The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms

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.”

I was not yet twenty myself, but of course barbarians grow up faster than civilized folk. I said nothing.

“My father had died in the interim,” he continued. “My mother—” He shrugged. “Disappeared some night. That sort of thing happens here. It was just as well. I was granted fullblood status when I returned, and she was a lowblood. If she were still alive, I would no longer be her son.” He glanced at me, after a pause. “That will sound heartless to you.”

I shook my head, slowly. “I’ve been in Sky long enough.”

He made a soft sound, somewhere between amusement and cynicism. “I had a harder time getting used to this place than you,” he said. “Your mother helped me. She was… like you in some ways. Gentle on the surface, something entirely different underneath.”

I glanced at him, surprised by this description.

“I was smitten, of course. Her beauty, her wit, all that power…” He shrugged. “But I would have been content to admire her from afar. I wasn’t that young. No one was more surprised than I when she offered me more.”

“My mother wouldn’t do that.”

Viraine just looked at me for a moment, during which I glared back at him.

“It was a brief affair,” he said. “Just a few weeks. Then she met your father and lost interest in me.” He smiled thinly. “I can’t say I was happy about that.”

“I told you—” I began with some heat.

“You didn’t know her,” he said softly. It was that softness that silenced me. “No child knows her parents, not truly.”

“You didn’t know her, either.” I refused to think about how childish that sounded.

For a moment there was such sorrow in Viraine’s face, such lingering pain, that I knew he was telling the truth. He had loved her. He had been her lover. She had gone off to marry my father, leaving Viraine with only memories and longing. And now fresh grief burned in my soul, because he was right—I hadn’t known her. Not if she could do something like this.

Viraine looked away. “Well. You wanted to know my reason for offering to escort you. You aren’t the only one who mourns Kinneth.” He took a deep breath. “If you change your mind, let me know.” He inclined his head, then headed for the door.

“Wait,” I said, and he stopped. “I told you before: my mother did nothing without reason. So why did she take up with you?”

“How should I know?”

“What do you think?”

He considered a moment, then shook his head. He was smiling again, hopelessly. “I think I don’t want to know. And neither do you.”

He left. I stared at the closed door for a long time.

Then I went looking for answers.

* * *

I went first to my mother’s room, where I took the chest of letters from behind the bed’s headboard. When I turned with it in my hands, I found my unknown maternal grandmother gazing directly at me from within her portrait. “Sorry,” I muttered, and left again.

It was not difficult to find an appropriate corridor. I simply wandered until a sense of nearby, familiar power tickled my awareness. I followed that sense until, before an otherwise nondescript wall, I knew I had found a good spot.

The gods’ langauge was not meant to be spoken by mortals, but I had a goddess’s soul. That had to be good for something.