The Broken Kingdoms (12 page)

“Which would be a fair assumption,” Madding snapped, “if Role’s blood had been gone. There was plenty of it left in and around her body—”

“Which you took away, in front of witnesses.”

“To Yeine! To see if there was any hope of bringing her back to life. But Role’s soul had already gone elsewhere.” He shook his head and sighed. “Why in the infinite hells would I kill her, dump her body in an alley, then come back to fetch it, if her blood was what I wanted?”

“Maybe that wasn’t what you wanted,” Nemmer said very softly. “Or at least, you didn’t want all her blood. Some of the witnesses got close enough to see what was missing, Mad.”

Madding’s hands tightened on my shoulders. Puzzled, I covered one of them with my own. “Missing?”

“Her heart,” said Nemmer, and silence fell.

I flinched, horrified. But then I remembered that day in the alley, when my fingers had come away from Role’s body coated thickly with blood.

Madding cursed and got up; he began to pace, his steps quick and tight with anger. Nemmer watched him for a moment, then sighed and returned her attention to me.

“The Order thinks this was some sort of exotic commission,” she said. “A wealthy customer wanting a more potent sort of godsblood. If the stuff from our veins is powerful enough to give mortals magic, how much stronger might heartblood be? Maybe even strong enough to give a blind Maroneh woman—known paramour of the very godling they suspect—the power to kill three Order-Keepers.”

My mouth fell open. “That’s insane! No godling would kill another for those reasons!”

Nemmer’s eyebrows rose. “Yes, and anyone who knows us would understand that,” she said, a note of approval in her voice. “Those of us who live in Shadow enjoy playing games with mortal wealth, but none of us needs it, nor would we bother to kill for it. The Order hasn’t figured that out yet, or they wouldn’t have tried to hire me, and they wouldn’t suspect Madding—at least, not for this reason. But they follow the creed of the Bright: that which disturbs the order of society must be eliminated, regardless of whether it caused the disturbance.” She rolled her eyes. “You’d think they’d get tired of parroting Itempas and start thinking for themselves after two thousand years.”

I drew up my legs and wrapped my arms around them, resting my forehead on one knee. The nightmare kept growing, no matter what I did, getting worse by the day. “They suspect Madding because of me,” I murmured. “That’s what you’re saying.”

“No,” Madding snapped. I could hear him still pacing; his voice was jagged with suppressed fury. “They suspect me because of your damned houseguest.”

I realized he was right. Previt Rimarn might have noticed my magic, but that meant little in and of itself. Many mortals had magic; that was where scriveners like Rimarn came from. Only using that magic was illegal, and without seeing my paintings, Rimarn would’ve had no proof that I’d done so. If he had questioned me that day, and if I’d kept my wits about me, he would’ve realized I couldn’t possibly have killed Role. At worst, I might have ended up as an Order recruit.

But then Shiny had intervened. Even though Lil had eaten the bodies in South Root, Rimarn knew that four men had gone into that alley and only one had emerged, somehow unscathed. Gods knew how many witnesses there were in South Root who would talk for a coin or two. Worse, Rimarn had probably sensed the white-hot blast of power Shiny used to kill his men, even from across the city. Between that and what I’d done to the Order-Keepers with my chalk drawing, it did not seem so far-fetched a conclusion: one godling dead, another standing to profit from her death, and the mortals most intimately connected with him suddenly manifesting strange magic. None of it was proof—but they were Itempans. Disorder was crime enough.

“Well, I’ve said my piece.” Nemmer got up, stretching. As she did so, I saw what her posture had hidden: she was all wiry muscle and acrobatic grace. She looked too ordinary to be a spy and an assassin, but it was there when she moved. “Take care of yourself, little brother.” She paused and considered. “Little sister, too.”

“Wait,” I blurted, drawing a surprised look from both of them. “What are you going to tell the Order?”

“What I already told them,” she said with firm emphasis, “was that they’d better never try to kill a godling again. They don’t understand: it’s not Itempas they have to deal with now. We don’t know what this new Twilight will do. No one sane wants to find out. And Maelstrom help the entire mortal realm if they ever ignite the Darkness’s wrath.”

“I…” I fell silent in confusion, having no idea what she was talking about. The Twilight I knew; it was another name for the Lady. The Darkness—was that the Shadow Lord? And what had she meant by “it’s not Itempas they have to deal with now”?

“They’re wasting time on this stupidity,” Madding snapped, “grasping at straws instead of actually trying to find our sister’s killer! I could kill them for that myself.”

“Now, now,” said Nemmer, smiling. “You know the rules. Besides, in twenty-eight days, it will be a moot point.” I wondered at this, too, then remembered the words of the quiet goddess, that day in South Root. You have thirty days.

What would happen when thirty days had passed?

Nemmer sobered. “Anyway… it’s worse than you think, little brother. You’ll hear about this soon enough, so I might as well tell you now: two of our other siblings have gone missing.”

Madding started, as did I. Nemmer’s sources of information were good indeed if she’d learned this before Mad’s people or before the gossip vine of the streets could pass it on.

“Who?” he asked, stricken.

“Ina and Oboro.”

I had heard of the latter. He was some sort of warrior-god, making a name for himself among the illegal fighting rings in the city. People liked him because he fought fair—had even lost a few times. Ina was new to me.

“Dead?” I asked.

“No bodies have been found, and none of us has felt the deaths occur. Though no one felt Role, either.” She paused for a moment, growing still within her ever-present shadow, and abruptly I realized she was furious. It was hard to tell behind her jocularity, but she was just as angry as Madding. Of course; these were her brothers and sisters missing, possibly dying. I would have felt the same in her position.

Then, belatedly, it occurred to me: I was in her position. If someone was targeting godlings, killing them, then every godling in the city was in danger—including Madding. And Shiny, if he still counted.

I got to my feet and went over to him. He had stopped pacing; when I took his hands in a fierce grip, he looked surprised. I turned to Nemmer and could not help the tremor in my voice.

“Lady Nemmer,” I said, “thank you for telling us all this. Would you mind if Madding and I spoke in private now?”

Nemmer looked taken aback; then she grinned wolfishly. “Oh, I like this one, Mad. Shame she’s mortal. And, yes, Miss Shoth, I’d be happy to leave you two alone now—on the condition that you never call me ‘Lady Nemmer’ again.” She shuddered in mock horror. “Makes me feel old.”

“Yes, L—” I bit my tongue. “Yes.”

She winked, saluted Madding, and then vanished.

As soon as she was gone, I turned to Madding. “I want you to leave Shadow.”

He rocked back on his heels, staring at me. “You what?”

“Someone is killing godlings here. You’ll be safe in the gods’ realm.”

He gaped at me, speechless for several seconds. “I don’t know whether to laugh or kick you out of my house. That you would think so little of me… that you would honestly think I’d run rather than find the bastards who are doing this—”

“I don’t care about your pride!” I squeezed his hands again, trying to make him listen. “I know you’re not a coward; I know you want to find your sister’s killer. But if someone is killing godlings, and if none of the gods know how to stop that person… Mad, what’s wrong with running? You just urged me to do the same thing to get away from the Order, right? You spent aeons in the gods’ realm, and only, what, ten years in this one? Why should you care what happens here?”

“Why should I—” He shook off my hands and took hold of my shoulders, glaring at me. “Have you gone mad? You’re standing here in front of me, asking me why I don’t leave you behind to face the Order-Keepers and gods know what else! If you think—”

“It’s you they want! If you leave, I’ll turn myself in. I’ll tell them you went back to the gods’ realm; they’ll draw their own conclusions from that. Then—”

“Then they’ll kill you,” he said. That startled me silent. “Of course they will, Oree. Scapegoats restore order, don’t they? People are upset about what happened to Role; mortals don’t like to think that their gods can die. They also want to see her killer brought to justice. The Order will have to give them someone, if not the killer. With me gone, you’d have no protection at all.”

It was true, every word of it; I knew it with instinctive certainty. And I was afraid. But…

“I couldn’t bear it if you died,” I said softly. I could not meet his eyes. It was a variation on the same thing he’d told me months before, and it hurt to say now as much as his words had hurt to hear then. “It’s different, knowing I’ll lose you when I die. That’s… right, natural. The way things have to be. But—” And I could not help it; I imagined his body in that alley, his bluegreen scent fading, his warmth cooling, his blood staining my fingers and nothing, nothing, where the sight of him should be.

No. I would rather die than allow that to happen.

“So be it,” I said. “I’ve killed three men. It was an accident, but they’re still dead. They had dreams, maybe families… You know all about debts owed, Mad. Isn’t it right that I repay? As long as you’re safe.”

He said a word that rang of fury and fear and sour chimes, and it burst against my vision in a splash of cold aquamarine, silencing me. He let go of me then, moving away, and belatedly I realized that I had hurt him in my willingness to give my life. Obligation was his nature; altruism was its antithesis.

“You will not do this to me,” he said, cold in his anger, though I heard the taut fear that lay under it. “You will not throw away your life because you were unlucky enough to be nearby when those fools started their blundering ‘investigation.’ Or because of that selfish bastard who lives with you.” He clenched his fists. “And you will never, ever again offer to die for my sake.”

I sighed. I didn’t want to hurt him, but there was no reason for him to stay in the mortal realm and put up with petty mortal politics. Not even for me. I had to make him see that.

“You said it yourself,” I said. “I’m going to die one day; nothing can prevent that. What does it matter whether that happens now or in fifty years? I—”

“It matters,” he snarled, rounding on me. In two strides, he crossed the room and took me by the shoulders again. This caused a ripple in the surface of his mortal shape. For an instant, he flickered blue and then settled back, sweat sheening his face. His hands trembled. He was making himself sick to make a point. “Don’t you dare say it doesn’t matter!”

I knew what I should have said then, what I should have done. I had encountered this with him before—this fierce, dangerous, all-consuming need that drove him to love me no matter how much pain that caused. He was right; he needed a goddess for a lover, not some fragile mortal girl who would let herself get killed at the drop of a hat. Dumping me had been the smartest thing he’d ever done, even if letting him do it had been the hardest choice I’d ever made.

So I should have pushed him away. Said something terrible, designed to break his heart. That would’ve been the right thing to do, and I should’ve been strong enough to do it.

But I’ve never been as strong as I would like.

Madding kissed me. And gods, was it sweet. I felt him this time, all the coolness and fluid aquamarine of him, the edges and the ambition, everything he’d held back two nights before. I heard the chimes again as he flowed into me and through me, and when he pulled away, I clutched at him, pulling him close again. He rested his forehead on mine, trembling for a long, pent moment; he knew what he should do, too. Then he picked me up and carried me back to the pile of cushions.

We had made love before, many times. It was never perfect—it couldn’t be, me being mortal—but it was always good. Best of all when Mad was needy the way he was now. He lost control at such times, forgot that I was mortal and that he needed to hold back. (By this I don’t mean his strength, though that was part of it. I mean that sometimes he took me places, showed me visions. There are things mortals aren’t meant to see. When he forgot himself, I saw some of them.)

I liked that he lost control, dangerous though it was. I liked knowing I could give him that much pleasure. He was one of the younger godlings, but he had still lived millennia to my decades, and sometimes I worried that I wasn’t enough for him. On nights like this, though, as he wept and groaned and strained against me, and scintillated like diamond when the moment struck, I knew that was a silly fear. Of course I was enough, because he loved me. That was the whole point.

Afterward we lay, spent and lazy, in the cool humid silence of the late-night hours. I could hear others moving about in the house, on that floor and the one above: mortal servants, some of Madding’s people, perhaps a valued customer who’d been given the rare privilege of buying goods direct from the source. There were no doors in Madding’s home, because godlings regarded them as a nuisance, so the whole house had probably heard us. Neither of us cared.

“Did I hurt you?” His usual question.

“Of course not.” My usual answer, though he always sighed in relief when I gave it. I lay on my belly, comfortable, not yet drowsy. “Did I hurt you?”

He usually laughed. That he stayed silent this time made me remember our earlier argument. That made me fall silent, too.

“You’re going to need to leave Shadow,” he said at last.

I said nothing, because there was nothing to say. He wasn’t going to leave the mortal realm, because that would get me killed. Leaving Shadow might get me killed, too, but the chances were lower. Everything depended on how badly Previt Rimarn wanted me. Outside of the city, Madding had less power to protect me; no godling was permitted to leave Shadow by decree of the Lady, who feared the havoc they might cause worldwide. But the Order of Itempas had a White Hall in every sizable town, and thousands of priests and acolytes all over the world. I would be hard-pressed to hide from them if Rimarn was determined to have me.