The Inheritance Trilogy Omnibus(109)

“My children think I am going mad,” he said, stroking my face ever so gently. “Kurue tells me I risk all our hopes over you. She’s right.”

I frowned in confusion. “My life is still yours. I’ll abide by our agreement, even though I’ve lost the contest. You acted in good faith.”

He sighed, to my surprise leaning forward to rest his forehead against mine. “Even now you speak of your life as a commodity, sold for our ‘good faith.’ What we have done to you is obscene.”

I had no idea what to say to that; I was too stunned. It occurred to me, in a flash of insight, that this was what Kurue feared—Nahadoth’s fickle, impassioned sense of honor. He had gone to war to vent his grief over Enefa; he had kept himself and his children enslaved out of sheer stubbornness rather than forgive Itempas. He could have dealt with his brother differently, in ways that wouldn’t have risked the whole universe and destroyed so many lives. But that was the problem: when the Nightlord cared for something, his decisions became irrational, his actions extreme.

And he was beginning, against all reason, to care for me.

Flattering. Frightening. I could not guess what he might do in such a circumstance. But, more important, I realized what this meant in the short term. In only a few hours, I would die, and he would be left to mourn yet again.

How strange that this thought made my own heart ache, too.

I cupped the Nightlord’s face between my hands and sighed, closing my eyes so that I could feel the person beneath the mask. “I’m sorry,” I said. And I was. I had never meant to cause him pain.

He did not move, and neither did I. It felt good, leaning against his solidity, resting in his arms. It was an illusion, but for the first time in a long while, I felt safe.

I don’t know how long we stood there, but we both heard it when the music changed. I straightened and looked around; the handful of guests who had been on the patio with us had gone inside. That meant it was midnight—time for the main dance of the evening, the highlight of the ball.

“Do you want to go in?” Nahadoth asked.

“No, of course not. I’m fine out here.”

“They dance to honor Itempas.”

I looked at him, confused. “Why should I care about that?”

His smile made me feel warm inside. “Have you turned from the faith of your ancestors so completely?”

“My ancestors worshipped you.”

“And Enefa, and Itempas, and our children. The Darre were one of the few races who honored us all.”

I sighed. “It’s been a long time since those days. Too much has changed.”

“You have changed.”

I could say nothing to that; it was true.

On impulse, I stepped away from him and took his hands, pulling him into dancing position. “To the gods,” I said. “All of them.”

It was so gratifying to surprise him. “I have never danced to honor myself.”

“Well, there you are.” I shrugged, and waited for the start of a new chorus before pulling him to step with me. “A first time for everything.”

Nahadoth looked amused, but he moved easily in time with me despite the complicated steps. Every noble child learned such dances, but I had never really liked them. Amn dances reminded me of the Amn themselves—cold, rigid, more concerned with appearance than enjoyment. Yet here, on a dark balcony under a moonless sky, partnered by a god, I found myself smiling as we wheeled back and forth. It was easy to remember the steps with him exerting gentle guiding pressure against my hands and back. Easy to appreciate the grace of the timing with a partner who glided like the wind. I closed my eyes, leaning into the turns, sighing in pleasure as the music swelled to match my mood.

When the music stopped, I leaned against him and wished the night would never end. Not just because of what awaited me come dawn.

“Will you be with me tomorrow?” I asked, meaning the true Nahadoth, not his daytime self.

“I am permitted to remain myself by daylight for the duration of the ceremony.”

“So that Itempas can ask you to return to him.”

His breath tickled my hair, a soft, cold laugh. “And this time I shall, but not the way he expects.”

I nodded, listening to the slow, strange pulse of his heart. It sounded distant, echoing, as if I heard it across miles. “What will you do if you win? Kill him?”

His moment of silence warned me before the actual answer came. “I don’t know.”

“You still love him.”

He did not answer, though he stroked my back once. I didn’t fool myself. It was not me he meant to reassure.

“It’s all right,” I said. “I understand.”