“Plotting to take over the world, obviously,” he said, smiling broadly at her. She went over and hugged him with real affection, which he returned with equal sincerity. “And having a lovely conversation with my new young friend here. Did you come to meet him?”
Shahar sat down beside him, glancing from him to me and back. “Yes, though it’s just as well you’re here. Do you know what’s happened?”
“Happened?”
She sobered. “Nevra and Criscina. They — Soldiers brought the bodies this morning.”
Ramina grimaced, closing his eyes. “How?”
She shook her head. “The masks, again. This time it …” She made a face. “I didn’t see the result, but I smelled it.”
I sat down on a bench opposite them, in the cupola’s shadows, and watched them. The light making an aura of their curls. Their identical looks of sorrow. Yes, it was so obvious I wondered why Remath bothered to try and keep it secret.
Ramina got to his feet and began pacing, his expresion ferocious.
“Demons and darkness! All the highbloods will be livid, and rightly so. They’ll blame Remath for not finding these bastards.” He stopped abruptly and turned to Shahar, his eyes narrowing. “And you will be in greater danger than ever, Niece, if these attackers have grown that bold. I wouldn’t advise travel for some time.”
She frowned a little at this, but not in a surprised way. No doubt she had been thinking the same thing since the forecourt. “I’m scheduled to go to the Gray this evening, to meet with Lady Hynno.”
The Gray?
I wondered.
“Reschedule it.”
“I can’t! I asked for the meeting. If I reschedule, she’ll know something’s wrong, and Mother has decreed that any news of these murders is to remain secret.”
Ramina stopped and looked pointedly at me. I flashed him a winning smile.
Shahar made a sound of exasperation. “She also decreed that I’m to give him whatever he wants.” She glowered at me. “He saw the bodies, anyway.”
“Yes,” I said, “but I would appreciate an explanation to go with those bodies. I take it this sort of thing has happened before?”
Ramina frowned at my forwardness, but Shahar only slumped, not bothering to hide her despair. “Never a fullblood before. But others, yes.”
“Other
Arameri
?”
“And those who support our interests, sometimes, yes. Always
with the masks and always deadly. We’re not even sure how the culprit gets the victims to put the mask on. The effects are different every time, and the masks burn up afterward, as you saw.”
Amazing. In the old days, no one would have dared to kill an Arameri, for fear of the Enefadeh being sent to find and punish the killers. Had the world overcome its fear of the Arameri to that degree in just a few generations? The resilience — and vindictiveness — of mortals would never cease to astound me.
“Who do you think is doing it, then?” I asked. They both threw me irritated looks, and I raised my eyebrows. “Obviously you don’t
know
, or you would have killed them. But you must
suspect
someone.”
“No,” said Ramina. He sat down, crossing his legs and tossing his long mane of hair over the back of the seat. He regarded me with active contempt. “If we suspected someone, we would kill them, too.”
I grew annoyed. “You have the masks, however damaged. Have the scriveners forgotten how to craft tracking scripts?”
“This is not the same,” said Shahar. She sat forward, her eyes intent. “This isn’t scrivening. The scriveners have no idea how this, this … false magic works, and …” She hesitated, glancing at Ramina, and sighed. “They can’t stop it. We are helpless against these attacks.”
I yawned. I didn’t time it that way, didn’t do it deliberately to suggest that I didn’t care about their plight, but I saw them both scowl at me, anyway. When I closed my mouth, I glowered back. “What do you want me to say? ‘I’m sorry’? I’m not, and you know it. The rest of the world has had to live with this kind of terror — murders without rhyme or reason, magic that strikes
without warning — for centuries. Thanks to you Arameri.” I shrugged. “If some mortal has figured out a way to make you know the same fear, I’m not going to condemn them for it. Hells, you should be glad I’m not cheering them on.”
Ramina’s expression went blank, in that way Arameri think is so inscrutable when it really just means they’re pissed and trying not to show it. Shahar, at least, was honest enough to give me the full force of her anger. “If you hate us so much, you know what to do,” she snapped. “It should be simple enough for you to kill us all. Or” — her lip curled, her tone turning nasty —“ask Nahadoth or Yeine to do it, if you don’t have the strength.”
“Say that again!” I shot to my feet, feeling quite strong enough to slaughter the whole Arameri family because she was being a brat. If she’d been a boy, I would have slugged her one. Boys could beat each other and remain friends, however; between boys and girls the matter was murkier.
“Children,” said Ramina. He spoke in a mild tone, but he was looking at me, palpably tense despite that oh-so-calm face. I appreciated his acknowledgment of my nature. It did help to calm me, which was probably what he’d hoped for.
Shahar looked sulky, but she subsided, and after a moment I, too, sat down, though I was still furious.
“For your information,” I spat, crossing my legs and
not
sulking, thank you, “what you’re describing isn’t false magic. It’s just
better
magic.”
“Only the gods’ magic is better than scrivener magic,” Shahar said. I could hear her trying for calm dignity, which immediately made me want to torment her in some way.
“No,” I said. To alleviate the urge to annoy her, I shifted to lie
down on the bench, putting my feet up on one of the delicate-looking columns that supported the roof. I wished my feet had been dirty, though I supposed that would only have inconvenienced the servants. “Scrivening is only the best thing you mortals — pardon me, you
Amn —
have come up with thus far. But just because
you
haven’t thought of anything better doesn’t mean there can’t
be
anything better.”
“Yes,” said Ramina with a heavy sigh, “Shevir has already explained this. Scrivening merely approximates the gods’ power, and poorly. It can only capture concepts that are communicated via simple written words. Spoken magic works better, when it works.”
“The only reason it doesn’t work is because mortals don’t say it right.” The bench was surprisingly comfortable. I would try sleeping up here some night, in the open air, beneath the waning moon. It would feel like resting in Nahadoth’s arms. “You get the pronunciation right, and the syntax, but you never master the
context
. You say the words at night when you should only say them by day. You speak them when we’re on this side of the sun, not that side — all you have to do is consider the seasons, for gods’ sake! But you don’t. You say
gevvirh
when you really mean
das-ankalae
, and you take the
breviranaenoket
out of the …” I glanced at them and realized they weren’t following me at all. “… You say it wrong.”
“There’s no way to say it better,” said Shahar. “There’s no way for a mortal to understand all that … context. You know there isn’t.”
“There’s no way for you to speak as we do, no. But there are other ways to convey information besides speech and writing. Hand signs, body language” — they glanced at each other and I
pointed at them —“meaningful looks! What do you think magic is?
Communication.
We gods call to reality, and reality responds. Some of that is because we made it and it is like limbs, the outflow of our souls, we and existence are one and the same, but the rest …”
I was losing them again. Stupid, padlock-brained creatures. They were smart enough to understand; Enefa had made certain of that. They were just being stubborn. I gave up and sighed, tired of trying to talk to them. If only some of my siblings would come to visit me … but I dared not risk word getting out about my condition. As Nahadoth had said, I had enemies.
“Would you consent to work with Shevir, Lord Sieh?” asked Ramina. “To help him figure out this new magic?”
“No.”
Shahar made a harsh, irritated sound. “Oh, of course not. We’re only giving you a roof over your head and food and —”
“You have
given
me nothing,” I snapped, turning my head to glare at her. “In case you’ve forgotten,
I built the roof
. If we’re going to get particular about obligations, Lady Shahar, how about you tell your mother I want two thousand years of back wages? Or offerings, if she prefers; either will keep me in food for the rest of my mortal life.” Her mouth fell open in pure affront. “No? Then shut the hells up!”
Shahar stood so fast that on another world she would have shot into the sky. “I don’t have to take this.” In a flurry of fur and smolder, she went down the steps. I heard the click of her shoes along the library’s floors, and then she was gone.
Feeling rather pleased with myself, I folded my arms beneath my head.
“You enjoyed that,” said Ramina.
“Whatever gave you that impression?” I laughed.
He sighed, sounding bored rather than frustrated. “It might amuse you to bicker with her — in fact, I’m sure it does amuse you — but you have no idea of the pressure she’s under, Lord Sieh. My sister has not been kind to her in the years since you almost killed her and caused her brother to be sent away.”
I flinched, reminded of the debt I owed to Shahar — a reminder that Ramina had no doubt meant to deliver. Uncomfortable now, I took my feet off the column and turned onto my belly, propping myself up on my elbows to face him.
“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.
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.