Godslayers

“Merisites? You’re sure?”

Roel’s face was intent. My comm easily picked up the skepticism she couldn’t keep off her face—classic conduit theory, embodied ether reacts more strongly. Kuril was in obvious pain; Bofa was inwardly uncertain, but outwardly presented the reserve that Estheni men were supposed to cultivate.

“I’m sure that Cades is sure,” I said. “We’ll have to make a call on what that means.”

“A truth of the eyes,” Roel muttered. “No, it makes sense. More sense than any of this.”

I had to play dumb about the this even if it was a knife in my fucking throat. “This?”

Kuril opened her mouth, but stopped herself with a look at Roel, letting her take the lead. Roel noticed, relaxing an inch at her sister’s trust. I looked between them, letting Roel know I’d noticed too.

“The Voranetes plan doesn’t make sense,” said Roel. “Buying up metal to starve out the economy—just to disrupt us? Too many uncontrollable factors. Almost a scheme for the sake of scheming. That it even had a chance of working is due to our House’s precarious position, not any brilliance on their part. This puts things into perspective.”

“Merisites like being mysterious, huh?” I said, remembering Lirian’s showboating.

“It’s the weakness of the breed,” Roel said, as if she’d met more than one. “The sacred mystery: you’ll never learn, but they’ll make sure you know there was something to find out.”

“Take it from the expert,” I said with a bit too much irony. The looks I got were cold. Alright, guys. Alright.

For just a moment, I saw it clear as day. If I let out the lump in my throat, I’d cry. I could tell them I’d been hiding things, let them hug the tears away. I could get my family back before they cut ties with me completely. In time they might even understand why I was here, what I had to do—

My comm blared an etheric warning. I snapped out of the vision with a start, cycling my ether shields with reflexes they’d nailed into us at Academy.

“Lilith, your comm reported divine contact,” Val snapped. “Code four. Countersign. Now.”

“They fall. They die,” I fired back subvocally.

Was this it? Had I just been compromised? Was the commander going to crypt me and I’d wake up back on Veles facing a—

“She’s clear,” said Val. “I’m not reading any indoctrination.”

“Which god?” I asked, already knowing the answer.

“Kives.”

“Ajarel?” Kuril said. “What’s going on? You look… feral.”

“I hate this,” I said. “Just… fuck this. Fuck everything. I… I’m not gonna say I can’t do this. But everything sucks.”

“That’s why I’ve been saying we need to bring in House Jeneretes,” said Roel. If she had, it’d been while Kives was distracting me. “I have an idea on something we can sell them. Not the brightsteel. Something real. And we need to do it now. We have two days before we’re all signing papers in front of the Oathkeepers.”

“Wasn’t the whole point of this to keep them out of the loop so our House could keep all the glory?” I asked. We all looked to Kuril.

“I have reconsidered,” she said. She didn’t look too happy about it, but there was no hesitation in her voice. “If we are to be leaders in Vitareas, it would behoove us to prioritize the good of the city over personal glory.”

I couldn’t help it. I choked up. It made a small noise that drew everyone’s attention back to me.

“Are you okay?” Roel asked, less kindly than she could have.

I walked toward Kuril, trying to ignore the way Bofa unconsciously shifted his footing to a defensive stance as I approached. I knelt down and awkwardly hugged Kuril, who hesitantly hugged me back.

“Ajarel?” she asked.

“You’re going to do so well,” I sniffled into her shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

Her arms around me tightened, the hug becoming more genuine.

“Have you been drinking?” Roel asked.

“Hugs for you too!” I said, releasing Kuril and scooting over to her wheelchair.

“Mind the leg.”

I nodded, kneeling next to the un-stabbed leg and being more careful about it. Roel’s hug etherically stank of regret.

“What’s going on?” she whispered.

“I just have a lot of emotions right now, okay?”

“You’re such a tomboy,” Roel said with a forced laugh. I let go.

The tears were real, but my performance hadn’t moved my wannabe spymaster of an aunt. Kuril seemed a little more swayed. Bofa was reserving judgment.

“Can I help at all?” I asked. “I could run over to the main Jeneretes estate with a letter or something.”

“Good idea,” said Kuril. “Just… compose yourself first.”

“Take an entourage with you,” Roel said, glancing aside as she performed some mental calculation. “We wouldn’t want you turned aside at the door for lack of fanfare. Bofa, would you accompany her?”

She didn’t trust me with the letter, I realized.

“I live to serve,” Bofa said. “I can gather some attendants after I bring you back to the library.”

“I’ll bring her back,” Kuril said. “I’d like to spend some time with my sister.”

I sniffled loudly. The warmth on Roel’s face drained noticeably as she looked from her real family to me.

“I love you,” I told them.

I held it together until I left Kuril’s office, Bofa in tow. The blacksmith didn’t say anything, but he did lay a comforting hand on my shoulder.

“Meet you at the gate in half an hour,” I said. “Thanks, man.”

“It will pass,” he said with a gentle smile. “All life is cycles within cycles. Dark days give way to warm nights.”

“Okay, big guy,” I sob-laughed. “I’ll be fine, go do your thing.”

I watched his retreating back.

“You know,” I commented subvocally, “I’m really not going to be able to take him seriously if he marries Kuril.”

“Why’s that?” Abby asked.

“Because he’ll be the matriarch’s husband,” I said. “So he’ll have to use the elder suffix.”

“Bofades?”

I started snickering, but it hurt, and the pain gave way to anger as I thought about what a coincidence it was that such a nice dude happened to have such a stupid name and fuck this.

“Are you ready to talk about what happened in there?”

“No,” I said, drawing in a shaky breath. “Later. I think I know what Kives wants. I want it too. But I can’t—I can’t—have it. Can’t let her have it. So…”

Abby finished for me as I trailed off. “So you said goodbye.”

Oh, great. The lump in my throat was back. Fantastic, just fantastic. I tried the tiniest nod and got away with it.

“You asked why we put up with you,” said Abby. “Next time you have that thought, I want you to remember this. You have what it takes, Lilith. That’s why we picked you for this team. A mistake here or there doesn’t change that.”

“Thanks,” I whispered.

“Yes, good job,” said Val. “Now get back to your room. We need to scan you for divine contamination and you’re leaving in twenty-six minutes.”

*

Roel handed me a letter for the Jeneretti which they’d just so happened to seal before I got there. Probably the correct move, given that the letter blamed me for the state of the Jeneretes mines as the bait to entice them into negotiating. I asked about the contents because not being curious would be suspicious, and I politely zoned out while Roel lied to me about the technical specifications of mining equipment.

Did she know I knew? Past a certain point, it didn’t matter. I’d deliver the letter as requested, Bofa would report back that I hadn’t pulled anything, and then we’d pray the Voranetti didn’t have their own last-minute twist at the ball.

I’d accepted the offer of a carriage—I used to think American streets were filthy, but some of the streets here were basically just mud and shit. Four of House Vitares’s buffest bondsmen hung from slings inside our kickass steampunk horses as they pulled us along, gilded filigree splattering with street goop as they clanked along. I sat next to Bofa on top of the carriage.

“The cushions would suit your station better,” he rumbled. “It wouldn’t do to greet the Jeneretti with mud on your shawl.”

“They’ll live,” I said lightly. “I want to see the city.”

Whatever he thought of that, he kept it to himself. I spent the ride watching people go about their lives—pedestrians on their way to the market or the temples or the theater, men and women weaving textiles on looms of varying complexity, a yard full of men and women drilling with swords.

I did a double take. There were a lot of Oathkeepers in that yard. Was that—

“Lady Ajarel,” called a pleasant voice from the other side of the carriage. “Godsmile.”

“Oathkeeper Falerior,” I replied before I saw him. He was walking down the street, accompanied by the old lady who’d been with him when I got Lirian arrested. I asked my comm for the old lady’s name. “Ah, and Oathkeeper Vanerel. Godsmile to you too.”

“Evenin’,” she drawled. “Come to make that statement?”

“Unfortunately, I’m on urgent business,” I said with a polite smile. Inwardly I panicked. Had I just landed myself at the Javeiron? Was this Kives again?

“Give our report to the warden,” Falerior told Vanerel, patting her on the shoulder. “I’d like to speak with her.”

She nodded and split off toward the training field.

“We can’t stop,” I tried.

“I wouldn’t dream of inconveniencing you,” he said, settling into a quick stroll that matched the pace of the carriage. “I’d hoped to meet you in passing at your home, but the goddess saw fit that you were always out on some errand or other. At last she relents.”

“Thala’s training schedule is intense,” I said, as if we hadn’t deliberately scheduled those sessions to overlap Falerior’s visits.

“It must be,” he agreed. “I heard he won his third set of laurels?”

“That he did. He’s a very skilled man.”

“All Vitareas sings his praises. It’s breathed some life into the Kabiadesians, you know. A year ago no one would dare to say anything—for fear of attracting Alcebios’s attention, you understand.”

I made a noncommittal noise.

“It’s good to see the curse broken,” he continued, watching for my reaction. I didn’t give him one.

“Funny how all the accidents stopped once you locked Lirian away,” I said. “How’s she doing, anyways?”

“That’s the thing about accidents,” Falerior observed. “They never completely stop, do they?”

“As long as the accidents aren’t invested in Renathion winners, that’s fine by me. How’s Lirian?” I asked again. “Did you get her talking?”

Falerior smiled his bland little smile. “I would not, of course, presume to air privileged information in public.”

“What happened to all that noise about ‘all is known and all shall be known’?”

Falerior raised an eyebrow. “Philosophically, I’d observe that someone knows it.”

I hated myself for snorting at that, because the man was obnoxious and I didn’t want to let him score any points.

“Alright, look, man,” I said. “You know I’m not going to give you anything. I got you your big score and I’ve toed the line since then. Why are you really here?”

He nodded thoughtfully. “I’m… curious, I think. A question I’m posing to myself. If you’ll indulge me?”

“Sure, why not.”

He lapsed into silence, and for a few moments there was only the sound of the city, the metallic clatter of his armor, and the ratcheting of steampunk horses as they tramped across the cobblestones.

“The Merisites speak of two truths,” he said. “Truth of the eyes is an oxymoron, but sometimes I wonder about ‘truth of the coin.’ The Oathkeepers have little jokes about that. Javei guides, but does not provide. Bread is true, but truth is not bread.”

“The money has to come from somewhere,” I agreed.

“And how fitting it is that the graced have the money to feed our order of justiciars,” Falerior said without a trace of irony. “The Oathkeepers’ justice will find them too, if it must, but more often they settle their affairs themselves. Common men ought not accuse their betters of lacking grace. Would you trust such a cynic with upholding the order of a city?”

My developing Velean instincts effortlessly read between the lines: The Oathkeepers couldn’t afford to piss off their graced donors. There were probably times when they had to, but it sounded like they scapegoated whoever made the arrest.

“Are there a lot of cynics in Javei’s service?” I asked.

“Not as Oathkeepers,” Falerior said lightly. “One hears stories about itinerants now and then. Righteous beggars serving the villages too poor to hire Oathkeepers of their own.”

“Long way to fall,” I said. “That must take a lot of courage.”

“It’s a fall born of necessity,” said Falerior. “Or the stories say. One wonders how necessary the decision seemed beforehand.”

“Philosophically,” I said, mimicking his tone from earlier, “I’d observe that there’s only one future, so everything is necessary.”

“Curious belief,” said Falerior. “It doesn’t seem to save us from the need to make decisions, does it?”

“I don’t think you ever mentioned what decision you were making.”

“No, I suppose not,” said Falerior. “Godsmile, Lady Ajarel.”

The fucker peeled off and walked back toward the training ground, leaving me too annoyed to be properly relieved he’d gone.

“Good luck, you rat bastard,” I called after him.

*

I was already cranky when we walked in the door, and my mood only worsened when I discovered they’d stuck me with Obol Jeneretes.

“Lady Ajarel!” she smiled. “The Vitaressi have you using their personal stylist, I see! Lovely woman. Eleban, wasn’t it? My second tailor’s daughter had designs on her son for nearly a summer before she moved on, oh, two years ago? It was the longest anyone had held her attention to date, although of course now she’s hanging around that scoundrel of a stable boy—Iula, I think, for his father, just a wonderful man before the accident—did you know he lost the use of his left side? Such a bizarre injury, and of course now his poor wife has to take care of the children on top of managing the bunkhouse—but Eleban, how is she?”

“Godsmile,” I managed. “Uh, she’s doing okay.”

“But of course, of course, she must be, she’s done such a good job on your hair. Darker hair than one usually sees—it must be very difficult to show off your depth, isn’t it? But those curves are so graceful. You’ve truly kept it in good condition—you simply must share your secrets with me, Lady Ajarel, haha! I jest, of course, it’s just the jealousy of the old for the young”—here she leaned in conspiratorially—“would you believe that my hair was as dark as yours in my youth? I had young men positively swarming me—moth to flame!—and between you and me, some of them found themselves with burns.”

I had considerable doubts about anything that came out of that woman’s mouth staying between her and me, but I just put on my best Falerior smile and nodded politely.

“I have no idea what that means,” I said in an agreeable tone. May she find it as annoying as I did.

Obol laughed as if I’d make a joke. “I’m sure, with hair like yours. And you haven’t introduced your man! Excellent specimen. What’s his name?”

“This is Bofa,” I said. “Kuril’s consort, here with me on a task of some urgency.” Hint hint.

“Oh, but of course, we mustn’t keep you waiting. Your House is hosting that ball soon—is it three days already?”

“It’s tw—”

“Time just flies these days, you know. Why, I was supposed to sample Lady Heles’s new vintage a thessim ago, but first I had something come up, so I needed to reschedule—which she was quite happy to do, you know Lady Heles, sharp as a blade but limp as a willow, so to speak—well, come the day, she needed to reschedule—the upwelling gall!—I jest, I jest, we’re old friends—where was I? Right, she needed to reschedule, so she told me that she was so terribly sorry, and if it happened again she’d lend me her husband as a peace offering. Now, between you and me, Gebora and I made a great study of the rushes in our day—so to speak—so I was half hoping that she would miss our appointment—he’s such a strapping fellow even now, you know—”

“Lady Obol,” I interrupted. “I’m sorry, but this can’t wait.”

It wasn’t like she’d been ignoring me the whole time, but at the interruption she stopped and seemed to really look at me. Bofa was next, her eyes sweeping non-lecherously over bearing and posture and finally examining his face as he decorously avoided eye contact.

“No longer the country bumpkin, are you,” she murmured. “Well, more’s the pity, but it happens to the best of us. No one’s got the time to listen to an old woman these days. It would have saved us both getting our hands dirty.”

She seemed genuinely put out about it, too. But I didn’t have the emotional capacity to worry about breaking another heart.

“This letter,” I said, “is from Lady Kuril, and concerns information about a proposed business deal. I highly recommend you read it and pass it on to someone in your House with the authority to make decisions.”

“Oh, very well. Letter delivered, off you go.”

“Are you—Lady Obol, this is serious.”

“Of course,” she said. “So serious that she sends her consort instead of accompanying you herself.”

I stopped myself from sighing. “I think they believed the contents of the letter would speak for themselves.”

“Of course they did.” Obol did not stop herself from sighing. “Makers don’t understand politics. There’s a reason my adoptive House runs this city and your adoptive House is a vestigial estate peddling tinker’s wares. Councilwoman Kuril, goddesses grace her, never bothers to observe the formalities. She gets away with it because she’s the last of House Vitares, but she has won herself no allies here. That’s why they sent me to waste your time, and that’s why no one is going to read your letter.”

I stared at her, tapping my fingers.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” said Lady Obol. “Why did you think we’d do business with a woman who wants us out of power?”

“Because we’ve convinced her to chill out,” I said.

“And Rucks has taken an oath of silence,” Lady Obol countered.

“Lady Roel has a number of ideas to improve the efficiency of your mining equipment.”

“Lady Roel is confined to a chair and has nothing better to do than think.”

I blinked. “Uh, sure. And her ideas are valuable.”

“We have Makers too,” said Lady Obol. “More than House Vitares, brilliant though your aunt may be. We do not need you.”

“Okay,” I said with a sigh. “Fine. I realize that there’s some history here and now we have to feud like backwoods clans. This is stupid. We know about the mines, Obol.”

“Congratulations,” Obol said drily. “The Jeneretes mines are renowned across the Imperial Coalition.”

“We know about the curse,” I said.

“Curse?” Obol said. “You mean the superstitious mutterings of drunken miners? I thought you kept better company, Ajarel. Perhaps that challenge wasn’t so baseless after all.”

“That’s what they said in Salaphi, too,” I said. “Have you heard the news?”

“Dreadful business,” said Obol. “Entirely unrelated dreadful business.”

“Oathkeeper Falerior doesn’t seem to think so,” I said. “I’m sure the stewards of our city see the wisdom in investigating. Just in case.”

“Nothing was found and nothing will be found again. Your mother’s attack dog can’t turn up what doesn’t exist.”

“And when they check your financial records?” I said. “With the Treasurer’s seal as their authority?”

Obol glowered at me. “You’re a vicious little brat, aren’t you? I don’t know what I saw in you.”

“I go for the throat,” I said cheerfully. “Read the damned letter, Obol. Get it to someone who can make decisions. We convinced Kuril to cooperate for now, but if you guys leave us hanging, everything burns down and she will absolutely take you down with us. And you know who that leaves in charge.”

“Don’t make me say it,” said Obol. “There’s not enough wine here to wash the taste out afterward. Well! I’ll make sure the letter gets in the right hands, Ajarel. My word, and may you choke on it. The rest is out of my hands.”

“That’s all I can ask,” I said, standing. “For what it’s worth… thank you, Lady Obol. You reached out to me when I first came here. That meant something to me.”

“You found your own way well enough,” Obol said with wounded pride. “But it’s good that the next generation has some respect.”

“Just us country bumpkins,” I said. “Godsmile, Lady Obol.”

“Go to hell,” she said.

*

Bofa didn’t say anything on the ride home, but he didn’t need to. The set of his posture, the furrowing of his brow—they were physical realities reflecting etheric realities, the conduits of meaning that the human soul evolved to discern.

“I wasn’t supposed to know about the mines,” I said.

“It was always possible that Lady Roel or Lady Kuril told you after I left the room,” he said neutrally. “You used the information to achieve their goals.”

“We both know they didn’t,” I said.

The moon was out, the stars brighter than I’d ever seen them on my Earth. The constellations were practically always the same, no matter how differently things played out on the planet’s surface. The Eifni Organization had never met aliens. The only life we knew of existed across the countless variations of our planet, a billion variations of if and when and what-could-have-been—and the pantheons that ate them. And here I was under the same old stars, making my tiny mark on one among countless others.

“Don’t tell them,” I said at last. “Please. I’m sorry to put you in this situation, but they can’t know. Wait until after the ball.”

“Lady Ajarel, at the ball—”

“I know,” I said, looking up at the stars. They started to blur, like the ones I grew up with. “It’s okay, Bofa. It was never going to last. Take care of them for me.”

A tear rolled down to the tip of my nose and hung there annoyingly. I sniffed and wiped it off.

The strong arm that wrapped around me was unexpected, but nice. Eight out of ten—not as good as Markus’s hugs, and I’m not talking about the ten. I cried silently into Bofa’s shawl.

“Communication is easier than we expect,” said Bofa, “if harder than we think.”

It’s not too late, he left unsaid. I imagined Kives sitting behind us, smirking and nodding enthusiastically at me. Don’t give up your family for the mission—let them heal you first, let them learn what you do and maybe they’ll understand.

I won’t lie. I wanted it so badly my heart ached. But gods are simple creatures, and the trap was obvious. Worship isn’t what you perform, it’s what you do. Kives was asking the only price she knew.

But I was a warrior of Veles. Worship is the one price we will not pay.

“There’s something I have to do for everyone,” I told Bofa. “I can’t do it if I stay. I’m sorry, but it has to be this way.”

“Then go,” he said. “I know you’ll succeed. When you do, come back to us.”

“I will,” I lied.