The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms

rising dawn. The black aura around him had begun to wisp away, as it had on the night of Scimina’s torture. Viraine touched Nahadoth’s forehead. A sigil appeared out of nowhere, also white-hot, and Nahadoth hissed as if this caused him further pain. But the leaking of his aura stopped, and when he lifted his head, panting, the dawn’s light no longer seemed to bother him. Viraine moved on.

“We beg your blessing upon your newest chosen,” he said, and touched Scimina’s forehead. She smiled as her sigil ignited, the white light illuminating her face in stark angles and eager, fierce planes.

Viraine came to stand before me then, with the plinth between us. As he passed behind it, my eyes were again drawn to the Stone of Earth. I had never dreamt it would look so singularly unimpressive.

The lump shivered. For just an instant, a perfect, beautiful silver seed floated there before fading back into the dark lump.

If Viraine had been looking at me in that moment, all might have been lost. I understood what had happened and realized the danger all in a single icy bolt of intuition, and it showed on my face. The Stone was like Nahadoth, like all the gods bound here on earth; its true form was hidden behind a mask. The mask made it seem ordinary, unimportant. But for those who looked upon it and expected more—especially those who knew its true nature—it would become more. It would change its shape to reflect all that they knew.

I was condemned, and the Stone was to be my executioners’ blade. I should have seen it as a menacing, terrible thing. That I saw beauty and promise was a clear warning to any Arameri that I intended to do more than just die today.

Fortunately Viraine was not looking at me. He had turned to face the eastern sky, as had everyone else in the room. I looked from face to face, seeing pride, anxiety, expectation, bitterness. The last was Nahadoth, who alone besides me did not look at the sky. His gaze found mine instead, and held it. Perhaps that was why we alone were not affected as the sun crested the distant horizon, and power made the whole world shiver like a jolted mirror.

* * *

From the instant the sun sinks out of mortal sight until the last light fades: that is twilight. From the instant the sun crests the horizon ’til it no longer touches earth: that is dawn.

* * *

I looked around in surprise, and caught my breath as before me, the Stone blossomed.

That was the only word that could fit what I saw. The ugly lump shivered, then unfolded, layers peeling away to reveal light. But this was not the steady white light of Itempas, nor the wavering unlight of Nahadoth. This was the strange light I had seen in the oubliette, gray and unpleasant, somehow leaching the color from everything nearby. There was no shape to the Stone now, not even the silver apricotseed. It was a star, shining, but somehow strengthless.

Yet I felt its true power, radiating at me in waves that made my skin crawl and my stomach churn. I stepped back inadvertently, understanding now why T’vril had warned off the servants. There was nothing wholesome in this power. It was part of the Goddess of Life, but she was dead. The Stone was just a grisly relic.

“Name your choice to lead our family, Granddaughter,” said Dekarta.

I turned away from the Stone, though its radiance made that side of my face itch. My sight went blurry for a moment. I felt weak. The thing was killing me and I hadn’t even touched it.

“R-Relad,” I said. “I choose Relad.”

“What?” Scimina’s voice, stunned and outraged. “What did you say, you mongrel?”

Movement behind me. It was Viraine; he had come around to my side of the plinth. I felt his hand on my back, supporting me when the Stone’s power made me sway, dizzy. I took it as comfort and made a greater effort to stand. As I did so, Viraine shifted a bit and I caught a glimpse of Kurue. Her expression was grim, resolute.

I thought I understood why.

* * *

The sun, as was its wont, was moving quickly. Already half of its bulk was above the horizon line. Soon it would no longer be dawn, but day.

* * *

Dekarta nodded, unruffled by Scimina’s sudden spluttering. “Take the Stone, then,” he commanded me. “Make your choice real.”

My choice. I lifted a shaking hand to take the Stone, and wondered if death would hurt. My choice.

“Do it,” whispered Relad. He was leaning forward, his whole body taut. “Do it, do it, do it…”

“No!” Scimina again, a scream. I saw her lunge at me from the corner of my eye.

“I’m sorry,” Viraine whispered behind me, and suddenly everything stopped.

I blinked, not sure what had happened. Something made me look down. There, poked through the bodice of my ugly dress, was something new: the tip of a knife blade. It had emerged from my body on the right side of my sternum, just beside the swell of my breast. The cloth around it was changing, turning a strange wet black.

Blood, I realized. The Stone’s light stole the color even from that.

Lead weighed my arm. What had I been doing? I could not remember. I was very tired. I needed to lie down.

So I did.

And I died.

28. Twilight and Dawn

I remember who I am now.

I have held on to myself, and I will not let that knowledge go.

I carry the truth within myself, future and past, inseparable.

I will see this through.

* * *

In the glass-walled chamber, many things happen at once. I move among my former companions, unseen, yet seeing all.

My body falls to the floor, unmoving but for the blood spreading around it. Dekarta stares at me, perhaps seeing other dead women. Relad and Scimina begin shouting at Viraine, their faces distorted. I do not hear their words. Viraine, gazing down at me with a peculiarly empty expression, shouts something as well, and all of the Enefadeh are frozen in place. Sieh trembles, feline muscles bunched and straining. Zhakkarn, too, quivers, her massive fists clenched. Two of them make no effort to move, I notice, and because I notice, I see them up close. Kurue stands straight, her expression calm but resigned. There is a shadow of sorrow about her, hugging close like the cloak of her wings, but it is not something the others can see.

Nahadoth—ah. The shock in his expression is giving way to anguish as he stares at me. The me on the floor bleeding out, not the me who watches him. How can I be both? I wonder fleetingly, before dismissing the question. It doesn’t matter.

What matters is that there is real pain in Nahadoth’s eyes, and it is more than the horror of a