Take her to Viraine, then, said Zhakka. She inclined her head to me in courteous farewell, then turned away to join Nahadoth.
Sieh took my hand. I was so confused and shaken that I did not fight when he led me toward the nearest of the dead spaces walls. But I did glance back over my shoulder once, to watch the Nightlord walk away.
* * *
My mother was the most beautiful woman in the world. I say that not because I am her daughter, and not because she was tall and graceful, with hair like clouded sunlight. I say it because she was strong. Perhaps it is my Darre heritage, but strength has always been the marker of beauty in my eyes.
My people were not kind to her. No one said it in front of my father, but I heard the murmurs when we walked through Arrebaia sometimes. Amn whore. Bone-white bitch. They would spit on the ground after she passed, to wash the streets of her Arameri taint. Through all this she maintained her dignity and was never less than polite to people who were anything but. My father, in one of the few clear memories of him that I have, said this made her better than them.
I am not sure why I remember this now, but I am certain it is somehow important.
* * *
Sieh made me run after we left the dead space, so that I would be out of breath when we arrived at Viraines workshop.
Viraine opened the door after Siehs third impatient knock, looking irritated. The white-haired man from Dekartas audience, who had judged me not hopeless.
Sieh? What in demonsah. He looked at me and raised his eyebrows. Yes, Id rather thought Tvril was taking too long. The sun went down nearly an hour ago.
Scimina sicced Naha on her, said Sieh. Then he looked up at me. But the game was to end if you made it here, right? Youre safe now.
This was my explanation, then. That was what Tvril said. I glanced back down the hall as if I was still afraid. It was not difficult to pretend.
Scimina would have given him specific parameters, Viraine said, which I suppose was meant to reassure me. She knows what hes like in that state. Come in, Lady Yeine.
He stepped aside, and I entered the chamber. Even if I hadnt been bone tired I would have stopped there, for I stood in a room like nothing I had ever seen. It was long and oval-shaped, and there were floor-to-ceiling windows down both of the longer walls. Twin rows of workbenches had been placed along either side of the room; I saw books, flasks, and incomprehensible contraptions on each. Along the far wall were cages, some containing rabbits and birds. In the center of the chamber was a huge white orb set on a low plinth. It was as tall as me and completely opaque.
Over here, Viraine said, heading toward one of the workbenches. Two stools sat in front of it. He chose one of them and patted the other for me. I followed him, but then hesitated.
Im afraid you have the advantage of me, sir.
He looked surprised, then smiled and gave me an informal, not-quite-mocking half bow. Ah, yes, manners. I am Viraine, the palace scrivener. Also a relative of yours in some way or anothertoo distant and convoluted to determine, though Lord Dekarta has seen fit to welcome me into the Central Family. He tapped the black circle on his forehead.
Scriveners: Amn scholars who made a study of the gods written language. This scrivener did not look like the cold-eyed ascetics Id imagined. He was younger, for oneperhaps a few years younger than my mother had been. Certainly not old enough for such stark white hair. Perhaps he was like Tvril and I, part Amn of a more exotic variety.
A pleasure, I said. Though I cannot help but wonder why the palace needs a scrivener. Why study the gods power when you have actual gods right here?
He looked pleased by my question; perhaps few people asked him about his work. Well, for one thing, they cant do everything or be everywhere. There are hundreds of people in this palace using small magics on an everyday basis. If we had to stop and call an Enefadeh every time we needed something, very little would get done. The lift, for example, that carried you to this level of the palace. The airthis far above the ground, it would ordinarily be thin and cold, hard to breathe. Magic keeps the palace comfortable.
I sat down carefully on one of the stools, eyeing the bench beside me. The items there were laid out neatly: various fine paintbrushes, a dish of ink, and a small block of polished stone, incised on its face with a strange, complicated character of spikes and curlicues. The character was so fundamentally alien, so jarring to the eye, that I could not look at it long. The urge to look away was part of what it was, because it was gods language; a sigil.
Viraine sat opposite me while Sieh, unbidden, claimed a seat across the bench and rested his chin on his folded arms.
For another thing, Viraine continued, there are certain magics that even the Enefadeh cannot perform. Gods are peculiar beings, incredibly powerful within their sphere of influence, so to speak, but limited beyond that. Nahadoth is powerless by day. Sieh cannot be quiet and well-behaved unless hes up to something. He eyed Sieh, who gave us both an innocent smile. In many ways, we mortals are more versatile, for lack of a better term. More complete. For example, none of them can create or extend life. The simple act of having childrensomething any unlucky barmaid or careless soldier can dois a power that has been lost to the gods for millennia.