The Inheritance Trilogy

by N. K. Jemisin

  “I understand why Remath sent the boy away,” I said, “though I’m still surprised that she did it. Usually, when there’s more than one prospective heir, the family head pits them against each other.”

  “That wasn’t possible in this case,” Ramina said. He had turned his gaze away again, this time toward the vast open landscape on the palace’s other side. I followed his eyes, though I had seen the view a million times myself: patchwork farmland and the sparkling blot of the Eyeglass, a local lake. “Dekarta has no chance of inheriting. He’s safer away from Sky, quite frankly.”

  “Because he’s not fully Amn?” I gave him a hard look. “And how, exactly, did that happen, Uncle Ramina?”

  He turned back to me, his eyes narrowing, and then he sighed. “Demonshit.”

  I grinned. “Did you really lie with your own sister, or did a scrivener handle the fine details with vials and squeeze bulbs?”

  Ramina glared at me. “Is tact simply not in your nature, or are you this offensive on purpose?”

  “On purpose. But remember that incest isn’t exactly unknown to gods.”

  He crossed his legs, which might have been defensiveness or nonchalance. “It was the politic solution. She needed someone she could trust. And we are only half siblings, after all.” He shrugged, then eyed me. “Shahar and Dekarta don’t know.”

  “Shahar, you mean. Who’s Deka’s father?”

  “I am.” When I laughed, his jaw tightened. “The scriveners were most careful in their tests, Lord Sieh. Believe me. He and Shahar are full siblings, as Amn as I am.”

  “Impossible. Or you aren’t as Amn as you think.”

  He bristled, elegantly. “I can trace my lineage unbroken back to the first Shahar, Lord Sieh, with no taint of lesser races at any point. The problem, however, is Remath. Her half-Ken grandfather, for one…” He shuddered dramatically. “I suppose we’re lucky the children didn’t turn up redheads on top of everything else. But that wasn’t the only problem.”

  “His soul,” I said softly, thinking of Deka’s smile, still shy even after I’d threatened to kill him. “He is a child of earth and dappled shadows, not the bright harsh light of day.”

  Ramina looked at me oddly, but I was tired of adapting myself to mortals’ comfort. “If by that you mean he’s too gentle… well, so is Shahar, really. But she at least looks the part.”

  “When will he be allowed to return?”

  “In theory? When his training is complete, two years from now. In actuality?” Ramina shrugged. “Perhaps never.”

  I frowned at this, folding my arms and resting my chin on them. With a heavy sigh, Ramina got to his feet as well. I thought he would leave and was glad for it; I was tired of plodding mortal minds and convoluted mortal relationships. But he stopped at the top of the stairwell, gazing at me for a long moment.

  “If you won’t help the scriveners find the source of these attacks,” he said, “will you at least agree to protect Shahar? I feel certain she will be a target for our enemies—or those among our relatives who may use the attacks as a cover for their own plots.”

  I sighed and closed my eyes. “She’s my friend, you fool.”

  He seemed annoyed, probably because of the “you fool.” “What does that—” He paused, then sighed. “No, I should be grateful. The one thing we Arameri have always lacked is the gods’ friendship. If Shahar has managed to win yours… well, perhaps she has a better chance of surviving to inherit than I’d first thought.”

  With that, Ramina left. I still didn’t like him.

  6

  I sent a letter to my love

  And on the way I dropped it,

  A little puppy picked it up

  And put it in his pocket.

  It isn’t you,

  It isn’t you,

  But it is you.

  SKY IS BOREDOM. That was the thing I had hated the most about it, back when I’d been a slave. It is a massive palace, each spire of which could house a village; its chambers contain dozens of entertainments. All of these become tedious to the point of torment after two thousand years. Hells, after twenty.

  It was quickly becoming obvious that I would not be able to endure Sky for much longer. Which was fine; I needed to be out in the world anyhow, searching for the means to cure myself, if such a thing existed in the mortal realm. But Sky was a necessary staging ground for my efforts at life, allowing me relative safety and comfort in which to consider important logistical questions. Where would I live when I left? How would I live, if my magic would soon desert me? I had no resources, no particular skills, no connections in mortal society. The mortal realm could be dangerous, especially given my new vulnerability. I needed a plan, to face it.

  (The irony of my situation did not escape me; it was the nature of all mortal adolescents to experience such anxiety at the prospect of leaving their childhood home for the harsh adult world. Knowing this did not make me feel better.)

  I had come to no conclusion by the afternoon, but since I guessed that Shahar might have gotten over her fury with me by this point, I went in search of her.

  When I walked into Shahar’s quarters, I found her surrounded by three servants who seemed to be in the middle of dressing her. As I appeared in the parlor doorway, she turned around so fast that her half-done hair whipped loose; I saw a flash of dismay cross one servant’s face before the woman masked it.

  “Where in the infinite hells have you been?” Shahar demanded as I leaned against the doorjamb. “The servants said you left the cupola hours ago.”

  “Good to see you, too,” I drawled. “What are you getting all polished up for?”

  She sighed, submitting once again to the servants’ attentions. “Dinner. I’m meeting with Lady Hynno of the Teman Protectorate’s ruling Triadice, and her pymexe.”

  She pronounced the word perfectly, which was fitting, as she’d probably been taught to speak Teman since childhood. The word meant something like “heir,” though with a masculine suffix. “Prince,” then, in Amn parlance, though unless the Temans had rewritten their charter again in the centuries since I’d last paid attention to them, it was not a hereditary role. They chose their leaders from among their brighter young folk, then trained them for a decade or so before actually letting them be in charge of anything. That sort of sensible thinking was why I’d chosen the Temans as my model, back when I’d first crafted a mortal appearance for myself.

  Then I noticed the gown they were wrapping around Shahar. Quite literally: the gown seemed to consist of bands of subdued gold cloth, palm wide, being woven over and under other bands until a herringbone pattern had been achieved. The overall effect was very elegant and cleverly emphasized Shahar’s still-developing curves. I whistled, and she threw a wary look at me. “If I didn’t know any better,” I said, “I would think you were courting this prince. But you’re too young, and since when have Arameri married foreigners? So this must be something else.”

  She shrugged, turning to gaze at herself in the bedroom mirror; the dress was almost done. They needed to wrap only the bottom few layers around her legs. But how was she going to get out of the thing? Perhaps they would cut it off her.

  “The Triadic likes beauty,” she said, “and she controls the tariffs on shipping from High North, so it’s worthwhile to impress her. She’s one of the few nobles who can actually make things difficult for us.” She turned to the side, inspecting her profile; now that the servant had repaired her hair, she looked perfect and knew it. “And Prince Canru is an old childhood friend, so I don’t mind looking nice for him.”

  I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Arameri usually didn’t let their children have friends. Though I supposed friends were necessary, now that they had no gods. I went over to the parlor’s couch and flopped onto it, not caring about the servants’ glances. “So your dinner will be business and pleasure, then.”

  “Mostly business.” The servants murmured something, and there was a pause as Shahar examined herself. Satisfied, she nodded
, and the servants filed out. Once they were gone, Shahar slid on a pair of long, pale yellow gloves. “I mean to ask her about what happened to my cousins, in fact.”

  I rolled onto my side to watch her. “Why would she know?”

  “Because the Temans are part of a neutral group in the Nobles’ Consortium. They support us, but they also support progressive efforts like a revised tithe system and secular schools. The Order of Itempas can no longer afford to educate children beyond the age of nine, you see—”

  “Yes, yes,” I said, rubbing my eyes. “I don’t care about the details, Shahar. Just tell me the important part.”

  She sighed in exasperation, coming over to the couch to gaze haughtily at me. “I believe Hynno has alliances with those High Norther nobles who consistently vote against the interests of the Arameri in the Consortium,” she said. “And they, I believe, are the source of the attacks on my family.”

  “If you think that, then why haven’t you killed them?” Not even a handful of generations ago, her forbears would have done it already.

  “Because we don’t know which nations are involved. The core of it is in High North, that much we’re certain of, but that still encompasses two dozen nations. And I suspect some involvement by Senmite nations as well, and even some of the islands.” She sighed, putting her hands on her hips and frowning in consternation. “I want the head of this snake, Sieh, not just its fangs or scales. So I’m taking your advice and issuing a challenge. I’m going to tell them to kill me before I assume leadership of the family, or I will destroy the whole of High North to deal with the threat.”

  I rocked back, duly impressed, though a knot of cold anger tightened in my stomach as well. “I see. I assume you’re bluffing in order to lure them out into the open.”

  “Of course I am. I’m not even certain we can destroy a continent anymore, and the attempt would certainly exhaust the scrivener corps. Weakening ourselves at a time like this would be foolish.” Looking pleased with herself, Shahar sat down beside me. Her dress made a pleasant harmony of sounds as it flexed with her body, a carefully designed effect of its peculiar construction. It probably cost the treasury of a small nation. “Still, I’ve already spoken with Captain Wrath, and we will coordinate an operation that can put on a suitably threatening display—”

  “So you won’t use your ancestors’ methods,” I snapped, “because you still want to be a good Arameri. But you’re not above using their reputation to advance your goals. Do I have that right?”

  She stared at me, startled into momentary silence. “What?”

  I sat up. “You threaten people with genocide, and then you wonder why they scheme against you. Really, Shahar; I thought you wanted to change things.”

  Her face darkened at once. “I would never actually do it, Sieh. Gods, that would make me a monster!”

  “And what does it make you to threaten all that they know and love?” She fell silent in confusion and growing anger, and I leaned close so that my breath would caress her cheek. “A monster too cowardly to accept her own hideousness.”

  Shahar went pale, though two flaring spots of color rose on her cheeks as fury warred with shock in her eyes. To her credit, however, she did not launch an immediate attack, and she did not move away from me. Her nostrils twitched. One of her hands tightened, then relaxed. She lifted her chin.

  “Clearly you aren’t suggesting that I actually inflict some calamity on them,” she said. Her voice was soft. “What, then, do you suggest, Trickster? Let them continue with these assassination attempts until every fullblood is dead?” Her expression tightened further. “Never mind. I don’t know why I’m even asking. You don’t care whether any of us live or die.”

  “Why should I?” I gestured around us, at Sky. “It’s not as though there aren’t plenty of Arameri—”

  “No, there aren’t!” Her temper broke with an almost palpable force. She shifted to her hands and knees, glowering. “You’ve looked around this place, Sieh. They tell me the underpalace was full, back in your day. They tell me there were once as many Arameri living abroad as there were here in Sky, and we could take our pick from among the best of the family to serve us. These days we’ve actually been adopting people into the family who aren’t related at all! Tell me what that means to you, O eldest of godlings!”

  I frowned. What she was saying made no sense. Humans bred like rabbits. There had been thousands of Arameri in the days when I’d been a slave… but she was right. The underpalace should never have been empty. No mostly-Maroneh lowblood should have been able to rise to captain of the guard. And Remath had mated with her own brother—that had never happened in the old days. Incest, certainly, constantly, but never for children. Yet if Remath, herself diluted in some hidden way, sought to concentrate the Central Family’s strengths…

  The signs had been there since I’d first returned to Sky, but I hadn’t seen them. I was so used to thinking of the Arameri as powerful and numerous, but in fact they were dwindling. Dying.

  “Explain,” I said, inexplicably troubled.

  Shahar’s anger faded; she sat down again, her shoulders slumping. “The targeting of highbloods is a recent thing,” she said, “but the attacks were happening for a long time before that. We just didn’t notice until the problem became acute.” Her expression grew sour.

  “Lowbloods,” I guessed. Those Arameri least-closely related to the Central Family, lacking in resources or social status to give them greater value to the family head. The servants, the guards. The expendable ones.

  “Yes.” She sighed. “It started long ago. Probably a few decades after you and the other Enefadeh broke free. All the collateral lines of the family, the ones we left free to manage businesses or simply bring in new blood—It was subtle at first. Children dying of odd diseases, young wives and husbands turning up infertile, accidents, natural disasters. The lines died out. We apportioned their estates to allies or resumed control of them ourselves.”

  I was already shaking my head. “No. Accidents can be arranged, gods know children are easy to kill, but natural disasters, Shahar? That would mean…” Could a scrivener do it? They knew the scripts for wind and rain and sunlight, but storms were demonishly hard to control. Too easy to trigger a tsunami when trying for a flash flood. But the alternative—no. No.

  She smiled, following my worst thoughts. “Yes. It could mean that a god has been working to kill us for the past fifty years or more.”

  I leapt to my feet, beginning to pace. My mortal skin suddenly felt constricting, choking; I wanted to shed it. “If I wanted to kill the Arameri, I would do it,” I snapped. “I would fill this place with soap bubbles and bury you in bath toys. I would put spiked holes in all the floors and cover them with rugs. I would will every Arameri under twelve to just fall down and die—I can do it, too!” I rounded on her, daring her to challenge me.

  But Shahar was still nodding, wearily, her smile gone. “I know, Sieh.”

  Her capitulation bothered me. I was not used to seeing her despair. I was not used to regarding any Arameri as helpless or vulnerable, let alone all of them.

  “Yeine forbade any of us to retaliate against the Arameri,” I said softly. “She didn’t care about you—she hates you as much as the rest of us do—but she didn’t want war everywhere, and…” The Arameri, foul as they were, had been the best hope for keeping the world from collapsing into chaos. Even Nahadoth had gone along with Yeine, and none of my siblings would defy her.

  Would they?

  I turned away, going to the window so that Shahar would not see my fear.

  She sighed and got to her feet. “I’ve got to go. We’re leaving early so as to fool any potential assassins….” She paused, noticing my stillness at last. “Sieh?”

  “Go on,” I said softly. Beyond the window, the sun had begun to set, scattering a crimson spectrum across the sky. Did Itempas feel the end of day, wherever he was, the way Nahadoth had once died with every dawn? Did some part of him quail and gibber int
o silence, or did he fade slowly, like the bands of color in the sky, until his soul went dark?

  At my silence, Shahar headed for the door, and I roused myself enough to think. “Shahar.” I heard her stop. “If something happens, if you’re in danger, call me.”

  “We never tested that.”

  “It will work.” I felt that instinctively. I didn’t know how I knew, but I did. “I don’t care if most of the Arameri die, it’s true. But you are my friend.”

  She went still behind me. Surprised? Touched? Once upon a time, I would have been able to taste her emotions on the air. Now I could only guess.

  “Get some rest,” she said at last. “I’ll have food sent up. We’ll speak again when I return.” Then she left.

  And I leaned back against the window, trembling now that she was gone, left alone to ponder the most terrible of possibilities.

  A godling defying a god. It seemed impossible. We were such low things compared to them; they could kill us so easily. Yet we were not powerless. Some among us—myself, once upon a time—were strong enough to challenge them directly, at least for a few moments. And even the least of us could keep secrets and stir up trouble.

  One godling’s mischief did not trouble me. But if many of us were involved, conspiring across mortal generations, implementing some complex plan, it was no longer mischief. It was a revolt. One far more dangerous than whatever the northerners planned for the Arameri.

  Because if the godlings revolted against the gods, the gods would fight back, as they had done when threatened by the demons long ago. But godlings were not as fragile as demons, and many of us had no vested interest in keeping the mortal realm safe. That would mean a second Gods’ War, worse than the first one.

  This had been brewing right under my nose for fifty years, and I hadn’t had a clue.

  Beyond me, in silent rebuke, the bloody sky went gradually black.

  7

  How many miles to Babylon?

  Three score and ten.