too much. Perhaps he was more like the demons of old, half mortal and half something else.
“How long have you known?” I asked.
“Since we met.” His lips quirked. “Though that can’t properly be called a ‘meeting,’ granted.”
He had stopped and stared at me, that first evening in Sky. I’d forgotten in the rush of terror afterward. Then later in Scimina’s quarters—“You’re a good actor.”
“I have to be.” His smile was gone now. “Even then, I wasn’t sure. Not until I woke up and saw this.” He gestured around the devastated room. “And you there beside me, alive.”
I didn’t expect to be. But I was, and now I would have to deal with the consequences.
“I’m not her,” I said.
“No. But I’ll wager you’re a part of her, or she’s a part of you. I know a little about these things.” He ran a hand through his unruly black locks. Just hair, and not the smokelike curls of his godly self, but his meaning was plain.
“Why haven’t you told anyone?”
“You think I would do that?”
“Yes.”
He laughed, though there was a hard edge to the sound. “And you know me so well.”
“You would do anything to make your life easier.”
“Ah. Then you do know me.” He flopped down in the chair—the only intact piece of furniture in the room—one leg tossed over one arm. “But if you know that much, Lady, then you should be able to guess why I would never tell the Arameri of your… uniqueness.”
I put down the shard of mirror and went to him. “Explain,” I commanded, because I might pity him, but I would never like him.
He shook his head, as if chiding me for my impatience. “I, too, want to be free.”
I frowned. “But if the Nightlord is ever freed…” What did happen to a mortal soul buried within a god’s body? Would he sleep and never awaken? Would some part of him continue, trapped and aware inside an alien mind? Or would he simply cease to exist?
He nodded, and I realized all of those thoughts and more must have occurred to him over the centuries. “He has promised to destroy me, should the day ever come.”
And this Naha would rejoice on that day, I realized with a chill. Perhaps he had tried to kill himself before, only to be resurrected the next morning, trapped by magic meant to torment a god.
Well, if all went as planned, he would be free soon.
I rose and went to the remaining undamaged window. The sun was high in the sky, past noon. My last day of life was half over. I was trying to think of how to spend my remaining time when I felt a new presence in the room, and turned. Sieh stood there, looking from the bed to me to Naha, and back again.
“You seem well,” I said, pleased. He was properly young again, and there was a grass stain on one of his knees. The look in his eyes, though, was far from childish as he focused on Naha. When his pupils turned to ferocious slits—I saw the change this time—I knew I’d have to intervene. I went to Sieh, deliberately stepping into his line of sight, and opened my arms to invite him near.
He put his arms around me, which at first seemed affectionate until he picked me up bodily and put me behind him, then turned to face Naha.
“Are you all right, Yeine?” he asked, sinking into a crouch. It was not a fighter’s crouch; it was closer to the movement of an animal gathering itself to spring. Naha returned his gaze coolly.
I put my hand on his wire-tight shoulder. “I’m fine.”
“This one is dangerous, Yeine. We do not trust him.”
“Lovely Sieh,” said Naha, and there was that cruel edge in his voice again. He opened his arms in a mockery of my own gesture. “I’ve missed you. Come; give your father a kiss.”
Sieh hissed, and I had a moment to wonder whether I had a chance in the infinite hells of holding him. Then Naha laughed and sat back in the chair. Of course he would know exactly how far to push.
Sieh looked as though he was still considering something dire when it finally occurred to me to distract him. “Sieh.” He did not look at me. “Sieh. I was with your father last night.”
He swung around to look at me, so startled that his eyes reverted to human at once. Beyond him, Naha chuckled softly.
“You couldn’t have been,” said Sieh. “It’s been centuries since—” He paused and leaned close. I saw his nostrils twitch delicately once, twice. “Skies and earth. You were with him.”
Self-conscious, I surreptitiously sniffed the collar of my robe. Hopefully it was something only gods could detect. “Yes.”
“But he… that should’ve…” Sieh shook his head sharply. “Yeine, oh, Yeine, do you know what this means?”
“It means your little experiment worked better than you thought,” said Naha. In the shadows of the chair, his eyes glittered, reminding me just a little of his other self. “Perhaps you could give her a try, too, Sieh. You must get tired of perverted old men.”
Sieh tensed all over, his hands forming fists. I marveled that he allowed such taunts to work on him—but perhaps that was another of his weaknesses. He had bound himself by the laws of childhood; perhaps one of those laws was no child shall hold his temper when bullied.
I touched his chin and turned his face back around to me. “The room. Could you…?”
“Oh. Yes.” Pointedly turning his back on Naha, he looked around the room and said something in his own language, fast and high-pitched. The room was abruptly restored, just like that.
“Handy,” I said.
“No one’s better at cleaning up messes than me.” He flashed me a quick grin.
Naha got up and went to browse one of the restored bookshelves, studiously ignoring us. Belatedly it occurred to me that he had been different before Sieh appeared—solicitous, respectful, almost kind. I opened my mouth to thank him for that, then thought better of it. Sieh had been careful to conceal that side of himself from me, but I had seen the signs of a crueler streak within him. There was very old, very bad blood between these two, and such things were rarely one-sided.