The Kingdom of Gods

by N. K. Jemisin

“I know. Neither does Nahadoth, to my surprise.”

  “Naha —” I blinked. “What?”

  “He is willing to do anything to save you. Anything, that is, except the one thing that might actually work.” Abruptly she was angry, too. “When I asked, he said he would rather let you die.”

  “Good! He knows I would rather die than ask for that bastard’s help! Yeine” — I shook my head but forced the words out — “I understand why you’re drawn to him, even though I hate it. Love him if you must, but don’t ask the same of me!”

  She glared back, but I did not back down, and after a moment, she sighed and looked away. Because I was right, and she knew it. She was still so young, so mortal. She knew the story, but she had not been there to see what Itempas had done to Nahadoth, or to the rest of us Enefadeh. She lived with the aftermath — as did we all, as would every living thing in the universe, forever and ever — but that was entirely different from knowing firsthand.

  “You’re as bad as Nahadoth,” she said at last, more troubled than angry. “I’m not asking you to forgive. We all know there’s no forgiving what he did, the past can’t be rewritten, but someday you’re going to have to move on. Do what’s necessary for the world, and for yourselves.”

  “Staying angry is necessary for me,” I said petulantly, though I forced myself to take a deep breath. I did not want to be angry with her. “One day, maybe, I’ll move on. Not now.”

  She shook her head, but then took me by the shoulders and guided me down so that my head lay in her lap again. I had no choice but to relax, which I wanted to do, anyway, so I sighed and closed my eyes.

  “It’s irrelevant in any case,” she said, still sounding a bit testy. “We can’t find him.”

  I did not want to talk about him, either, but I dredged up interest. “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. But he’s been missing for several years now. When we seek his presence in the mortal realm, we feel nothing, find nothing. We aren’t worried … yet.”

  I considered this but could offer no answer. Even together, the Three were not omniscient, and Yeine and Nahadoth alone were not the Three. If Itempas had found some scrivener to craft an obscuration for him … But why would he do that?

  For the same reason he does anything else, I decided. Because he’s an ass.

  “I don’t,” Yeine said softly after a while. I frowned in confusion. She sighed and stroked my hair again. “Love him, I mean.”

  So many unspokens in her words. Not yet the most obvious among them, and perhaps a bit of not ever, because I am not Enefa, though I did not believe that. She was too drawn to him already. Most relevant was not until you love him, too, which I could live with.

  “Right.” I sighed, weary again. “Right. I don’t love him, either.”

  We both fell silent at that, for a long while. Eventually she began to touch my hair here and there, causing the excess length to fall away. I closed my eyes, grateful for her attention, and wondered how many more times I would be privileged to experience it before I died.

  “Do you remember?” I asked. “The last day of your mortal life. You asked me what would happen when you died.”

  Her hands went still for a moment. “You said you didn’t know. Death wasn’t something you’d thought much about.”

  I closed my eyes, my throat tightening for no reason I could fathom. “I lied.”

  Her voice was too gentle. “I know.”

  She finished my hair and gathered the shed length of it in one hand. I felt the flick of her will, and then she put her hand in front of my face to show me what she’d done. My hair had become a thin woven cord short enough to loop about my neck, and threaded onto this cord was a small, yellow-white marble. A different size and substance, but I would recognize its soul anywhere: En.

  I sat up, surprised and pleased, lifting the necklace to grin at my old friend. (It did not like being smaller. It missed being a kickball, bouncy and fat. Did it have to be this puny, rigid shape just because I wasn’t a child anymore? Surely adult mortals liked to kick balls sometimes. I stroked it to still its whining.) Then I touched my shorter hair and found that she’d reshaped that, too, giving me a style that suited the older lines of my face.

  I looked up at her. “You’ve made me very pretty — thank you. Did you play with dolls as a mortal girl?”

  “I was Darre. Dolls were for boys.” She got to her feet, unnecessarily dusting off her clothes, and looked around the now-empty chamber. “I don’t like you being here, Sieh. In Sky.”

  I shrugged. “This place is as good as any other.” Nahadoth had been right about that. I couldn’t leave the mortal realm in my condition; too much of the gods’ realm was inimical to flesh. Naha could have kept me safe by taking me into himself, but I would not tolerate that again.

  “This place has Arameri.”

  Resisting the urge to bat at the marble on its cord, I slipped it over my head and let it settle under my shirt instead. (En liked that, being near my heart.) “I’m not a slave anymore, Yeine. They’re no threat to me now.” She shot me a look of such disgust that I recoiled. “What?”

  “Arameri are always a threat.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Really, daughter of Kinneth?”

  At this she looked truly annoyed, her eyes turning a yellowy, acid peridot. “They cling to power by a thread, Sieh. Only their scriveners and armies allow them to keep control — mortal magic, mortal strength, both of which can be subverted. What do you think they’ll do, now that they have a god in their power again?”

  “I can’t see how a weak, dying god will do them much good. I can’t even take another form safely. I’m pathetic.” She opened her mouth to protest again, and I sighed to interrupt her. “I will be careful. I promise. But truly, Yeine, I have more important concerns right now.”

  She sobered. “Yes.” After another moment’s silence, she uttered a heavy sigh and turned away. “See that you are careful, Sieh. A mortal lifetime may seem like nothing to you. …” She paused, blinked, and smiled to herself. “To me, too, I suppose. But don’t squander it. I mean to use every moment of yours to try and find a cure.”

  I nodded. So lucky I was to have such devoted, determined parents. Two out of three of them, anyhow.

  “I will see you again when I know more,” she said. She leaned forward to pull me into an embrace. I was still sitting on my knees; I did not rise as she did this. If I had, I would have been taller than her, and that did not feel at all right.

  Then she vanished, and I sat alone in the empty orrery for a long time.

  Judging by the angle of the sun, it was well into the afternoon when I returned to Dekarta’s room. I didn’t care about that for long, however, because as I stepped through the hole in the wall, I found that I had visitors. They rose to greet me as I stopped in surprise.

  Shahar, more demure than I had ever seen her, stood near the door to her own room. She was dressed in what passed for daily wear among fullbloods: a long gown of honey-lattice, bright blue satin slippers, and a cloak, with her hair tucked and looped into an elaborate chignon. Beside Shahar stood a woman whose demeanor immediately cried steward to me. She stood the tallest of the three women in the room, broad-shouldered and handsome and marvelously direct in her gaze, with a churning avalanche of thick, coily black hair falling about her shoulders and back. Yet despite her commanding presence, she was not as well dressed as the other two, and her mark was only that of a quarterblood. She kept silent and looked through me with her hands behind her back, in the posture of detached attention that all her successful predecessors had mastered.

  Between these two stood a third woman: the most high Lady Arameri herself, head of the family and ruler of the Hundred Thousand Kingdoms, resplendent in a deep red shawl-collared gown. Then to my further shock, all three women dropped to one knee — the steward smoothly, the lady and her heir somewhat less so. At the sight of their bowed heads, I couldn’t help laughing.

  “Well!” I said, putting my hands o
n my hips. “Now this is a welcome. I had no idea I was so important. Have you actually been waiting here all day for me to come back?”

  “It’s no less a welcome than we would offer to any god,” said the lady. Her voice was low, surprisingly like Yeine’s. She looked older awake, with a ruler’s troubles and her own personality influencing the lines of her face, but she was still beautiful in a chilly, powerful way. And she was not afraid of me at all.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” I said, going to stand before her. I had not bothered to conjure or steal clothing for myself, which put certain parts of me right at the lady’s eye level, should she choose to look up. Could I needle her into doing so? “Very diplomatic, Lady Arameri, given that half my family wants to kill you and the other half couldn’t care less if the first half did. I assume Shahar told you everything?”

  She didn’t take the bait, damn her, keeping her gaze downcast. “Yes. My condolences on your loss of immortality, Lord Sieh.”

  Bitch. I scowled and folded my arms. “It’s not lost; it’s just mislaid for a while, and I am still a god whether I live forever or die tomorrow.” But now I sounded petulant. She was manipulating me, and I was a fool for letting her do it. I went to the windows, turning my back on them to hide my annoyance. “Oh, get up. I hate pointless formality, or false humility, whichever this is. What’s your name, and what do you want?”

  There was a whisper of cloth as they rose. “I am Remath Arameri,” the lady said, “and I want only to welcome you back to Sky — as an honored guest, of course. We will extend you every courtesy, and I have already set the scrivener corps to the task of researching your … condition. There may be little we mortals can do that the gods haven’t already attempted, but if we learn anything, we will share it with you, naturally.”

  “Naturally,” I said, “since if you can figure out how it happened to me, you might be able to do it to any god who threatens you.”

  I was pleased that she did not attempt to deny it. “I would be remiss in my duties if I didn’t try, Lord Sieh.”

  “Yes, yes.” I frowned as something she’d mentioned caught my attention. “Scrivener corps? You mean the First Scrivener and his assistants?”

  “The mortal world has changed since you last spent time among us, Lord Sieh,” she said. A nice touch, that, making my centuries of slavery sound like a vacation. “As you might imagine, the loss of the Enefadeh — of your magic — was a great blow to our efforts to maintain order and prosperity in the world. It became necessary that we assume greater control over all the scriveners that the Litaria produces.”

  “So you have an army of scriveners, in other words. To go with your more conventional army?” I hadn’t paid attention to the mortal realm since T’vril’s death, but I knew he’d been working on that.

  “The Hundred Thousand Legions.” She did not smile — I got the impression she didn’t do that often — but there was a hint of wry irony in her voice. “There aren’t really a hundred thousand, of course. It just sounds impressive that way.”

  “Of course.” I had forgotten what a pain it was, dealing with Arameri family heads. “So what do you really want? Because I highly doubt you’re actually glad to have me here.”

  She did not dissemble, either, which I liked. “I’m neither glad nor displeased, Lord Sieh — though, yes, your presence does serve several useful purposes to the family.” There was a pause, perhaps while she waited to see my reaction. I did wonder why the Arameri could possibly want me around, but I imagined that would become clear soon enough. “To that end, I have informed Morad, our palace steward, to ensure that all your material needs are met while you’re here.”

  “It would be my honor and pleasure, Lord Sieh.” This from the black-haired woman. “We could begin with a wardrobe.”

  I snorted in amusement, liking her already. “Of course.”

  Remath continued. “I have also informed my daughter Shahar that you are now her primary responsibility. For the duration of your time here in Sky, she is to obey you as she would me and see to your comfort at any cost.”

  Wait. I frowned, turning back to Remath at last. The expression on Remath’s face — or rather, the intent lack of expression — made it clear that she knew full well what she had just done. The shocked look that Shahar threw at her back confirmed it.

  “Let me be sure I understand you,” I said slowly. “You’re offering me your daughter to do with as I please.” I glanced at Shahar again, who was beginning to look murderous. “What if it pleases me to kill her?”

  “I would prefer that you not do so, naturally.” Remath delivered this with sculptured calm. “A good heir represents a substantial investment of time and energy. But she is Arameri, Lord Sieh, and our fundamental mission has not changed since the days of our founding Matriarch. We rule by the grace of the gods; therefore, we serve the gods in all things.”

  Shahar threw me a look more raw than anything I’d seen since her childhood, full of betrayal and bitterness and helpless fury. Ah — now that was the Shahar I remembered. Not that this was as terrible as she seemed to think; our oath meant she had nothing to fear from me. Had she told Remath about that? Was Remath counting on a childhood promise to keep her heir safe?

  No. I had lived among the Arameri for a hundred generations. I had seen how they raised their children with careful, calculated neglect; that was why Shahar and Dekarta had been left to wander the palace as children. They believed any Arameri stupid enough to die in a childhood accident was too stupid to rule. And I had also seen, again and again, how Arameri heads found ways to test their heirs’ strength, even at the cost of their heirs’ souls.

  This, however … I felt my fists clench and had to work hard not to become the cat. Too dangerous, and a waste of magic.

  “How dare you.” It came out a snarl, anyway. “You think I’m some petty, simpleminded mortal, delighting in the chance to turn the tables? You think I need someone else’s humiliation to know my own worth? You think I’m like you?”

  Remath lifted an eyebrow. “Given that mortals are made in the gods’ image, no, I think we are like you.” That infuriated me into silence. “But very well; if it doesn’t please you to use Shahar, then don’t. Tell her what will please you. She’ll see it done.”

  “And is this to take precedence over my other duties, Mother?” Shahar’s voice was as cool as Remath’s, though higher pitched; they sounded much alike. But the fury in her eyes could have melted glass.

  Remath glanced over her shoulder and seemed pleased by her daughter’s anger. She nodded once, as if to herself. “Yes, until I inform you otherwise. Morad, please make certain Shahar’s secretary is informed.” Morad murmured a polite affirmative, while Remath kept watching Shahar. “Have you any questions, Daughter?”

  “No, Mother,” Shahar replied quietly. “You’ve made your wishes quite clear.”

  “Excellent.” In what I considered a brave gesture, Remath turned her back on her daughter and faced me again. “One more thing, Lord Sieh. Rumors are inevitable, but I would advise that you not make your presence — or rather, your nature — known during your time here. I’m sure you can imagine what sort of attention that would draw.”

  Yes, every scrivener and godphile in the palace would drive me to distraction with questions and worship and requests for blessings. And since this was Sky, there would also be the inevitable highbloods who wanted a little godly assistance with whatever schemes they had going, and a few who might try to harm or exploit me to gain prestige for themselves, and … I ground my teeth. “Obviously it would make sense for me to keep a low profile.”

  “It would, yes.” She inclined her head — not the bow of a mortal to a god, but a respectful gesture between equals. I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. Was she insulting me by not bothering to show reverence, or was she paying me the compliment of honesty? Damn, I couldn’t figure this woman out at all. “I’ll take my leave of you now, Lord Sieh.”

  “Wait,” I said, stepping closer s
o that I could look her in the eye. She was taller than me, which I liked; it made me feel more my old self. And she was at least wary of me, I saw when I stood closer. I liked that, too.

  “Do you mean me harm, Remath? Say you don’t. Promise it.”

  She looked surprised. “Of course I don’t. I’ll swear any oath you like on that.”

  I smiled, showing all my teeth, and for the barest instant I did smell fear in her. Not much, but even an Arameri is still human, and humans are still animals, and animals know a predator when one draws near.

  “Cross your heart, Remath,” I said. “Hope to die. Stick a needle in your eye.”

  She lifted an eyebrow at my nonsense. But the words of a god have power, regardless of what language we speak, and I was not quite mortal yet. She felt my intent, despite the silly words.

  “Cross my heart,” she replied gravely, and inclined her head. Then she turned and swept out, perhaps before she could reveal more fear, and certainly before I could say anything else. I stuck my tongue out at her back as she left.

  “Well.” Morad drew a deep breath, turning to regard me. “I believe I can find suitable garments for your size, though a proper fitting with the tailor would make things easier. Would you be willing to stand for that, Lord Sieh?”

  I folded my arms and conjured clothing for myself. A small and petty gesture, and a waste of magic. The slight widening of her eyes was gratifying, though I pretended nonchalance as I said, “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to work with a tailor, too. Never been much for keeping up with fashion.” Then I wouldn’t need to expend more magic.

  She bowed — deeply and respectfully, I was pleased to see. “As for your quarters, my lord, I —”

  “Leave us,” snapped Shahar, to my surprise.

  After the slightest of startled pauses, Morad closed her mouth. “Yes, lady.” With a measured but brisk stride, she, too, left. Shahar and I gazed at each other in silence until we heard the door of Dekarta’s apartment shut. Shahar closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath as if for strength.